Gutter

by K'wan

  Tito glared at his best friend, realizing at that moment just how ignorant Miguel really was. “Jesus, don’t listen to this warped muthafucka. Son, you gonna always be a Blood and ain’t nothing that none of us other than God or a bullet can do about it, but always think outside the box. You ain’t gotta be no killer or play the corners to support your hood. Be down for yours by blowing the fuckup one day. You can make more paper owning your own business than you can out here pitching stones.”

  “You sound like Satin.” Jesus laughed. “She was always telling me the same shit, but I never listened to her.”

  “You should’ve. Satin has always had a good head on her shoulders.” Tito nodded.

  “Yeah, she did.” Jesus got silent for a minute. “Blood, that shit fucks me up every time I go see her. I look at the chick up in that place and think that this can’t be my fucking sister,” he said emotionally.

  “Don’t trip, man. She’ll come around sooner or later,” Tito lied. “You just keep doing what you gotta do and take care of that aunt,” Tito said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a knot of money. “Go buy her some flowers or some shit.” He handed him some folded-up bills.

  “Thanks, man.” Jesus accepted the money. “Tito, you should come up with us and see her one of these days. You know we’re all we got left.”

  Tito fidgeted. “I know, my nigga, I just be crazy busy. I’ll tell you what, how ’bout we drive up there next week?”

  “That’s a bet.” Jesus smiled. “Yo, I gotta burn it, but I’ll hit you later on.” He gave Miguel dap then Tito.

  “A’ight, Blood,” Tito said. As he sat there watching a young man who had been like a little brother to him make his way out of the projects he couldn’t help but feel like shit. He knew damn well that he wouldn’t be going to see Satin next week, nor would anyone else. By that time the next day Satin Angelino would be dead.

  THERE’S A place in our minds somewhere between sleep and awake where reality and dreams overlap and your senses are slow to recognize which is which. This is where Satin found herself at that moment. She had come out of her stupor, but things were still jumbled in her mind. It was as if a whole year had been wiped away and she struggled to make sense of what had happened.

  “Life,” she heard the word whispered somewhere in the back of her mind. It was the last word her lover had spoken to her in the dream, but it was not his voice.

  “Life,” she mouthed in her dream, but there was no sound. She recognized the word, but it no longer held any meaning for her. A life without him was a cheap imitation.

  For the millionth time she tried to shut out the world around her and escape to the sleeping place, but it had rejected her. Within the recesses of her mind she had been able to escape the world around her, but thanks to Lou-Loc’s last visitation she had been barred and forced to face the world around her. She had a life growing inside her, a life she and Lou-Loc had created. If she hadn’t believed in miracles before, she did then. For as thrilled as she was about becoming a mother, and getting back a part of what she lost, the fact remained that she was the property of the state of New York. If she didn’t escape the hospital, chances were that she would never get to know her child.

  “Life,” the voice said again. This time there was something more to the word, as if a hand had slapped her across the face, without actually touching her. “Remember his warning child. You must be here to water the seed, sleep isn’t for you. Life, Satin.”

  Lou-Loc, Michael, her parents. The faces of everyone she had lost flashed through her head like a cheap movie reel. They were all dead, but the sleeping place allowed her to be with them. Did this mean she wanted to die too? No! There would be no more sleeping, her seed needed her. Feeling a presence in the room Satin’s eyes snapped open. She was about to roll over to see who was there when she was suddenly lifted violently off the bed.

  THERE WAS hardly anyone on the floor save for the nurse, who sat at her usual post in front of the portable television. She was so engrossed in her show that she barely gave the young doctor’s badge a second look as he strode past whistling a tune. Had she been on her job she’d have noticed that the picture on the ID card looked nothing like the man who had it clipped to his white lab coat.

  Major Blood had taken out his braids and brushed his mane back into a neat ponytail, bringing out his handsome features. Once inside the hospital he had swiped a pair of scrubs and the lab coat from a laundry cart that had been abandoned in the hallway. No one gave him so much as a second look when he helped himself to one of the computers to find out which room Satin Angelino was being kept in.

  Glancing up and down the hall to make sure no one was watching Major Blood slipped into Satin’s room. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before pulling out his silenced.22. Satin had her back to him, sleeping peacefully. Moving stealthily, he made his way to the bed and leveled the gun.

  In all truth he knew that killing the girl was totally unnecessary, but the money had already been dropped. “Nothing personal, shorty, but I always fill my contracts,” he whispered before squeezing the trigger.

  SHARELL HAD been in her duplex crying and praying all evening. The word had come down about Big Gunn passing and she took it pretty bad. Though she’d never met him personally, they enjoyed a few phone conversations and she knew that he and Gutter were close. She expected Gutter to be just as broken up over his uncle’s death, but he was surprisingly calm. So much so that it made her nervous. She knew that he had been a warrior all his life and death was the norm for the children of Los Angeles, but there was an edge to him that chilled her. Without having to be told she knew a shit storm was about to rain over L.A. and she just hoped her man would make it back to her in one piece.

  After receiving her condolences, Gutter dropped the bomb on her. She couldn’t say that she was too surprised though. When Gutter got motivated enough about something he wasted no time in putting a plan in motion. He wouldn’t go into detail about how he had managed to pull it off, but she knew that there would be consequences because of it. Still, he had called on her to do her part and she would answer without question.

  There was a nasty chill to the wind, but it was to be expected for the hour of the night it was. A shadow in her peripheral vision made her jump. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was just a cat slithering between the trash cans. She gave a cautious glance to her left and saw nothing, but she knew he was there. Mohammad had been against the idea and he expressed this to Gutter, but Sharell insisted. For something as important as this, she was the only one who could be trusted with the task.

  Sharell could see headlights in the distance making their way toward her building. Mohammad stepped out of the shadows and moved to stand in front of her with his gun dangling at his side. His muscles tensed beneath his long-sleeved shirt ready to attack or defend. A pea-green cargo van pulled to an easy stop at the cub and killed its lights. The driver, who was a balding man with a double chin, stared straight ahead, not even casting a curious glance at Sharell or her armed bodyguard.

  A slender man dressed in a tight black T-shirt came around from the passenger side and regarded Sharell and Mohammad. He looked at her curiously, but there was something about the way his emerald-green eyes lingered on Mohammad. Mohammad didn’t move, but Sharell noticed that he’d tightened his grip on the pistol. Whatever passed between them she was completely oblivious to it. Fearing there was about to be violence Sharell opened her mouth to say something, but her breath caught in her throat when the man in black slid open the side door to reveal his cargo.

  SATIN WAS huddled on the moldy seat in the back of the van, wrapped in a leather duster. It provided her with more protection from the night chill, but her bones still felt cold. She squinted against the glare of the streetlights as if they were a dozen tiny suns. When she stepped from the van she found that her legs weren’t quite ready to support her weight. With an exaggerated sigh, Cross scooped the frail young woman into his arm
s and started toward Sharell.

  “Stay where you are, assassin.” Mohammad leveled his gun at Cross. There was a tension to his movements that Sharell wasn’t familiar with, which could’ve almost been mistaken for nervousness, but Mohammad wasn’t the nervous type. Something about the taller man had him on edge.

  Cross looked at Mohammad comically. “For as much as Gutter claims to detest the children of Gehenna I’m surprised that he has entrusted one of its initiates with the well-being of his wife. Tell me, what is your name, little one?” Cross took a step forward, causing Mohammad to take two steps back.

  “I am Mohammad Al Haj, firstborn of Sharif Al Haj, and right arm of the Al Mukallah Prince and guardian of the Soladines. On my oath, I will die or kill in service of my prince!” Mohammad said defiantly.

  Cross just shook his head. “And to what end? Have they promised you the devil’s bargain, or assured you safe passage into Mecca upon your death?” Cross taunted him. “Had murder been my purpose here, you’d have never heard me coming. Don’t test me, Mohammad, or I’ll surely see that you receive your reward earlier than you’d like.”

  As Cross spoke the sound of his voice echoed in Mohammad’s ears like someone was beating a drum right next to him. The small voice in his head that we call reason begged for him to step aside, but he held his ground. Mohammad was a killer, but Cross was something else all together. He had been warned of the assassin since his earliest days studying the path of death and knew full well what Cross could do to him, but he had taken an oath and not even impending death could make him dishonor his prince, or risk what Sharif had promised him.

  “It’s okay, Mohammad,” Sharell said, stepping between them. For this man to put fear into Mohammad’s heart she knew that he was dangerous, but she also knew that Gutter would not have trusted him with the mission had he posed a threat to her or Satin.

  “Tell Kenyatta that our business is done,” Cross said, handing Satin over to Mohammad, who was still holding his gun, but speaking to Sharell.

  “Thank you so much,” Sharell said with tears of joy in her eyes. “God bless you.”

  Cross gave a faint chuckle. “I think we’re too late for that, but I’ll take it.” Cross climbed back into the passenger side of the van and motioned for the driver to pull off.

  For a long moment the trio just stood there in silence. Satin was a little dusty, but appeared to be fine. There was still a glaze to her eyes, but there was also an awareness that Sharell hadn’t seen in a long time.

  “Satin, are you okay, baby?” Sharell touched her cheek.

  Satin looked at her and gave a faint smile. “I’m ready to wake up now.”

  chapter 22

  GUTTER 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 that-”

  “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? ‘Hey 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.”