“Just what we need, some Cali clowns coming out here trying to tell us what to do.” She guzzled her bottle.
“This clown comes highly recommended,” Hawk said, taking the bottle away from her.
“I don't even give a fuck no more.” She slumped against the car. “I just want him dead.”
“Soon, I don't think that'll be much of a problem.”
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IT SEEMED
like Gutter had just gone to sleep when he heard his cell ringing on the nightstand. He grumbled something in Arabic under
his breath as he reached for the phone. It was four o'clock in the morning and he wondered who the hell could be calling him from a 310 area code.
“Hello?” he rasped.
“Kenyatta?” the caller asked.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Ken, it's Rahshida,” the woman replied. Rahshida was his aunt who lived in Watts.
“Auntie, it's one in the morning out there. Everything okay?” he asked, sitting up.
“Ken, oh God, I've been trying to get in touch with you all day.”
“Rahshida, what's wrong?”
“It's Gunn. He's been shot!”
Gutter almost dropped the phone. As if things couldn't get any worse. Big Gunn was like the surrogate father for all of the lil homeys on the set back home. It was because of him and his tutelage Gutter and Lou-Loc were able to come up through the ranks. He taught them what banging was really all about. In their eyes Gunn was invincible, now his aunt was on the phone telling him he'd been wounded.
“Kenyatta, are you still there?” Rahshida cried.
“Yeah, I'm here. How is he?”
“Not good. They're saying he might not make it. Oh, Ken, he was just going to the store and some Swans rolled up on him. They just startedâ”
“Don't even say no more over the phone,” he cut her off. “I'm catching the next flight out.” With that, he ended the call.
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“EVERYTHING OKAY?”
Sharell asked in a sleep-laden voice.
“Yeah, go back to sleep,” he replied, sliding out of bed.
Sharell was about to call out to him, but didn't. Whatever had stirred her man at this hour had to be of the utmost importance, but he would tell her when he was ready. Sharell tried to go back to sleep but couldn't. The early-morning phone call rattled her, but it was her visit with Satin that was nagging at her.
She was used to the wordless visits, but there was something different about Satin physically that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She had some sick days she needed to use anyhow so she decided to make another trip to see Satin the following day.
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AFTER MAKING
himself a drink, Gutter stepped out onto his balcony and lit a blunt. The news of his uncle's shooting was unexpected and ill-timed. There was a full-scale war raging in New York so he couldn't really afford to dip out, but his family came first. Taking a deep drag off the blunt, he looked out at the water.
It had been more than two years since Gutter had last walked in the California sunshine. He always knew he'd return, but not under these circumstances. Nearly his entire family was Crip'd out, but Big Gunn banged the hardest. Now that he was out of commission, the weight of restoring order would fall on Gutter.
He thought about Sharell and how the situation would affect her. She didn't really know his family, but she had love for them off the strength of him. When he broke the news of Gunn's shooting and his trip back home, she was sure to insist on going. It would be a tooth-and-nail fight when he told her no, but it was for the best. Gang life in New York was harsh, but nothing compared to the escalating feud in California. Los Angeles was truly the land of the heartless.
Gunn was an O.G. Touching him was a blatant sign of disrespect and justice would have to be dispatched swiftly to save face.
There was no doubt that the homeys were going to loc up and he would be smack-dab in the middle. He had already put Sharell through enough and wouldn't subject her to that. As the weed numbed his physical, his mind began to make preparations for the events to come.
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THE PRIVATE
room at the facility was completely dark and quiet. The only sound that could be heard on the floor was the small television that played in the nurse's station. The duty nurse and one of the orderlies watched a sitcom and drank beer, waiting for the end of their boring shift.
Satin tossed and turned fitfully, but she did not awaken. The unannounced visitor crept silently into her room as he always did. A chain hung from his belt, but made no sound as he moved across the tiled floor. The visitor looked down at the girl's sleeping form and wondered what she saw when she slept. The visitor reached out to touch her, but withdrew when she stirred. On more than one occasion he thought about intervening, but Satin's injury wasn't a physical one. For all of his gifts, there was nothing he could do about a broken heart.
“If only he'd taken the bargain,” the visitor whispered.
The floor nurse thought she heard voices coming from Satin's room so she went to investigate. Cautiously, she entered Satin's room sweeping her flashlight back and forth. The room was empty save for the young girl who occupied it.
“WE'VE BEEN
waiting here for forty-five minutes,” Eddie complained.
“Shut up, man.” Tito waved him off.
“Eddie's right,” Miguel added from the backseat. “The flight landed twenty minutes ago, and the guy still hasn't shown. We don't even know who we're looking for.”
“Please believe we'll know Major when we see him,” Tito assured him. “Y'all just chill.” Tito leaned back and lit a cigarette. He too shared their impatience, but that didn't change the fact that he had been ordered to pick up their guest. A council had been called to deal with the recent Crip insurgents and the murder of El Diablo, who had been a respected East Coast general. This suited Tito just fine. He wanted everyone who could connect him with the double cross to disappear anyhow.
Cisco had recruited Tito to double-cross El Diablo. He was to make it so the old L.C. leader was found with dirty guns in his car
and get sent off to jail. During the set up, things went wrong. El Diablo ended up getting smoked by his crazy-ass sister before the police could get to him. The bonus was that one of their greatest adversaries ended up getting clipped in the process. It seemed like a fair exchange. The only problem was, Cisco got whacked right after and the L.C. was thrown into disarray before he could make good on any of his promises. Instead of the promotion Cisco had assured him of, Tito found himself starving with the rest of the set.
A knock on the rear window startled the trio. They turned as one and saw a man standing beside the car. He was a stocky yellow cat who wore his hair parted into quarters, with four thick braids crowning his face. Dressed in a red leather varsity jacket and construction-colored Timberlands he didn't look like much, but a smart man knew that you never judge a book by its cover.
“Holy shit!” Miguel gasped.
“Who the fuck is that?” Eddie asked, being new to the click.
“Major Blood,” Tito said with a slight edge to his voice.
“Right on the money.” The stranger smirked. “The
real
Major Blood, homey. Tito”âhe glared at the young Latinoâ“I hear you been out here embarrassing my name?”
Drayton, or Major Blood as he was called, was one of the meanest cats you could ever have the misfortune of going against. He was born and raised in California, in a one-story stucco home off Piru Street. His father was a wayward Mexican, whom he had only met once, and his mother was a home girl, claiming the 900 block Bloods.
Just about everyone in the hood was either a Blood, or a supporter. It was usually what block you lived on that determined which side you chose, if any. Maria had always been attracted to the hard-ass street thugs, so when she and her parents moved to a Blood hood, it seemed only natural that she threw her lot in with them.
Her parents were always warning her against the gangs and the violence that came with their lifestyle, but it was hard to monitor the comings and goings of a wild young girl, and work three jobs between them. Maria's older sister Essie was reserved and obedient, but Maria was wild. Even when they forbade her to hang with the local gangsters, she would just sneak off every chance she could. This eventually led to her period standing her up, six months after her fifteenth birthday.
Her parents were irate. Her father would've beaten her to death had it not been for her mother's interference. They were disappointed with her, but they didn't cast her to the streets. Six and a half months later, she gave birth to Drayton.
A girl so young could never fully understand the burdens of parenthood, which is what happened with Maria. She eventually grew tired and frustrated with having her wings clipped at sixteen. She began going off and staying out later and later, putting the baby off on her parents. Her mother eventually had to quit her jobs to stay home with the child.
Drayton grew up watching his mother's antics as well as the violence and absorbed it. A child's mind is so very like a sponge in those early years, taking in whatever it comes into contact with. Drayton had the full “red” print on how to bang accordingly, but it wasn't until he was about five that his life would be defined.
On a rare night, Drayton had accompanied his mother and a group of her friends to a local fair. The only reason she had him along was because her parents had flat-out refused to babysit. Reluctantly, she took her son to the fair, and as it turned out had a pretty nice time. The home boys adored him and were very generous in showering him with popcorn and candy till his stomach hurt. He got on the makeshift rides, while they smoked pot and drank Old English.
As the day wound down the group made to leave the park. On the way out, one of Maria's people got into it with a group of Hoover Crips over an incident that was at least six months old. The beef was broken up when the sheriffs and their dogs started to bully their way toward the altercation. The two groups parted with violent glares and threats. One young man in particular radiated an especially menacing vibe.
His hazy green eyes looked down on young Drayton and studied him for what felt like an eternity then broke off. A cold chill ran down the child's back, even as the big man stormed away.
The new excitement, mixed with the weed and drinks, sent everyone into a fit of laughter. The Bloods poked their chests out and traded stories about what they would've done if the sheriff hadn't come. They weren't worried, because they had “straps” in the car, which was parked right outside the fairgrounds. The group of Crips walked in the other direction, deeper into the fair. Maria held the seat up, and Drayton hopped into the back of the Chevy.
The next few seconds would be embedded in his mind until the end of his days. He could remember his mother, with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, laughing at a joke someone told. Suddenly everything seemed to move in slow motion. Those same eyes he had seen at the fair were approaching from the rear. His bulky form was hunched over and moving swiftly. It was just like the army movies he had watched with his grandfather, he recalled. Everyone in the group was smiling, but the man wore a mask of pure hatred.
The tipsy group noticed him just as he was pulling a long revolver from beneath his blue sweatshirt. Bottles fell from hands and joints were abandoned as everyone tried to find cover. Drayton saw the man's lips moving, but he couldn't make out all the words.
The two he did catch would be his newfound purpose in life. “Hoover, nigga!” the man shouted. Then came the blood.
The revolver barked over and over, trying to touch everyone assembled. Some made it under cover, while others weren't so lucky. Maria fell in the latter. Her face had gone from a smile to a mask of terror. She was halfway in the car when the bullet exited her heart, and struck the seat right next to Drayton. Blood stained his face and clothes, but he didn't seem to notice. All he saw was his mother's cold, dead eyes.
The police rushed to the scene, but as usual, the shooter had already vanished. There were several injuries throughout the group, but only one fatality. At the funeral, his father showed up to pay his respects, but if he had knowledge that he had sired Drayton, he didn't show it. The lean mirror double of him looked the boy over once and disappeared. That was the last time they ever saw each other. Drayton would spend more than enough time in and out of foster care, while his grandparents fought the system for him. When they finally did get him home permanently, the seeds had already been planted.
Drayton began his career early and quickly excelled at it. He had been around gang-banging since infancy, so it was a part of who he was. He tried his hands at drugs and a few other hustles, but found that his real strength was in murder. Drayton didn't have the patience to stand around and sling stones. He wanted his money long and fast, and that didn't seem quick enough for him. Drayton capitalized on the one thing he had carried with him since early. Hate.
Murder came easy to him. It was a gift of sorts. Drayton would find new and innovative ways to kill his victims. Whatever his methods, they were always very bloody. As his calling card, he
would leave the bloody clothes of his victims on the doorsteps of their families or crews. This is what got him the nickname Major Blood.
The thirty-something-year-old had been putting in work since he was old enough to get “quoted,” a real live career banger. He was an iron-willed killer with a pack of wild young dawgz that wanted to be just like him, the most promising student being Young Reckless, his aunt Essie's only child. Just as Major had been poisoned, he passed it off to his little cousin. After a while he got his kicks from just kicking back and watching Reckless smash shit. It was around that time that Tito had adopted the nickname Lil Major Blood. It was a name that until recently he had held down with valor.
“One of you niggaz get my shit,” Major said, walking around to the passenger's side. He stood on the curb waiting for Eddie to get out, but Eddie just stared defiantly. “You gonna move or what?”
“What for? There's room in the back,” Eddie pointed out.
“See, I can already tell you New York niggaz got the game twisted.” Major Blood smirked. “Where's the respect for seniority?”
“Blood, I don't even know you. These niggaz say you supposed to be official, but what kinda credentials you come with?”
“Okay, tell you what”âMajor's arm shot out in midsentence. He snapped his elbow and caught Eddie in the nose with the back of his hand. Eddie's head bounced off the headrest and his hands covered his face.
Major snatched the door open, and pulled Eddie out. “Get yo ass out.” He shoved him and Eddie slunk out of the car and climbed into the backseat. Without being asked, Miguel got Major Blood's bag. Major pushed the passenger seat back to where it would be on Eddie's knees and relaxed. He stuck his hand down into his underwear and pulled out an ounce of sticky green. Without looking, he tossed it into the backseat.
“Roll that,” he ordered. “Tito, drive this muthafucka before I catch a case.”
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INOP ON
Seventh Avenue was as crowded as usual. It was only eleven thirty, but people filled the booths as well as stood in line trying to fill their bellies and seeing who was out. The wait time was twenty minutes, but Gutter and his crew were seated as soon as they entered. Hollywood was fucking the hostess. The men climbed into the booth and placed their orders. When the waitress had gone, they got down to business.
“That's some heavy shit, cuz,” Hollywood said from the corner. “How bad is he hit up?”
“I don't know yet.” Gutter tugged at his beard. He had run a comb through it before hitting the streets, but it still made him look like a wild-ass mountaineer. “My aunt just told me that some Brims dumped on him. Shit!”
“Man, Gunn is a stand-up dude. That was some bold shit them busters pulled, but they gonna catch it. I'm rolling wit you, cuz,” Pop Top declared.
“Nah.” Gutter shut him down. “I ain't going to war; I'm going to see my fam. When I get the story, this shit is gonna get handled. In the meantime we keep up the effort over here. They call themselves Bloods, so make 'em bleed!”
“You know I got you faded all day, my nigga,” Pop Top assured him.
“True indeed.” Gutter nodded. “Now, y'all know them niggaz is gonna be out for blood behind what happened with Supreme so move smart about it and be on constant alert. No cowboy shit, just tactical hits. If these muthafuckas even look like they wanna frog up, put the love on 'em.” Gutter crumbled his napkin for emphasis.
“You know we gonna keep it funky out here while you're gone,” Danny assured him.
“You're coming with me,” Gutter announced to everyone's surprise, including Danny. “We about to step off into some heavy shit and I don't know who I can still trust out there other than my family and Snake Eyes.”
“Aw shit, I might even get a chance to put it on one of them West Coast niggaz,” Danny joked.
Gutter looked at him seriously. “Danny, this ain't no game. We about to step into a war-torn city, where these little niggaz ain't got a problem caving your fucking melon in just for the stripes.”
Danny sucked his teeth.
“You better listen to what the homey is telling you. Think about it like a trip to the Holy Land, nigga,” Pop Top added.
“If my uncle dies you're likely to see more gunplay than you're ready for,” Gutter said seriously.