S
ATIN SAT
on the love seat in the plush living room staring out the window at downtown Brooklyn. She thought she had been dreaming that night in the hospital when Cross had come. She was afraid of the dark-skinned man at first, but there was a calming quality to him ⦠almost a familiarity. When she was placed into the back of the darkened van she thought sure that it would be her last ride, but to her surprise he had brought her to Sharell. From what she was able to gather from the conversation he had done it for Lou-Loc. She had no idea what kind of connection the Goth could've had with Lou-Loc, but she would look into that afterward. What mattered now was that she was free to raise her child.
“How're you feeling, Satin?” Sharell descended the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of Bibs and white Air Max. Her stomach looked as if it would burst through the fabric if she moved the wrong way.
Satin smiled up at her. “Considering ⦠yeah, I'm cool.”
Sharell sat on the couch and placed a hand over Satin's. “Baby, you've been through a lot so it's gonna take some time to heal. And never forget that me and Kenyatta got your back.”
“Gutter,” Satin said out loud, listening to the name that she had heard dozens of times. “It's funny, because I've only heard stories about him and I feel like I've known him since forever.”
“You don't go listening to what people have to say about my Ken, he ain't that bad,” Sharell joked. “Anyhow, I gotta run out real quick, but I'm coming right back. You sure you don't wanna come with me and get some air, sugar?”
“Nah, I'm okay, but thanks. I think I'm just gonna stay in and get my head together,” Satin told her.
“Okay, but you know you can't spend the rest of your days hiding in the house. We still gotta get you to the gynecologist to see about my little niece or nephew, but I wanna speak to Kenyatta and Snake Eyes to see what the legal situation is gonna look like.”
“God, I'll probably be a fugitive for the rest of my days.” Satin put her head in her hands.
“You don't go worrying about that, I'm sure Snake Eyes is gonna get the matter cleared up. At the least he can tie it up in so much red tape that the baby will be starting pre-k by the time you go to trial. We didn't wait this long to get you back, just to have them snatch you away again, Satin. Leave it in the Lord's hands and everything will be fine.” She hugged her.
“Thank you, Sharell.” Satin squeezed her back. “You hardly know me and you've already done so much. I don't know how I could ever repay you.”
“Don't even worry about that, Satin. Lou-Loc was my brother so that makes you my sister. Family will take care of family, baby. Now let me get outta here so I can hurry up and get back.” Sharell stood to leave. “There are some leftovers in the fridge in case you get hungry,
but I'm gonna bring some manna back with me when I come. You want me to leave Mohammad here with you while I'm gone?”
Satin recalled the dark-haired man who stood between Sharell and Cross, and how empty his eyes were even in the face of certain death. Being around Cross was frightening, but there wasn't much comfort with Mohammad either.
“I'll be cool.” Satin rubbed her arms.
“Okay, well I'll see you in a few hours. If you need me just call.” Sharell held up her cell phone. Once she was sure that Satin was good she headed out.
When the door locked behind her, Satin curled her legs beneath her on the couch and picked up the remote. It had been so long since she'd watched videos that she hoped she could keep up with the new music scene.
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SHARELL STEPPED
out of her building, humming a tune with a name she didn't remember, but it brought her plenty of joy as a child. Mohammad nodded at her passing, but didn't get out of his car, nor did she expect him to. Though his eyes seemed as alert as ever, she knew that the incident with Cross had disturbed him. After the encounter he opened his mouth to apologize, but Sharell waved him silent.
She hit the remote, popping the locks on her X5, and tossed her purse in the backseat. When she went to climb behind the wheel a cold chill ran up her back. She glanced around cautiously, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary on the block. Shrugging it off as the nervousness that came with harboring a fugitive, Sharell got behind the wheel and started the car.
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WHEN B-HIGH
raised his face from the armrest, he looked like he'd been given a facial using baking powder. His eyes were wide and glassy, and his limbs were pumped with adrenaline. He tried to clear his nostril, but there was too much cocaine lodged in it. The Spanish cats he scored from were trying to bust his brain wide-open with the sweet white they served up. Reluctantly, he removed a napkin from the floor and blew his nose. He hated to waste good cocaine, but it was better than suffocating himself.
It turned out to be a good thing that the coke got lodged in his nose. Otherwise he might've missed Sharell coming out of her building. The powder he'd snorted supercharged his brain and demanded he take her on the spot, but the killer Major Blood had shaped held him in his seat. There were too many people on the block and he doubted if he could even get to her before her shadow popped off.
Patience over passion,
he told himself.
Sharell wasn't wearing a uniform so he knew that she wasn't going to work. It was probably a short run, because Sharell didn't stray too far from home if it wasn't work-related, and even when it wasn't her shadow was forever present.
B-High had gotten a kick out of the standoff between the two men. He was actually about to turn in for the night when he saw Sharell come out of the building, with her bodyguard standing out in the open. Until then he had been little more than a shade that she whispered to when she thought no one was watching. B-High was always watching, just like Major Blood had taught him. He didn't know what part the disheveled-looking girl played in Major's plan, but people skulking around in the night were always worth looking into.
From a slumped position in his seat he watched Sharell head toward her car. He'd almost thought she spotted him when she looked around suspiciously. Thankfully, she kept moving. Right
after Sharell pulled out, the shadow got on her tail. Sliding from his car he moved to Sharell's building. It didn't take much for him to jimmy the lock and slip in. He found a nondescript utility closet and ducked inside. B-High took the small tinfoil package from his pocket. Sharell was sure to be gone for at least a few hours so he decided to party a little while he waited.
H
IGH SIDE
was lounging in front of the corner store on 142nd and Lenox Avenue, drinking a forty ounce. Periodically he would look up from the newspaper on his lap and scan the block for signs of trouble. Though his friend hadn't said it, he knew the situation unfolding around Harlem had him rattled. Next to Gutter, Pop Top was the most dangerous cat in Harlem, so if Major Blood had him spooked then they had a serious problem.
Around the corner, inside of the second building, a young man served the fiends that High Side sent his way. When Lou-Loc had divided up the territories this became High Side's domain. He had occasional trouble with the Blood cats from Seventh, but for the most part they respected him enough not to tread directly on his turf.
“Break ya self, nigga!” Young Rob said, walking up on High Side. He was followed by C-style, and they both looked high as hell.
“Man, you need to quit playing so much. You know we got
drama out here, fool. Playing like that can get yo shit pushed back,” High Side told him.
“Nigga stop fronting like you extra G wit it. You're so caught up in that forty and last night's basketball scores that you ain't even on point. What you gonna do if that nigga Major Blood run up on you?”
High Side smiled and lifted the newspaper, exposing the large handgun on his lap. “Put a fucking hole in him.”
“Solid.” Rob gave him dap. “So, what's the word on the streets?”
High Side shrugged. “Not much. There were a few incidents, but since them Brownsville niggaz put the mash on them two cats, it's been pretty quiet.”
“I'm glad to hear that,” C-style said. “Since y'all niggaz been banging out the block has been on fire. I can't even pump my little weed in the hood no more.”
“You wasn't getting no money anyhow,” Rob joked.
Rob and C-style traded insults, while High Side laughed at both of them. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a car pulling up to the light. It wasn't unusual as 142nd was a busy block. The strange part about it was the way the female passenger in the backseat was looking at him. It wasn't a look of recognition, but one of hatred. At the moment the passenger side door swung open, High Side made his move.
High Side sprang to his feet and threw the crate he was sitting on at the car, shattering the windshield. The young man who had been trying to climb from the car fell back, trying to avoid the spray of glass. The back door opened up and Ruby hopped out, blasting away with her Desert Eagle. The storefront glass shattered, but none of the bullets hit anyone.
Ruby's eyes flashed pure hatred as she tried to lay down her
enemies. When she had approached Hawk about sanctioning a hit on Harlem, he brushed her off, saying that Major would handle it. He might've had faith in the assassin handling the problem, but Ruby refused to sit by and wait. The Crips would answer for the murder of her lover.
Rob knocked C-style to the ground just as bullets whistled over their heads. Not bothering to see if she was hit, Rob rolled on his back and began firing his .38. The bullets tore into the car, but he too failed to hit anyone.
Two more men climbed from the now bullet-riddled car as it turned the corner of Lenox Avenue. They opened fire on the block, not really caring who they hit. High Side got low and cut through the crowd of people that were scattering up the block. Firing from one knee, he hit one of the shooters in the throat. The man dropped his gun and clutched at the hole in his neck. Blood spilled over his fingers and down the front of his shirt as he crashed to the ground.
“Die muthafuckas!”
Ruby roared, firing her cannon. The Eagle sent shock waves up her arm every time it bucked, but she held it in a death grip. She didn't even bother to take cover as Rob and High Side exchanged fire with her crew. Her own safety was no longer an issue. All that mattered to her was revenge.
Rob tried to get out of the line of fire, but was too slow. Ruby hit him once in the leg and twice in the back. Rob tried to keep his feet, but vertigo overcame him and he hit the ground. Rob was leaking all over the place, but he still tried to crawl to the hysterical C-style.
The remaining shooter had managed to back High Side into the doorway of the bodega. The small man who worked the register quickly slammed the small wooden door, separating himself from the skirmish and grabbed his phone to call the police. The
shooter was trying to bring his firing arm around, but High Side held onto his wrist for dear life, while hitting him with a series of left hooks to the skull.
Over the shooter's shoulder he saw his little man, Young Rob, slam face first into the ground. Ruby was easing up on the boy's prone body to finish him off, but High Side was too busy fighting for his own life to do anything about it. He watched in horror as she knelt beside Rob and blew the back of his head off with the Eagle.
High Side's grief lasted for about five seconds before it was replaced with blinding rage. He grabbed the shooter by his arm and slammed his knee into it, at the elbow. The shooter howled in pain as the gun went flying from his hand. High Side cracked him with a savage right to the jaw, sending him spilling out onto the street. High Side went to pen him, but froze when he heard a round being chambered to his right.
Ruby drew a bead on High Side, who was frozen like a deer in headlights, and prepared to finish him off. Though she knew the young man wasn't Gutter, he'd been identified as a shooter for Harlem Crip. High Side had murdered quite a few of her folk, so he definitely had to go. No sooner than Ruby's finger brushed the trigger, pain exploded in her chest. She looked down at her blouse, which now had a red stain in the middle. On shaky legs, Ruby turned to see C-style holding Rob's smoking gun.
“Bitch,” Ruby gasped. “You shot me.” She was dead before she hit the ground.
With the immediate threat being taken care of, High Side refocused his attention on his attempted murderer. The shooter's arm hung limp at his side as he tried to get up using one arm. High Side drew his pocketknife and grabbed the shooter by the back of his shirt.
“Fuck you think you going?” He yanked the shooter to his feet. “You was gonna kill me huh, muthafucka?” High Side cut his face with the blade. “Yeah, I told you niggaz about fucking around in Harlem.” He plunged the knife into the shooter's gut. High Side stabbed him over and over again. Even when the shooter went down, High Side continued to plunge the knife into his chest, arms, legs, or whatever else was exposed. Only when he heard the familiar police sirens in the distance did he stop stabbing the man.
Wiggling the blade deeper into the wound, High Side broke it off in the man's chest then addressed C-style. “Baby girl, we gotta roll!” High Side called, while wiping his bloody hands on the dead shooter's pants.
“Oh, Rob,” she sighed over his ruined body.
“C, we gotta go, now!” High Side said more forcefully. When C-style didn't respond, he grabbed her by the arms and yanked her to her feet. “C”âhe turned her to face himâ“Cory, that nigga gone and you can't honor his memory behind no damn bars. Now bring yo ass on, girl!”
C-style said her final goodbyes to Rob and allowed High Side to lead her away at a jog. In the course of a few seconds her life had been irreversibly changed. Rob was dead and she had officially caught her first body. Until then she had been little more than a supporter, but now found herself in it up to her ass.