Gutter

by K'wan

“Damn right. I paid a grip for that joint.” He smiled and shoved her playfully. A small static current passed between them, causing Monifa to flinch.

  “Guess that old spark ain’t totally dead, huh?” She rubbed her arm.

  “Guess not,” he replied. “Mo, about the other day-”

  “Gutter, there ain’t no more to be said about it. You’ve got your life in New York and I’ve got mine out here,” she told him, getting off the bed to go stand by the window. Monifa only called him Gutter when she was angry or trying to put distance between them.

  Gutter sucked his teeth. “I love how you try to make shit all black-and-white.”

  She glared at him. “Gutter, you left me without a word and started a life with your new bitch in New York. It don’t get no more black-and-white than that.”

  “Ain’t no need for name-calling,” he said. He sat the bottle on the ground and became a bit more serious. “Watch ya mouth, hear?”

  Monifa laughed. “What, you getting sensitive because I’m talking about ya bitch?”

  “I ain’t gonna tell your ass no more.” He slid off the bed and stood nose to nose with her, his green eyes flashing anger. A few years ago, Monifa would’ve shrunk under his gaze, but this was a whole new day and a whole new Monifa.

  “Gutter, you can miss me with that mean-mug shit, because I’m hardly impressed. Save that for them buster-ass niggaz y’all be tripping on. I ain’t scared of you, Kenyatta.”

  “Monifa, don’t push me,” he warned.

  “Push you? Push you? Kenyatta Soladine, you’ve got hella nerve after the way you pushed me right out of your life. You’re lucky I didn’t try to kill your ass when you showed back up on the West.” She went to mush him, but he grabbed her wrist, causing her to wince.

  The moment Monifa felt the pain shoot up her arm she knew she’d gone too far. There was a look in Gutter’s eyes that she’d only seen before he was going out to “put in work.” Though they had once been lovers, she didn’t know the man who stood before her. She expected him to strike her, or at the least toss her across the room, but to her surprise he kissed her.

  Gutter’s lips pressed against hers so hard that she thought her teeth would pierce her upper lip. The kiss was not a soft passionate kiss of a lover, more like that of a rapist conquering his victim. Never one to be outdone Monifa nicked his bottom lip, almost drawing blood.

  Monifa’s body suddenly felt weightless. The room became a swirl of colors, devoid of sound save for the beating of two lovers’ hearts. She raked her nails along Gutter’s neck, to match the iron-like fingers that were digging into her back. A cool wind caressed her cheek and she thought sure that she was falling down a bottomless pit, until the softness of the bed’s mattress touched her back.

  Looking up into his eyes, those same eyes that often made her feel loved or terrified, Monifa found that it was hard for her to concentrate. She promised herself that she wouldn’t let him back in, that she would carry the hate with her forever, but she couldn’t. Though Gutter had done her wrong, she still wanted him… no, she needed him.

  With a tug, Gutter had torn off her tank top fumbling with her bra strap. Tiring of his clumsy fingers she popped the latch, exposing ripe cinnamon breasts and brown, silver-dollar nipples. Gutter suckled her breasts like a starved child, while she moaned in ecstasy. Grabbing a fistful of his braids, she yanked his head back and bit into his neck, drawing a yelp from him. The bite wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but it was hardly friendly. Strangely enough this seemed to turn him on more.

  Grabbing her by the waist he flipped her over onto her stomach. Monifa’s back arched as he ran his tongue down her spine. Gutter proceeded to pull her jeans off and plant kisses on her ass cheeks. She thought she saw spots when he pulled her thong to the side and started lapping at her kitten from behind. His tongue moved in and out of her pussy like a hot spear, hitting spots that he was clueless to when they were an item. He had obviously been practicing. She shook him off and flipped over, wrapping her legs around his neck and pulling his head further into her love cave, and he happily gorged on her. At that moment he was one of Jesus’ apostles and she was the last supper. As waves of pleasure rode her like a jockey she wondered how the hell she could’ve ever let him get away from her in the first place.

  Slowly, he slid up her body, tickling her with his beard. His catlike eyes twinkled as he whispered, “I missed this so much.”

  “Not as much as I did,” she panted. Monifa raised her head as much as she could under his weight and kissed him. Her juices tasted like sweet nectar on his lips. “I need you inside me, baby,” she pleaded. “Please, let me feel you.”

  Aiming with his thumb, Gutter slipped inside the warmth that was Monifa. Her walls felt like warm silk, gently tightening on his muscle as he dipped a bit deeper into her. Monifa hissed like she was in pain, but that didn’t stop her from pulling him in deeper. She raked her nails across the picture of Lou-Loc that he had on his back, begging him to go deeper still. Even when Gutter reached the furthest and deepest parts of her she begged for more.

  Monifa’s eyes rolled back in her head as Gutter slipped in and out of her in a steady rhythm. She let her tongue roam his neck then his chest, but stopped when she saw the tattoo above his heart. Sharell is what it said in Gothic letters. It was just another reminder of what Monifa had lost, which pissed her off. It was at that moment that the intense pleasure mixed with the mounting rage took over. Digging her nails into the back of his neck she began slamming herself against him like she was trying to break his penis off inside her.

  Gutter saw the change come over Monifa, but he was too lost in the warmth to care. He didn’t know what had gotten into her but if she wanted to be fucked then he would gladly oblige. Gutter slapped her hands away and moved his upper body out of the girl’s reach. Using his arms he locked her legs around his waist and started plowing into her. Monifa tried to scream, but he leaned in and silenced her with his mouth. They half kissed, have devoured each other while still slamming their bodies together.

  Not bothering to remove himself from her, he flipped Monifa on her side, with one leg resting on his shoulder and the other pinned between his legs. Gutter cursed, snarled, and damn near foamed at the mouth as he could feel all the energy in his body concentrating itself in his privates. Monifa felt so good that he wasn’t ready to come, but when she bounced her heart-shaped ass against him it stole the choice from him. Gutter exploded inside Monifa like a small geyser before falling on the bed next to her, still inside her cave.

  Monifa snuggled against Gutter’s body and wrapped his arm around her. She could feel his heart beating erratically against her back. Monifa felt like all the tension she had carried around for the past two years was finally released. Though she didn’t fool herself about what had just happened it was still nice to be touched by someone she loved. She knew that as soon as Gunn’s business was concluded he would be back on a plane to New York where his girl was waiting, but didn’t ruin the moment by dwelling on it. Sharell had obviously won his heart, but at that moment his body belonged to her.

  chapter 19

  “HE’S STILL not picking up his phone,” C-style said, flipping her cell closed. “First B. T. and now China has gone missing, what the fuck is happening to our troops?”

  “We need to get a line on China,” Pop Top said, thinking of how funny he started acting after the murder. China was one of their click, but if Pop Top even thought he might snitch he was going to kill him. “C, I want you to swing by his mama house and see what’s up with the boy. If he ain’t there we gotta assume he’s flipped.”

  “Nah, not China, he’s one of us,” C-style defended him.

  “So was B. T.,” Hollywood reminded her. “I always knew that nigga was shady, but wasn’t nobody trying to hear me.”

  “I can’t believe that nigga was working for the other side,” C-style said in disbelief.

  “Fucking rat.” Pop Top slammed the glass of Hennessey he’d been sippi
ng. “He’s probably been sucking that L.C. dick since Lou-Loc whooped his fucking ass, so ain’t no telling how much they know about us.”

  “Damn, you think he gave up addresses or anything like that?” C-style asked nervously.

  “Shit, it wouldn’t surprise me,” High Side spoke up for the first time. “You can’t put nothing past a cocksucker, ma, no offense.” He smiled.

  “Fuck you, Side.” She punched him in the arm.

  “I’m glad you muthafuckas see this as some kinda playtime when we got the fucking devil on our heels. If Major Blood is here that means we managed to piss off somebody real important.”

  “What’s the skinny on this cat?” Hollywood asked.

  “Before today I had never met him personally, but he’s supposed to be official wit his murder game, since a shorty. Him and Lou-Loc had an ongoing beef; that’s how he got the scar behind his ear.”

  Hollywood whistled. “If he was able to get at Lou, he must be one bad muthafucka.”

  “So, what are we supposed to do?” Rob asked, sporting two fresh black eyes.

  “We war,” a voice to their rear answered. Bruticus was a hulk of a man, who wore a clean-shaven head and a thick gold chain bearing a transformer emblem. Bruticus was one of the founding members of the Decepticons back in the late eighties. He was notorious for his violence, so it was a brilliant strategic move when Lou-Loc suggested they recruit him for the cause. Bruticus and his team from Brownsville had been instrumental in the fall of L.C. Blood, with him having murdered at least four of their members personally.

  “I can agree with you on that one.” High Side nodded. “But how do we find this nigga, Major Blood?”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard. We ride on enough of his punk-ass boys; he’ll poke his head out again. Then we bust it open.” Bruticus chuckled. “Matter of fact, I got the perfect mark in mind. He’s a pussy, but he brings in a lot of money for them cats uptown. The best way to hurt a nigga is to cave his pocket in.”

  “Bet. Arm up and make it happen, my dude,” Pop Top told him. “C”-he turned to her-“hop in a cab and go see what up wit young China. You know where he lives, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m on it.” C-style grabbed her purse and prepared to bust her move.

  “I’m ready to rock when y’all niggaz are.” Hollywood cocked the hammer of his pearl-handled.357. “How you wanna do this, cuz?”

  “We gonna mash on these niggaz, on some guerrilla warfare shit.” Pop Top ground his fist into his palm. “I gotta a little nigga I’ve been hearing about that should make things real uncomfortable on them slobs.”

  “You know how Gutter don’t like bringing in no outsiders on family business,” High Side reminded him.

  “I hear that, playboy, but Gutter is in Cali and I’m holding the reins. Check, right now ain’t but so many niggaz on the turf that’s ’bout that body count. Niggaz is shooters, but they ain’t killers. Make no mistake about what I’m telling you, cuz. Major Blood is a stone killer and to combat a killer we need killers, smell me?”

  “Yeah, I got you, Top,” High Side told him. “So who you gonna call?”

  Pop Top grinned wickedly and said, “The Outlaw.”

  “C-STYLE” HOPPED out of the cab in front of China’s building and slammed the door with an attitude. While all the men were making plans for the war, she was reduced to playing the roll of errand girl. When she had joined the set, it was in search of adventure and stripes, but so far all she was used for was braiding hair and slinging weed. It wasn’t the most exciting roll, but it was better than getting passed around like some of the other home girls.

  There was a group of young men posted up on the stoop, passing a blunt and trying to look hard. To an outsider they’d have been intimidating, but C-style was unmoved by the tough guy antics. They were as much a part of the scenery as the wilted tree planted on the curb.

  “Sup, C-style?” one of the young men asked as she approached.

  “Shit, everything is blue,” she replied.

  “Damn, girl, you getting thick than a muthafucka,” another young man reached out to pinch her thigh, but she slapped his hand away viciously.

  “Nigga, you must be trying to lose that,” she snapped.

  “Aw, its like that, ma?”

  “I ain’t ya mama, nigga, and respect my space.”

  “Stall her out, cuz, you know Young Rob got that pussy on smash,” the first young man taunted.

  “And smash it he does,” C-style said smugly before going into the building and up to China’s apartment. She rapped heavily on the door and waited.

  Lucy Maynard snatched the door open with a scowl on her face and a Newport dangling from her mouth. She was a slightly plump woman with dark skin and full black hair, which she wore in a stylish cut. Her mouth was pursed to spew something hateful, but she relaxed when she recognized C-style.

  “Oh, hey, Cory, I thought you was somebody else.” She stepped aside to let C-style into the apartment.

  “You got drama, Ms. Lucy?” C-style asked. She and Ms. Lucy had always gotten along famously. She often hinted that she and China should hook up, but C-style never entertained it. China was cute, but she wasn’t trying to get passed around Harlem Crip like some of the other home girls.

  “Yeah, but as usual it ain’t my bullshit, it’s China’s. The police came around here looking for China again earlier and I thought you might’ve been them making a return trip. I swear, if it ain’t one thing it’s a fucking nothing. You know why they looking for his ass this time, Cory?”

  “No, ma’am,” C-style lied.

  Lucy gave her a disbelieving look. “I’ll just bet. You know, y’all seem to forget that I ain’t much older than you so I ain’t completely ignorant to what’s happening in the streets, it’s the same as when I was coming up. In the eighties we thought we knew more than the people coming out of the seventies, same as y’all do today, but what we ended up learning is that it’s the same bullshit. You understand where I’m coming from, C-style?”

  “Yes, Ms. Lucy.” C-style nodded, a bit embarrassed at Ms. Lucy’s use of her gang name.

  “Good. Come on.” She turned toward the hallway. “I just got back so I don’t know if China is here, but if he is he better not be up to no good in my damn house!” She said the last part loud enough for China to hear through his bedroom door. Ms. Lucy knocked twice before pushing China’s bedroom door open. The first thing she noticed was the rank smell and promised herself that she would make China clean his nasty room. But when she looked over at the bed her mind snapped. The bellow that came from Ms. Lucy was like nothing C-style had ever heard. Chanting, “Not my baby,” over and over again she rushed to her departed son.

  China was lying on his bed with his arms tucked peacefully behind his head and his ankles crossed. His face was calm and his eyes glassy, staring up at the ceiling. Had it not been for the fly perched undisturbed on his foam-crusted lips you could’ve mistaken him for sleeping. C-style had seen dead bodies in her lifetime but never someone close to her, never a friend.

  There was an empty pill bottle lying near his leg, and a folded piece of paper on his chest, labeled MOMMY. While Ms. Lucy grieved for her son, C-style picked up the slip of paper and read it. In the note China had gone on to explain to his mother how he had done some terrible things in life and was sorry for not being a good son. Apparently the weight of what he and Pop Top had done became too much to bear and he took the coward’s way out. C-style slipped the note into her pocket and went to console Ms. Lucy. There wasn’t much she could say to ease her pain, but the least she could do was hold her for a time. She kept her eyes on the top of Ms. Lucy’s head to keep from looking at China. She would make her report to Pop Top later, but the only thing that mattered at that moment was being there for Ms. Lucy.

  chapter 20

  BEDSTU, BROOKLYN

  NORMALLY, IT was against Gutter’s policies to seek outside help with problems involving the set, but Gutter wasn’t in charge at the
moment, Pop Top was. A young man, riding a motorcycle composed of parts from different bikes, cruised up Marcus Garvey Boulevard. He was smiling behind the face mask, but you couldn’t see it because of the skeleton’s face airbrushed onto the visor. Hanging from the handlebars of the bike were two blue bandannas, the calling card of the Crip army, but he wasn’t a banger, he was an outlaw, the last outlaw, let the streets and the obituaries tell it.

  Johnny Outlaw was a man barely out of his teens, but had already earned a reputation as being brutal and cold. He was among the elite in his field, which was killing. Pop Top had paid him a handsome fee, but he knew if anyone could get his point across, the Outlaw could.

  The young killer coasted to a stop at the corner of Jefferson and Marcus Garvey. There was a cluster of young men in the block between Jefferson and Throop shooting dice. There were about five of them in all, and none had the slightest clue as to what was about to go down. The Outlaw checked his Ingram M-10 9mm to make sure that the silencer was secure and one was in the chamber. It was a different weapon than he was accustomed to using, but Pop Top had promised him a few extra stacks per slob he dropped, and he intended on breaking the bank with the M-10. Satisfied that he was battle-ready, he revved the bike, emitting an eerie wailing sound from the custom exhaust pipes fitted onto it. Startled by the high-pitched sound the young men looked up from their game and the block burst into bright flashes.

  “MAN, I got fifty he four or better!” A kid wearing a beat-up Yankee hat called from the sidelines.

  “Ain’t nothing, I don’t mind taking ya money and ya man’s,” the man shaking the dice said. He was a portly young cat, just out of his teens and dying to make a rep for himself.

  Surrounding them were other thieves and hustlers from the block. Some had money tied up in the game and some were just watching. Almost three thousand dollars lay on the ground, tucked under feet or piled near the center. No one worried about anyone being stupid enough to try and rob the dice game. At that end of Jefferson Avenue, they didn’t play that old bullshit. There were dozens of Blood sets in New York City, but the boys from Jefferson boasted one of the most notorious. Between their little group they had accumulated more than a dozen bodies, and too many robberies to count. Their click was strong and they had the block on smash.