Gangsta

by Foye, K'wan

  Outside of their five-story walk up, somebody was beating the hell out of their car horn. Lou-loc's ride had come, and it was time for him to hit the streets. But not before Martina put her bid in.

  "Daddy," she said as he gathered his keys, and wallet. "I was going to wear those Pradda shoes you bought for me to the wedding, but being that my feet are swollen I can't get into them. You think you could hook a sister up?"

  "Don't this just beat all?" Lou-loc thought. All this time she was just setting a nigga up for the pay off. That's a female for you.

  Lou-loc put on his best phony smile as he pealed off five fifty-dollar bills from his stack and dropped them into her waiting hand. He didn't want to part with the money, but if it could get her to shut up, it was well worth it.

  As he was leaving, she stopped him short with a question.

  "That's it? You must want your lady to roll up in there half-ass?" Lou-loc gave her a "you can't be serious" stare. He loved her, and she was his future baby's mama, but it was her ways he didn't like. No matter how much you gave her, it wasn't enough.

  "Listen, Martina, you said you wanted some new shoes, not a trip to the Dominican Republic. If that ain't enough, you just assed out. Later."

  ***

  On the lower east side it was business as usual. The fiends were out looking to score, and the young soldiers of the Latin Connection were more then willing to serve them the poison. It wasn't personal, just business.

  The Latin Connection was a faction of the Bloods. The difference between them and the rest of the Bloods was the fact that their members were all Latin. Puerto Rican, Dominican, Salvadorian, Mexican. You name it they had it.

  As the soldiers continued to serve the heads and dope fiends, a long red El Dorado pulled up to the curb on avenue D.

  The driver got out and made his way to the passenger side. He was a beast of a man.

  When he stood to his full height, he was well over six foot four. His shoulders were almost the entire length of the Cadillac.

  Maybe that's why the passenger sat in the back seat.

  The man who stepped from the back seat looked pretty average. He had clear light skin, and a full beard lined his jaw. As he stood to his full height - which was only about 5'9" - his White linen suit hung loosely on his body. He brushed off his red fedora and placed it on his head.

  As he made his way toward the little Spanish restaurant on the corner, people moved to get out of his way. Although he didn't appear to be very powerful - especially next to the driver - you could tell he was important. He was Michael Angelino, leader of the Latin connection. Also known as El Diablo in the streets.

  "Como Esta?" he said shaking the hand of Marco, who was standing in front of the restaurant. Marco was one of Angelino's workers, and Cisco's lieutenants.

  "Angelino," Marco said with a smile. "Every thing is Bueno.

  Muy Bueno. Cisco's inside waiting for you." Angelino brushed past Marco and went into the little diner.

  When Angelino entered, every one started to cheer and clap.

  He was somewhat of a local hero. They called him 'The man who cleaned up the streets.' What that really meant was he forced all the non-Hispanics out of the area. Some hero.

  Angelino smiled at everyone and bowed. "Please, please," he said motioning for silence. "I am just a man. Save your praise for someone who deserves it." With another bow, he made his way towards a table in the back where his Captain was waiting for him.

  "The people love you, Michael," said Cisco standing to greet his leader and mentor. "You make the streets safe for poor business men such as myself. You deserve your praise." With all the flattery done, the three men seated themselves.

  Angelino was the leader of the connection. But it was Cisco that the soldiers answered to. He was the Captain, and El Diablo was the general.

  The two men embraced. "Cisco," said El Diablo smiling.

  "My most trusted soldier, and dearest comrade. How have you been amigo?"

  "I cannot complain," Cisco said reseating himself. "What can I say, Michael? Tu es muy heneroso, mi amigo. You make it possible for my family to eat." El Diablo removed a cigar from his jacket pocket, which the giant readily lit for him. "So my friend," El Diablo said exhaling the smoke. "How is business? Every thing is good, no?"

  "Si, si," Cisco replied. "We are indeed prospering. Our sales have increased by over thirty-two percent just over the last six months. Don't worry, Michael, you left your business in good hands."

  El Diablo smiled at his Captain. "Very good, Cisco. And our plan to expand. This is also progressing, no?" Cisco shifted in his chair. "Well...yes, and no. Mostly yes." El Diablo gave his captain a strange look. Cisco in turn moved his chair a little further away from the giant.

  "Cisco, forgive me for being a poor dumb country boy, but I do not understand. This yes no, is it some sort of new slang? I didn't know there was such a response. Explain please?"

  "If you'll permit me?" Cisco said reaching into his inside pocket. From the pocket he produced a map, which he laid on the table. It was a map of the city with color lines dividing certain areas.

  "These are our main borders," he said sliding his fingers from thirty-second street to the tip of Brooklyn. "With the exception of China Town and Little Italy, we are the controlling factors." Gangsta

  Cisco paused to see if El Diablo was still with him. El Diablo motioned for him to continue. Cisco took a deep breath and did so.

  "We also now have territory in the Bronx," he said tracing his finger from Third Avenue to Fordham road. "Our soldiers are turning profits there, but it's still a little slow." El Diablo looked at the map closely. "And what of this area marked fire zone?" he asked pointing at Harlem. "What do we have there?"

  Cisco made a face like he smelled something foul. "Harlem, that's no good, Michael. Those blacks up there," he shook his head. "They are killing each other in the streets." El Diablo scratched his chin. "Cisco, I thought Harlem was

  'Blood Hood?' If this is the case, then why have we not spoke with our Negro Primos about an arrangement?" Cisco shrugged his shoulders. "Michael, I spoke with Scooby personally. He assured me that if we did indeed migrate to the area, we would receive a cut of the action." El Diablo shrugged his shoulders. "If you have their support, what's the problem? Why do we not have soldiers in Harlem?" Cisco knew this question would come. He had gone over it again and again in his head. Now that the time had come, his mind drew a blank. There was something about the way that El Diablo looked at him.

  "W...Well, Michael," Cisco stuttered. "Things have changed.

  It seems that the Bloods in Harlem are losing their hold in some areas. Harlem is falling under new management." El Diablo's eyes bulged with disbelief. "Who?" He demanded. "Who is so bold as to tell Bloods we can't eat?" Cisco paused before continuing. "Crips, Diablo. It is the Crips who are gaining a foot hold in Harlem." El Diablo sprang to his feet. Cisco braced himself for the blow he knew was to come, but instead he was shocked by El Diablo's reaction. El Diablo burst into a fit of laughter.

  "Crips," he said trying to calm down. "You mean to say, that you allowed a handful of disorganized gang bangers to stop us from invading one of the most profitable drug areas on the east coast?" he back handed Cisco to the floor. Before Cisco could gather his wits, the giant scooped him up by his collar.

  "Michael," Cisco pleaded. "These are not the same people you remember. These two black kids from L.A. came here and everything changed."

  El Diablo motioned for the giant to stop squeezing Cisco's neck. "Release him," El Diablo said evenly. The giant reluctantly dropped Cisco into a chair.

  "Don't play me, Cisco. The Crips are too busy killing each other to unify. What are you talking about?"

  "All true," Cisco said gasping for air. "From what I gather, they came out here about two years ago. Maybe more.

  "At first they were just working the corners like every one else. They weren't getting major paper, so we paid them no mind. Over the last year or so
things changed.

  "They started speaking to all of the Crips and their allies in Harlem. They were saying that since the Crip sets in Harlem were so small and thinned out, that it would be more beneficial for all of the smaller individual sets to unify under one set. They are calling it Little Harlem. After the original set in L.A." El Diablo sat back in his chair. "Cisco, why has this problem not been dealt with? If these men would unite the C - nation, why do they still live? Who are these two dead men you speak of?"

  Cisco straightened his suit jacket before continuing. "Believe me, Michael, there have been attempts. A while back, some Gangsta

  Bloods from up around the Gun Hill section of the Bronx decided to get rid of these two. Much like you, they had a desire to take Harlem.

  "Well, they sent down three of their best killers. I mean these guys were pros. Bad -ass, Michael.

  "Any how, these Guys roll up on one of them. Gutter, I think that's what they call him. They're all surrounding him in front of the bodega on 125th and St. Nicolas. They figured he was alone so they could get at him.

  "They're out there waving their guns and popping mucho crap. The whole time, this Gutter character is just laughing. He started off giggling, and then it turned into laughing. Like somebody waving a gun at him was funny.

  "So why these motherfuckers are trying to figure out what the hell is so funny, this other black kid eases out of the bodega. This is the other one. They call him Lou-loc. He let off three shots.

  Nobody even saw him draw his gun.

  "Before they knew what was going on, they were dead.

  Cisco made the sign of the cross. "Each Blood had a bullet hole in the eye. Three bullets, three bodies. The guy thinks he's Robin Hood or something.

  "The way I hear it, the boy is a crack shot. He was a pro in L.A. Didn't even flinch when them boys hit the ground. While every one else was trying to figure out what the fuck was going on, these two just strolled off." Seeing the disapproving look El Diablo was giving him, Cisco attempted to save himself. "Michael," Cisco said trying to sound confident. "You know I've never been a coward. I have always served this organization faithfully. Some of the Blood chapter-leaders and myself decided maybe it would be better to just leave them to their little corners than to keep wasting our troops?"

  "Cisco," El Diablo said. "You and I came up together, right there in the east los, remember?" Cisco nodded his head. "It is for this reason that you still live.

  "I will not tolerate your pathetic ass excuses. The Jamaicans couldn't and the Italians wouldn't; yet you let these crab motherfuckers disrupt our flow? These people need to be dealt with.

  Sooner than later."

  Cisco tried to muster a smile. "We are stronger than them, El Diablo. Time is on our side. When an opportunity presents itself, we will crush them."

  El Diablo smiled. "Cisco," he said in a pleasant voice. "You are one of my oldest and dearest amigos. I made you overseer of my crew because you are a capable field general, as well as a diplomat."

  "Gratias, Michael." Cisco said smiling. "That means a lot coming from a man like you."

  "But Cisco," Diablo said blowing smoke out of his mouth.

  "In all the years I've known you, I've never noticed something.

  You are stupid. Common sense isn't one of your strong points.

  "Cisco, if you meet a girl, and she gives you the crabs, do you wait or do you get rid of them right away?" Before Cisco could answer, El Diablo began speaking again.

  "I'll tell you. You get rid of them. If you wait, they will multiply and cause you much discomfort." El Diablo made his way back to the front door with the giant on his heels.

  "Cisco!" he shouted over his shoulder. "I will have Harlem.

  And you will get it for me."

  Without another word, El Diablo was gone.

  ***

  Lou-loc stepped out of his building, and was greeted by the rays of the sun. It was particularly sunny for March. He threw on his sunglasses and proceeded to the car where Gutter was still pounding the horn.

  Gutter stepped out of the vehicle and came around to greet his long time friend. As usual, Gutter was G'd up - dressed in gang colors. He had on blue all stars with matching blue laces.

  Despite the unseasonable heat, Gutter wore an oversized Duke blue devil sweatshirt. Probably to conceal whatever firearms he was carrying.

  On each wrist Gutter sported two identical blue bandannas.

  This was to let every one know what gang he was claiming. He tied a blue ribbon in his hair to keep his box braids in a ponytail that rested on his neck. Gutter was the poster boy for Gangsters.

  The left sleeve of Gutter's sweatshirt was rolled up exposing one of several gang related tattoos. The word 'Harlem' was scribbled on his arm in Arabic. The same tattoo that Lou-loc had on his neck, only larger. It was their click.

  When they spoke of Harlem originally, it wasn't in reference to upper Manhattan. It was Harlem Crips. A chapter of the L.A. gang.

  Gutter joined the set back in L.A. about a year before Lou-loc got quoted-jumped in. They were both pretty young at the time, but it was the thing to do in California.

  When Gutter's father was killed overseas, he and his mother came back to the states to live with relatives. His uncles and cousins were all Crips, so for him joining a gang was a different story.

  When Lou-loc was about ten, he and his father was doing some Christmas shopping in the Crenshaw mall. When they were coming out of the mall, a group of Bloods surrounded them and demanded the packages his father was carrying.

  The packages were to be for the family on Christmas. Lou-loc's father couldn't stand the thought of his family going without on Christmas, so he refused. For his act of bravery, he was rewarded with a chest full of buckshot. The Bloods slapped Lou-loc with the butt of the gun and ran off with the packages.

  Lou-loc was horrified. His father lay on the ground bleeding while the poor boy looked on and cried helplessly. From that time on, Lou-loc developed a deep hatred for Bloods. This made his choice to join the Crips that much easier. Over the years, Lou-loc assassinated many Bloods, all in the name of his father.

  He and Gutter were two of the youngest members of the Harlem chapter. Neither having a father, they shared a common bond and became close friends. Each trying to out match the other's thirst for blood, and hatred of the rival gang.

  The two youngsters were recognized by the other members as loyal and efficient soldiers. They were always down to put in work or take on task for the hood, so they made their way through the ranks quickly, committing gruesome acts of violence. It was made clear to all gangs across L.A. County that Harlem wasn't to be fucked with. By the time Lou-loc was nineteen, he and Gutter committed an act that made them legends amongst the homeboys, and feared by the law.

  At a meeting, the O.G.'s decided that they had enough of a local Narcotics detective who worked the hood. At first, they were able to just pay him off, but after a while he got greedy.

  They were already giving him 40% of their take, but he started demanding 60%.

  When they refused to pay, he took it to the next level. One of the little players on the set wound up dead one evening. He was found hanging from a tree by his ankles. Inside of his mouth was a note that read, "Pay or join your friend in nigger heaven." The police had no idea who had done it or what the note meant, but the homeboys did.

  The leaders of the Crip sets had decided that this was a slight

  to their honor that couldn't go unpunished. Undoubtedly, O'Leary was, the one who had done this, and he needed to be put in his place. Immediately.

  A homeboy by the name of 'Fat Pat,' had a sister who worked for the LAPD. She was a Crip supporter, so it was only right that she helped out. She provided the homeboys with detective O'Leary's home address.

  The plan was simple. Break into O'Leary's house, give him a good beating and bust the place up. It was just to let him know that even a cop could be touched. But in the hood nothing could ever be simple.<
br />
  The soldiers selected for the mission represented several Crip sets. This was done in order to promote the unification of the C-nation. There was Stan, from East Coast Crips, Snake Eyes, from Hoover, and Gutter, who represented Harlem Crips. Back then, he was still called Lil Gutter. Because Lou-loc and Gutter were crime partners, he volunteered himself for the mission.

  The four desperados piled into the Buick they had stolen that morning for the mission, and headed for the Carson.

  The particular house they were looking for was right off Carson Ave., near a housing complex that was still under con-struction. Carson was a relatively quiet town, but there was a large Crip population. If the need arose, they wouldn't have a problem seeking shelter at one of the homeboy's cribs.

  The key to this mission would be Stan. He was one of those high yellow dudes, with good hair and green eyes. He had thin lips and a pointed nose. In the right light he could've even passed for a white boy.

  The plan was this; Stan would ring the doorbell, dressed in a FedEx uniform. When the detective's wife opened the door, Gutter, Lou-loc, and Snake Eyes would rush the house. Once inside, they were to tie up whoever was there and wait for O'Leary to come home.

  "A'ight nigga," Gutter said to Stan from his seat in the back.

  "Once we get up in there, you go on up to the corner and look out for O'Leary's car. There's only one way to come down this street, so you can't miss the nigga. When you see his car, dial my cell. Let the phone ring once, and then hang up. That'll be the signal. You got me?"

  Stan, who was in the front seat, took a thumbnail full of cocaine and inhaled it. "How many times we gotta go through this shit?" Stan asked irritated. "I know what the fuck I gotta do, chump."

  "Save all that bull shit, mafucka." This was Lou-loc. "If we get caught up in some bull shit, ain't no more Y.A."- Youth Authority, "it's the big time punk." Stan yawned and lit a joint. "Lou-loc, stop acting like a bitch.