G
UTTER SAT
on the front porch, looking up at the California sun. The weather was a warm eighty-three, and there wasn't a cloud in sight. The sky looked like the clearest blue ocean, with a red-orange jewel resting in the middle. The trees were thick and green with the smell of fresh grass floating on the air. This place would never know the icy touch of snow, or the frigid winds that swept through New York every year. California would be forever green and warm, if not scorching. It was hard to believe that a place so beautiful could breed such ugliness.
The Soladines had prayed through the dawn, well into the day. Lil Gunn had finally stopped crying and gone off to bed. Gutter felt for his cousin, because he was no stranger to the pain of loss. Like his brother Rahmil, Gunn had died prematurely. The difference was Gutter's father was an active participant in that war, and had been ready to lay down his life for that cause. Gunn was done fighting, but it didn't stop the conflict from claiming him.
It had been a horrible year for him. He had been shot up, lost
his best friend and his uncle, all in succession. And let's not forget the murders, dozens of murders. When Gutter had awakened from his coma and discovered the events that had transpired, something inside him clicked. The darkest side of him had been unleashed, and it demanded compensation. Be it by his order, or by his hand, blood flowed in rivers. How many would die before it was all said and done? The snubbing of human life had become the norm. Not just in the hood, but all over the world. Ironically, death and the practice of it dictated how the world was run. From Pakistan to Inglewood, the touch of the reaper had no bounds.
He touched his hand to his neck and felt the scratches Monifa had left the night before. He hoped that they would heal by the time he went home to Sharell. Just thinking of her and how he had violated their relationship made him feel low. He was wrong for sleeping with Monifa, but it felt so right. Sharell had always tried her best to know his heart, but Monifa knew it a little more intimately. They had come up through the good times and the bad, before New York had even been a thought on his mind. In that moment of weakness he craved her familiarity and like men tend to do he let his little head do the thinking for his big one. He wondered to himself how that would change the already complex dynamics of what was going on in his life.
He ran his hands through his wild mane. It would be even more of a mess if he didn't get it done before the sun began its merciless noon onslaught. His clothes and sneakers were soiled from the grass in the backyard and there would be nothing he could do about it before Danny and Tears came back from the hotel with the rest of their stuff. It had already been decided that they would stay at the house for the remainder of their trip. His family needed him and he needed them.
Gutter picked up the forty of Old English that was sitting by his foot, and swigged thirstily. “So much death,” he whispered.
The creaking of floorboards caused him to turn around. Monifa was standing behind him, with her arms folded across her breasts. Her hair hung loosely, fanning out over her shoulder. Her lips were lightly coated in a peach shade, like remnants of something she drank. Monifa's eyes stared down at him, but there was no malice, only hurt and need. She motioned toward the step one level above him and he nodded. Giving a slight tug to her denim shorts, she took the seat.
She was silent for a minute, just staring at him. He looked like a warrior prince with his wild hair and sharp ebony features. Monifa had always found Gutter beautiful, even when he tried to come off as hard and insensitive. She knew both sides of the man and had long ago come to terms with who he was and what he was about. This was one of the reasons she found herself so hopelessly in love.
“Hey,” she said weakly.
“Sup,” he replied. “I thought you got up outta here?”
“I did. I went home to change clothes, but came right back to see if Rahshida needed anything.”
“You're a sweet kid.” He chuckled.
“Oh, so now I'm a
kid,
huh? I don't know, Gutter, I seemed old enough this morning.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Mo, about thatâ”
“Save it.” She held her hand up. “It was a onetime thing, Gutter. It wasn't that serious,” she lied. On the outside Monifa tried to carry it like the night was just nothing but a nut, but they both knew it was more than that. Her soul craved him, but she knew that Gutter would never again be hers.
“Your hair looks a hot mess,” she joked, changing the subject.
Gutter managed to muster up a smile. “I didn't do this on my
own,” he said sarcastically. “Besides, I ain't really had a whole lot of time for grooming.”
Monifa pulled a comb from her back pocket and patted her inner thigh with it. “Sit back and let me tighten you up, smart-ass.” She took the step just above the one he was sitting on. Gutter slid back and rested his head against her leg. Slowly, Monifa began the task of untangling his hair and rebraiding it. “So, where's Danny this morning?”
“I sent him and Tears back to the hotel, then they gotta stop over at the mall to get me a new cell phone. With everything going on ⦠I kinda smashed my old one.”
“You and that temper.” She popped him on the head playfully with the comb.
“You know, this reminds me of back in the days, us sitting out and you braiding my hair,” he recalled.
“Yeah, seems like so long ago.” Monifa paused. “Ken, what happened to us? What happened to you?”
“The hood,” he said honestly. “I got so caught up in this shit that I couldn't think of anything else. Not my family, my loved ones. Nothing was more important to me than the set.”
“Even me?”
Gutter paused momentarily, gathering his thoughts. He thought about feeding her another line of bullshit, but he owed her more. He owed her the truth. “Mo, you gotta understand the circumstances surrounding my leaving Cali. A cop and his partner died and their blood was on my hands.” He proceeded to tell her the whole story about what had happened that night in the O'Leary house. Monifa was shocked, and had a thousand questions, but she let him finish his story. When it was done, she was crying and his eyes were moist.
“My God, I never knew,” she sobbed.
“Not many people did.” He took another drink. “The LAPD rode down on the hood, pressing niggaz for a killer. It was only a matter of time before one of these fools started running their fucking traps. The big homeys decided that it was best for me and Lou to get low for a while. Lou-Loc had had enough of Cali anyhow, so it was cool for him to relocate to New York. Me, shit I couldn't wait to get back to the hood. The thing is, we started getting money on the East Coast. We blew up real fast, baby. The next thing I knew, years had passed and neither of us was in a rush to get home.”
“You could've called or written me, Kenyatta,” she insisted.
“And said what? âHey Monifa, I moved away from Cali to become an even worse criminal on the East Coast.' Nah, baby, I had already done enough damage to your life and didn't want to cause more. I figured in time, you'd forget about me and move on. Maybe find yourself a good working dude. I ain't the kind of nigga you need in your life.”
“Kenyatta, that is the most selfish thing I've ever heard,” she said seriously. “How do you know what kind of man I need in my life? Jesus, I can't tell you how many nights I laid awake thinking about you. I've been with other guys since you, but none measured up. You were my first and
only
love.”
Gutter craned his neck to face her. “Monifa, Iâ” his words were swallowed when she placed her mouth over his. Monifa kissed him deep and passionately, and he returned it. They stroked each other's faces, and for just a few seconds everything was as it had been. The moment was shortlived as they heard a series of whistles coming from the house, followed by Tears appearing in the doorway.
“What the fuck is going on, cuz?” Gutter asked, ready to answer the war call.
“The sentries bagged a slob creeping through,” Tears said, lumbering down the stairs, tossing Gutter a pistol as he passed. The homeys were hot on his heels.
“Is he still alive?” Gutter asked no one in particular.
Rahkim pulled the slide on the sawed-off pump, “For the moment.”
Gutter looked from the jogging forms of Rahkim and Criminal to Monifa. Her eyes pleaded with him not to follow, but she knew better. Gutter was a soldier, and thus had to be in the trenches. When she nodded in understanding he took off after his comrades.
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BY THE
time the trio had made it to the end of the block, Mad Man and Lil Blue Bird were coming their way. Both the youngsters were dressed in dark sweatshirts and jeans. The young men were wearing the confident smiles of game hunters that had just bagged a prize. Walking between them was a soldier that Gutter recognized from the other side.
Pudgy was a portly young man, with a round face and thick neck. He was a highly respected member of the Mad Swans, who had spilled his fair share of blood over the years. Usually when a set was planning a raid they used cannon fodder as scouts. They would never send a soldier of Pudgy's value for fear of losing him. Gutter wondered why they had chosen him, but his curiosity would soon be satisfied.
“We caught this nigga creeping, cuz,” Mad Man lisped. A few years prior he had had his two front teeth knocked out by some cops, so he whistled a little when he spoke.
“Yeah, old boy was riding in a mean Benz,” Lil Blue added.
“Punk-ass slob.” Rahkim raised the sawed-off. “My brother
ain't even cold yet and you got the nerve to show your stinking face round here. Y'all little niggaz move so I can peel this bitch!”
“Easy, Unc.” Gutter stepped between Rahkim and Pudgy. “Pudge, I know you ain't got a death wish, so I assume you got a good reason for being here? Start talking before these hammers do.” Gutter motioned toward his heavily armed entourage.
Pudgy was clearly as nervous as a rabbit in a pit of vipers, but he tried to steady his voice when he spoke. “Listen, man, I didn't wanna come here to die, but they said it would be a show of good faith.”
“Who the fuck is they?” Criminal asked.
“The homeys from Swan, Trik wants to meet with you guys.”
“Fuck Swan!” Rahkim raged, stepping around Gutter and placing the sawed-off to Pudgy's large stomach. “You niggaz killed my brother, ain't shit to talk about.”
Pudgy fought to control his bowels. When the homeys gave him his mission, he told them that he'd wanted no part of it. The Soladines were a wild lot and there was no reasoning with them. Still, Trik had insisted he do it. It was either that or be tried as a traitor. Now, Pudgy found himself about to be executed for trying to do his duty. His only hope would be to reason with the more sensible member of the clan.
“Gutter, man, tell dude to stall me out,” he pleaded.
“And why the fuck should I?” Gutter glared at Pudgy. “Swans shot my uncle and y'all knew he wasn't riding no more. Fuck you and your whole set. Mad Man, Lil Blue, take this faggot somewhere and waste him. When you're done, dump his body in Swan hood.”
“Wait, man!” Pudgy pleaded, as the youngsters grabbed hold of him. “We didn't hit Gunn.”
“Yeah, so who the fuck put the work in on my uncle, Santa
Claus? Don't change the fact that a fuck nigga in a red suit did it.”
“Gutter.” Pudgy tried to compose himself. “Please, just meet with Trik. He can clear this whole mess up.”
“Don't listen to him,” Rahkim said. “Trik is probably just trying to lure us out. Let's smoke this muthafucka for the big homey, nephew.”
“It ain't like that, man,” Pudgy insisted. “Trik just wants to bring an end to all this shit. On my kids, we ain't lay hands on yo people.”
Gutter mulled it over for a few. Though Trik was quite a few years older than him, Gutter knew what he was about. Back in the day Trik had the reputation of being one of the most savage niggaz in the hood. If he wanted to get at the Soladines he wouldn't have sent a messenger, he would've come in with an army. But for as savage as Trik was, he was one of the few niggaz left who respected the old codes.
“Okay, we'll meet with Trik,” Gutter agreed. Rahkim started to protest, but Gutter waved him silent. “When and where?”
Pudgy visibly relaxed. “Trik said y'all could meet at the Beverly Center.”
“Fuck that nigga, who say he get to pick where the fuck we meet? Them ol ho-ass niggaz probably got something cooked up over that way.”
“Dawg, I wouldn't play wit y'all or my life like that, Trik ain't plotting,” Pudgy tried to convince Gutter.
“Nah, cuz, I'm wit my uncle on this one. We pick the spot or it don't happen.” Gutter thought on it for a minute. “That Beverly Center shit is out; we'll meet in the Beach ⦠the old church on Fourth.”