Gutter Read Free

dead nigga?”
    â€œHe wasn’t just some nigga, he was a legend and you better not let the big homey hear you talking that crazy shit,” Hook scolded. “Speaking of crazy shit though, why’d you pop the bitch?” He nodded toward the young girl sprawled on the steps.

    Noodles just shrugged. “Casualty of war, my nigga. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
    Â 
    Â 
    KENYATTA KNELT on his balcony looking out at the sunrise. He touched his head to the ground, while he went into his third repetition of the prayer. His long braids swept gently across his naked back. Fallen Soldier was tattooed across his shoulders, while a portrait of his best friend stretched down his spine. After completing the prayer ritual, Gutter rose to his feet.
    Gutter walked to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing. Beads of dew—clung to his body, causing him to sparkle in the orange glow. Below people jogged and walked their dogs through the quiet Brooklyn Heights neighborhood. For the umpteenth time, he wished his comrade had lived to see what he had made of his life.
    Kenyatta Soladine, aka Gutter, was the most troublesome son of Algerian immigrants. Born and raised in South Central Los Angeles, Gutter knew just what a hard knock life it was. After the death of his father and grandfather, it had been up to the streets to raise him. Gutter’s mother did what she could to keep her son on the straight and narrow, but the hood had always been his first love.
    Gutter ate, slept, breathed, and fantasized about the hustle. He was a man who had been through so much that the life of a square held no place in his world. Gutter believed in and respected Allah, but unlike most people, he wouldn’t waste time on his knees waiting for the Most High to shape his destiny. He would do it himself.
    He stepped from the balcony into his bedroom, feeling the warm rush of air on his neck and chest. There was a time when
Gutter would sleep through the sacred hour of prayer, but since the nightmares began he and sleep didn’t always see eye-to-eye. The master bedroom of the duplex was dark, but the sun coming over the horizon was beginning to illuminate it. The first few rays had already crept up to the floor and gently touched the sleeping girl’s face.
    He leaned down and brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead, and found that his fingers came away damp. Gutter couldn’t help but wonder if Sharell’s sleep was as fitful as his had been. He had literally taken her through hell and back and she was still with him. The murders, the drugs, him dying and rising again like the fabled Lazarus. She had been through it all. If he had it his way, she would never see another moment of hurt. Life would be good for his boo, but that didn’t change the fact that he had business to handle. Blood would answer for blood.
    Tucking his .38 snub into the waistline of his sweats, Gutter made his way down the stairs. The sun hadn’t made it to the hall yet, so that remained dark. He didn’t need any light though. Gutter performed this routine so often that he could do it with his eyes closed. He crossed through the spacious living room and retracted the metallic blinds. The orange rays of the sun seeped through the window and coated the living room in a soothing light.
    The floors were made of mahogany and polished to an almost mirrored finish. The cream-colored sofa and love seat were made from butter-soft leather that had a sunken effect for the few privileged to sit in them. The apartment was decorated more for comfort than floss.
    After securing the place, Gutter began his calisthenics. He started with push-ups, then went to sit-ups and back again. This went on for about a half hour or so. Often if he tried to work out too hard the old wounds began to ache. Cross had restored his
body as best he could, but some of the wounds would still take time to completely heal. He hated the assassin for what