Gangsta

by Foye, K'wan

  "So, what's ya point?" Gutter asked confused. "Fuck them slobs."

  "What's my point? Gutter, we used to be just like them. Is that how people see us, as animals?"

  "Lou-loc, we wasn't nothing like them Lil niggaz. We respected the G-code as well as our elders. These Lil bastards now a days don't respect shit."

  "Fuck the code, Gutter. What about respect for people, or life. What happened to that?"

  "I feel where your coming from, cousin, but those rules only apply to civilians. We ain't civilians no more. Ain't been for a long time," he added.

  "Don't get all wishy-washy on me now, you knew what was up when you got down wit the set. I understand you, Loc, really I do, but I need you to understand me. We're in hostile times, my friend. War could pop off like that. It's them or us, cuz.

  "When we get where we need to be, we can all breathe easy, but we ain't there yet. Ain't no days off in this here. Banging is a

  full time job, and money is sweeter than any motherfuckin' pussy a hoe can lay on you. I don't know about you, Loc, but I'm tryin' to see both. Straight like that.

  "Me and you, we started this shit out here together. Nigga we been brothers at arms since writing on the walls counted for putting in work. I need your head to be right if we gonna win this game. Niggaz that don't think right, they go out like Stan.

  Ain't no way I'm gonna let you go that route, or my mother fucking self for that matter."

  "You right, Gutter." Lou-loc admitted. "But you can't say I don't also have a valid point, now can you?"

  "Look, just forget it," Gutter said, finally tired of arguing.

  Once Lou-loc got started, he could go on for hours. Gutter knew that he had shit to take care of. "Let's just go check Roc, and get faded. Fuck all this dumb shit. After we get done, you can tip off to see ya little girl friend." Lou-loc's eyes got a little brighter at the mention of Satin. "I knew that would pick ya spirits up," Gutter said smiling.

  "Fuck you, Kenyatta," Lou-loc said playfully.

  "Fuck you right back, St. Louis." the two friends shared a hug and a laugh. "You still down for me, Loc?"

  "Til the day I leave here, cuz."

  "Gangsta?"

  "Gangsta."

  CHAPTER 5

  The Jeep Cherokee moved casually through the traffic on the avenue of Americas. Satin gripped the steering wheel with a manicured hand, and made the 4x4 do as she wished. Much the same way as she did with people. Despite her innocent appearance, Satin was a girl with ambition. She knew exactly what she wanted out of life, and was determined to get it.

  When she was very young, she lost her mother to cancer, and her father committed suicide shortly after. The only family she had left were her two brothers and her aunt Selina.

  As a child, Satin never wanted for anything. Whatever her aunt Selina couldn't provide for Satin, her older brother Michael stepped up and made sure she got it. It wasn't until she got a little older, that she realized her brother made his income illegal-ly. This made her more hesitant to accept his gifts, but she still let him do for her when necessary.

  When Satin was a junior in high school, she revealed to her family her dream of owning her own business - A Publishing house actually -, writing was a favorite past time of hers. She took her writing almost as seriously as her income. That was deep for her.

  Still they laughed at her, and said "a woman's place was in the home, and not the business world," which was dominated by men. This didn't deter her one bit. In fact, it only made her work harder at it.

  After high school, Satin decided to put college on hold, and took an internship with a local magazine. It was then that Satin decided what she wanted to do with herself. She wanted to start a magazine that catered to the interest of black and Latino women.

  The editor - who happened to be a female -, was so impressed by Satin's work ethics and ideas, that she decided to hire her as a personal assistant. She even arranged her schedule so that she was able to take Journalism classes at the local community college. She was the only person to ever encourage Satin to pursue her dream.

  Satin was definitely on her way up in the world, and she had earned it. But today her mind wasn't on her career. She was thinking about the guy she had met.

  "St. Louis," she said out loud, letting the name roll around in her mouth. Such an odd name she thought. Who names their children after cities? But he was very handsome.

  She was attracted to him from the first time she saw him, which was actually a few months ago on 125th street. He was going into the movie theater with some Dominican girl. Satin was aware of the fact that Lou-loc had a girl, but truth be told it didn't really matter to her. She wasn't in the habit of breaking up

  'happy homes,' but something about him moved her.

  Maybe it was his girlish lips, or possibly his eyes. He had very sad eyes. The kind of eyes that only years of pain could bring.

  Satin loved those eyes. They were the eyes of someone who had a story to tell. She knew those eyes well because they were once hers.

  She remembered the first night she'd seen him. He was rocking a powder blue silk walking suit with some white on white Nikes. His hair was braided in zigzags with blue rubber bands holding them in place. She remembered the butterflies that were

  driving her stomach crazy, and the feeling of disappointment when the girl walked up and took him by the arm.

  "Bitch," she spat. She knew that had to be his girl, but then again it was hard to say. Satin had seen the girl in a few spots, keeping company with several different guys. The thought of the girl already having him, and then being stupid enough to cheat on his fine ass, only made Satin want him more.

  When she first saw him, she had assumed he was a thug. The way he carried himself gave her that impression. He walked with a slight 'bop,' and his pants hung off his ass. But when she spoke to him at the school, she was completely taken aback. He was very articulate and soft spoken. Goes to show, you can't judge a book by its cover.

  She didn't reveal any of this when they finally met. She could play the game just as well as anyone, if not better. Her reasoning was that she wanted to see how far he would go? Or maybe to see how far she was willing to go?

  One thing she did know, was that she was feeling Lou-loc.

  She just hoped she hadn't ruined it by playing hard to get.

  Maybe she should've at least told him her name? Fuck it. She knew she'd see him again. B.M.C.C. wasn't that big.

  Sure, she knew she was wrong for scheming on somebody that already had somebody. But wrong or not, Satin was a girl of ambition, and that overrode her better judgment. When she wanted something, it was in her nature to go after it.

  ***

  Satin parked her car in front of her west 14th street walk up and killed the engine. As she was stepping out of her jeep, a long red Cadillac pulled up to her passenger side. The windows were tint-ed, so she couldn't see who was in it.

  As she closed her driver side door with her right hand, her left dipped into her purse. She fingered her small .22 caliber, and scanned the Caddy for any sign of movement. Growing up in the projects of the lower east, she learned to shoot first and ask questions later. If it was going to pop off, she would be ready.

  The driver's side window slid halfway down and revealed a hulking head, wearing dark sunglasses. He smiled at Satin, revealing a moth full of stained yellow teeth. "Long time, Satin," said the giant, trying to sound seductive.

  Satin was unsure of the drivers identity, but there was something oddly familiar about his voice. The huge man stepped from his car and made his way to where Satin was standing. As he approached, a light of recognition went off in Satin's head. The massive form, who was now standing six feet away from her, was Rico Runez, also known as 'The Giant.' "What are you doing here, Rico?" she asked making her pistol visible. "I thought I made it clear to Cisco that his advances were in vain."

  "Easy, mama," he said backing up slightly. "It ain't like that.

  I brought someone h
ere to see you."

  "I doubt that there's anyone you know that I'd want to see."

  "Oh, but I beg to differ," he said grinning, "I think you'll be quite pleased to see who has come to call on you." As if on cue, a lone figure stepped from the back seat of the car. He was a rather ordinary looking man. He wasn't short, nor was he tall. He had smooth olive skin, and a pencil thin mustache lined his upper lip. A white linen suit hung loosely on his lean frame. The ensemble was set off by a red fedora.

  "Hello, Satin," he said calmly, "are you not pleased to see your big brother?"

  Satin stood there with a shocked expression on her face. It had been years since she had last seen her brother, and now here he was. The notorious El Diablo.

  Satin quickly composed herself. "Hello, Michael. Or do you prefer 'El Diablo?'"

  El Diablo dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand.

  "Ah, merely a name given to me by some of my associates.

  Nothing more. So how have you been little sister?"

  "Fine, not that you care. It's been, how many years?"

  "Aye," he threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Why so cold, Satin. You know I didn't have a choice. Besides, were you not taken care of in my absence?"

  "Taken care of?" she started. "You can't be serious? If you call sending your 'Yes man', Cisco here with money, and trying to get in my pants taken care of, yes, I was fine."

  "My apologies, Satin. Cisco can be a bit...vulgar, but I will see that he is reprimanded for his actions. But financially, you and the family were good?"

  "Yea," she said flatly. "But auntie Selina hasn't been in the best of shape. She's at Saint Vincent's. You been to see her?"

  "No," he said sadly. "I feared that I would not be welcomed.

  Your warm reception has confirmed that.

  "I won't take up your time, Satin. I just wanted to see you, and to let you know I'm home. If you should need something, I will send Cisco in case you don't want to see me again."

  "Cisco!" she spat. "That's a fucking joke right? Cisco is a piece of shit, who cares about no one but himself. You told him to treat me like a sister, instead he tried to treat me like a whore.

  Showering me with gifts to gain my affection, 'perro.' No amount of money would ever get me into his bed."

  "As I said earlier, Cisco well be dealt with, but let's move on to another topic. How is our brother, Jesus? What's he been up to?"

  "In and out of trouble," she said. "I don't blame him, look who his role model is. A fucking king pin." "Satin, I never meant for things to turn out this way. I only wanted to make things better for our family. Is that so wrong?" Satin massaged the back of her neck as she looked into his sorrow filled eyes. She knew that he meant well, but his meth-ods were all wrong.

  "Michael," she said, taking his hand in hers, "I'm a big girl now. I appreciate all that you've done for our family and me, but I don't need a keeper anymore.

  "You on the other hand, you need guidance. You have so much, but it is still not enough for you. Your greed is going to be your downfall. Find yourself a nice girl and retire from this game. Please? Why don't you come with us to church, Sunday?

  We can..."

  Satin jumped back startled as El Diablo snatched his hand away. "I'm afraid I cannot, little one. It is as you said, I am Diablo. I fear I would not be welcomed in a house of worship." El Diablo pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and wrote an address down. "This is where I'll be staying," he said handing Satin the paper, "if you need anything, you can reach me there.

  It was good to see you, little one." Without another word, El Diablo turned to walk away with his head hung low. Satin's conscious began to eat away at her.

  Even though he was a Gangster, they were still family, and Satin new it.

  "Michael." Satin called after him. He stopped briefly to see what she wanted, and was surprised at what she did. She ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

  "You're an ass hole, but we're still family. Welcome home, Michael. Welcome home."

  ***

  A half hour later as Satin watched the car drive off, she couldn't help but wonder, what this turn of events would mean to her life.

  CHAPTER 6

  Lou-loc and Gutter strolled in silence down Church Avenue in Brooklyn. They were on their way to the meeting with Roc. This was the day they were to meet Anwar, boss of the Al Mukalla Crime Family.

  Lou-loc had met Roc once or twice in the past, but he didn't really know much about him. No one did. All Lou-loc really knew, is that Roc was the under boss of the Al Mukalla, and Anwar ran the operation.

  The Al Mukalla were a gang of Middle Easterners who oper-ated out of Brooklyn. They had their hands in a little bit of everything. Gambling, loan sharking, guns. You name it, they were in it. They turned a profit from all sorts of vices, but their main source of income was heroin.

  Anwar was very careful with the drug trade, only selling to certain people, and never anything under half a kilo. Nobody knew who or where they got their product from, but it was the rawest dope on the streets.

  Anwar and his men ruled their little corner of the city with an iron fist. Although they were few in number, they more than made up for it in viciousness. Each member of the organization was ready to die for what they believed in. Niggaz on the streets knew that if you crossed the Al Mukalla, life could become very uncomfortable.

  Gutter had gotten connected through Roc. They had met some years ago at an Islamic rally in "At Taif." Their two families had a history together that stretched a few years back.

  Even though Gutter returned to the states while Roc remained in At Taif, they kept in contact over the years. When Roc moved to New York, he and Gutter resumed their friendship.

  After a few months of nagging, Roc finally agreed to introduce Gutter to Anwar. The Al Mukalla were very suspicious of outsiders, especially Americans. The only reason Anwar even agreed to meet with Gutter is because he was a Muslim.

  Gutter tapped Lou-loc's arm, snapping him out of his daze.

  "There it is, cuz," he said pointing to a shabby looking corner market.

  "That's it?" Lou-loc asked skeptically. "Nigga, you sure?" Gutter didn't even bother to answer. Instead he walked through the front door of the store. With a shrug of his shoulders, Lou-loc followed.

  As they stepped through the front door they, spotted Roc behind the counter handing a little girl a pack of skittles and her change. Roc

  looked up from his task as if he had sensed their presence, and greeted them with a nod and a smile. The two responded in kind.

  Roc was a jovial looking man. He stood at around five feet even. His face was round and pleasant, and he always smiled in public. He was wide at the shoulders, but round at the belly. He actually looked more like a shopkeeper than what he truly was.

  Roc was a master killer. Those who didn't know him personally would think he was fat. But under his loose fitting meat cut-ters smock, was all muscle. Rock was a hulk of a man, with hands like catcher's mitts.

  His hands were his favorite killing devices. He would choke his victims - men and women alike - wring their necks until they

  snapped. It was through his stone like grip, that he acquired the nickname "Roc."

  At the end of the line were three young men waiting to pay for their 40oz's. All three of the young men were wearing red scarves. They shot at daggers Lou-loc and Gutter, who were dressed mostly in blue. The bandannas on Gutter's wrist confirmed their affiliation.

  "Punk ass crabs." mumbled one of the boys.

  "What you say, nigga?" said Gutter stepping forward.

  Sensing that violence was about to erupt, the customers abandoned their purchases and made for the door.

  "You heard him, motherfucker," another boy added, "this blood hood, chump. Respect the gangster."

  "Fuck you, Lil nigga." Lou-loc spat. "I don't give a fuck what hood we in. My advice to you is, pay for ya mother fucking beer, and beat street. We ain't start this shit, but we sure as hell
can finish it. What's up, cuz?"

  Lou-loc put a southern twang on the last word just to irk the east coast hoodlums. The challenge had been made. Calling a blood cuz was looked at as a disrespect. Lou-loc had deliberate-ly called them out.

  The first boy, whom Lou-loc assumed to be the leader of the group, hesitated. Lou-loc possessing an incredible sense of character, knew he had the first boy's heart. However, this didn't hold true for his partner.

  From under his sweatshirt, the boy produced a small .22. He was quick, but Lou-loc was quicker. By the time the boy raised his gun, Lou-loc had closed the distance between them, and had the barrel of his Glock to the boy's chest.

  Lou-loc smiled and leaned in so he and the boy were nose to nose. "You wasn't trying to draw on me, was you boy?" Lou-loc whispered. The boy saw the savage look in Lou-loc's eyes and suddenly didn't feel so tough. He had no illusions about surviving this encounter.

  Before anyone else could react, there was a loud click, and the room went still. Everyone turned to see what the noise was, and were completely thrown off by what they saw.

  Standing between isles two and three, stood a little boy. He was skinny, but not too much so. He was some where between frail and recently malnourished. He wore camouflage fatigue pants and a plain tank top. His skin was a dusty brown, comple-menting the big black curls that danced on his head. Other than one unusual feature, he was just a child. The feature was the sub machine gun he held in his tiny hands.

  "Please," said Roc stepping from behind the counter, "violence, nor weapons are permitted here. I would urge you to take heed to the laws of the Al Mukalla, please," he said something in Arabic to the boy with the gun. In response to whatever the command was, the boy pulled a pillowcase from beneath his belt. Roc beaconed him forward, and continued speaking.

  "Place your guns in the sack, gentlemen." The boys looked at each other, as if to say: "Is he serious?" The boy waving the .380 Mac convinced them he was. Slowly the boys all began to pull out weapons of all sorts, and placed them in the pillowcase. They were well equipped with various razors, knives, and minor firearms, but the little guardian was walking a little heavier.