GANGLAND Page 2

  “Negative ass tramp,” he cursed because he knew it had been Martina’s handiwork. He was trying to do something with himself, and she was trying to sabotage it. Martina couldn’t accept the fact that he wanted to leave the game and do something constructive with his life, because her heart was so set on being with a baller who would take care of her and her kids. Trying to trash his paperwork was sneaky as hell, but her little trick didn’t work. According to the letter he still had time to turn in his paperwork before the deadline, so he would deliver the papers in person while he was out with Gutter instead of mailing them in. He was determined not to let Martina or anyone else sidetrack him from his plan.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lou-Loc felt better after he’d emptied his guts and taken a shower, but he was till pissed that Martina had thrown his mail away. He wanted to bark on her but didn’t trust what he would say out of his mouth. His best bet was to dress quickly and slip out of the house to avoid a confrontation with her. No sooner than the thought entered his head Martina appeared in the doorway.

  “Daddy,” she cooed in her sweetest voice. As soon as he heard her tone, he knew what she was about to crack on him for some paper, “you know my sister’s wedding is next week, right?” she waited for a response, but didn’t get one. “Well, are you still going with me or not?”

  Lou-Loc continued tying his sneakers. “I can’t call it,” he said still not looking at her.

  “What you mean, you can’t call it?”

  “I mean what I said, I don’t know.”

  “Lou-Loc,” she wined, “how you going to do me like that? You’re supposed to be my man but you would actually consider letting me go to my sister’s wedding alone? Do you know how that would look to my family?”

  “Like I could give a fuck how I look to your family,” he said seriously. “Let’s be real about this shit, yo family don’t like me and I ain’t too sure I like them either.”

  “Lou-Loc you’re just being paranoid, my mother was just saying the other day how lucky I was to have a man like you in my life.”

  “Miss me with that bullshit, Martina. Every time I go over there they get to talking about me on some slick shit.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “The hell it isn’t. They think that because they’re talking about me in Spanish that I don’t understand, which goes to show how ignorant they are. Spanish is a second language in California so I picked up on it early. Yo mama is suspect and yo sister be straight tripping. I ain’t for that shit.”

  “What you mean my sister be tripping? I know you ain’t trying to play the blame game, because I can go there too with the way your sister came up to New York trying to style like her shit didn’t stink. From the way all of y’all kept throwing gifts at her you’d have thought he was the queen of the fucking Crips.” Martina shot back.

  Lou-Loc had finally had enough. “Mutha fucka please, Malika is a teenager but your sister and them is grown as shit acting like they still in high school. That slum bitch be acting all high off the hog knowing damn well she from the projects. And please don’t get me started on that chump ass nigga she always trying to brag on. Yeah, he’s a lawyer handling a lil change so I’ll give him that much, but with the way them two snort up powder I’m surprised he ain’t broke yet.”

  “You’re just jealous because he’s about to marry my sister and we’ve been together longer than them and I’m not even engaged,” Martina twisted her lips.

  Lou-Loc looked at her crazy. “You must’ve fell and bumped your head if you think I’m jealous of a hype and a damn gold digging whore. Lets me ask you this; if she so in love with this nigga then why lil Snoopy seen her all hugged up on one of them fag ass Brims from 112th street?”

  “Please, that’s probably just some shit one of your boys made up to start trouble. My sister has more respect for herself than that, so try again,” Martina dismissed the accusation.

  “Respect my fucking ass! The only reason your sister probably hate on me so much is because I didn’t take the pussy when she threw it at me. Fuck her,” Lou-Loc walked to the mirror and began combing his wild ass hair. He knew he had just dealt Martina a low blow, but he was angry and that’s what he did when he got mad. He tried to stick to his guns, but when he looked at the hurt on her face through the reflection in the mirror he felt like shit. Her full sexy lips were drawn and pouted as she stood looking at her feet with her hands on her belly. When she looked at him, her big brown eyes were rimmed with tears. Martina was a pure hell raiser, but at times she appeared so innocent and fragile. Lou-Loc stopped combing his hair and walked to where she was standing. When their eyes met, a lone tear ran down her cheek and he was hooked like a fish on a line.

  Martina sat on the edge of the bed and parted her legs. She wiped the tears from her eyes and motioned for him to sit between her legs so she could help him with his hair. Lou-Loc sat on the floor and rested his head on one of her thighs. The warmth was comforting to him. She massaged his scalp, immediately calming the raging beast inside him. As he allowed himself to be wrapped in the comfort of his lady, he remembered all the good times they had when he first came out to New York. Martina was a lot to deal with, but the heart wanted what the heart wanted so he would thug it out.

  “I know you don’t like my family, but you don’t always have to throw it up in my face like that. I have feelings too, Lou-Loc,” she said sincerely. “Look, you don’t like being around my family and I can respect that, but I didn’t want to start a fight with you. I just thought that if I started softening you up early that maybe I could convince you to come with me to the wedding. If I had known it would lead to all this then I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  Lou-Loc felt bad. He had thought she was softening him up to crack for some bread when all she really wanted was a date to her sister’s wedding. “My bad,” he whispered. “When your mama ain’t on my back about going to church I guess she can be pretty good, but that sister of yours,” he shook his head, “we’re like oil and water.”

  For a long moment they just sat in silence. Each lost in their own thoughts. Lou-Loc got up from the floor and walked over to the mirror. Martina had parted his hair and put a French braid on either side. It wasn’t much, but it would do until he had a chance to hit the African braid shop on 125th. 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 Prada 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 shook his head. Reluctantly he pulled out his bank roll and handed her $250. He didn’t want to part with the money, but if it could get her to shut up it was well worth it.

  Martina looked down at the money. “That’s it?”

  Lou-Loc gave her a blank stare. “You said you wanted a pair of shoes, not a trip to the Dominican Republic. So if that, plus whatever you peeled outta my pocket when I staggered in here last night, ain’t enough then you’re just assed out. I’m gone,” he left.

  *

  On the Lower Eastside of Manhattan 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 fraction of the Bloods, whose members were composed entirely of Latinos. They were the newest Blood set to pop up in New York City, but they were quickly making a name for themselves as one of the most dangerous.

  The soldiers were huddled up on the corner making sure all the fiends were taken care of when a long red El Dorado pulled up to the curb, and drew everyone’s attention. The driver stepped out of the car and rolled his broad shoulders. He easily stood over six foot four and was almost as wide as the grill on the Cadillac. He carri
ed an air of menace about him that made people shy away from him when they came across him in the streets. The driver was a no-nonsense head buster and the personal bodyguard of a very important man.

  The driver held open the back door of the El Dorado and his passenger stepped out. He was slender and tan, with a neatly tapered beard lining his jaws. His brushed off the sleeves of his white linen suit before checking his fedora in the reflection of the Cadillac’s window. With the hulking bodyguard in tow the man in the white suit made his way towards the little Spanish restaurant on the corner. Everyone he passed greeted him with smiles and well wishes or got out of his way, but they all paid their respects. The slender man didn’t appear very powerful, especially standing beside the diver, but in the game nothing was ever as it seemed. Though he had been gone for a while, everyone on the Lower Eastside recognized Michael Angelino aka El Diablo, the true leader of LC Bloods.

  “Como Esta,” he greeted Marco, who was standing in front of the restaurant. Marco was a soldier and L.C. Blood and Cisco’s, lieutenants.

  “Everything is bueno, Michael. Muy bueno now that you’re back with us.” Marco smiled. “Cisco is inside waiting for you.”

  El Diablo brushed past the grinning Marco and stepped inside the restaurant. When the people inside noticed him they gave El Diablo a standing ovation. Amongst the Spanish community El Diablo was somewhat of a folk hero. They called him the man who cleaned up the streets, but what they really meant was the man who forced all non-Hispanic from the neighborhood.

  El Diablo smiled and bowed. “Please, please,” he said motioning for silence, “I am just a man. Save your praise for someone who deserves it.” After another cheesy bow he made his way towards a table in the back where his captain, Cisco, was waiting for him.

  “The people love you.” Cisco stood and greeted El Diablo with a warm hug. “You make the streets safe for poor businessmen such as myself, and we adore you for it. Welcome home, my brother.”

  After the pleasantries were done the two men sat down to discuss business. El Diablo was the leader of LC but it had been Cisco who they answered to while he was away. After being gone so long El Diablo was anxious to be brought up to speed on the progress of their movement. “So, how’ve you been while I was away? I trust business is good, yes?”

  “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 plans to expand, these are progressing too?”

  Cisco shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Well, yes and no.”

  “Cisco, forgive me for being a poor dumb country boy, but I do not understand. Is this yes/no; is it some sort of new slang? Explain please.”

  “If you’ll permit me,” Cisco reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a folded up city map which he spread out over the table. Certain areas on the map were circled in red marker and some in blue. “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 in Manhattan and are gaining territory in the Bronx also,” he traced a line from Third Avenue to Fordham Road.

  El Diablo looked at the map closely. “And what of this area marked fire zone?” He tapped the area on the map that marked Harlem. The words Fire Zone were written across it. “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 spoken with our comrades up there about an arrangement?”

  Cisco shrugged his shoulders. “Michael, I spoke with Scooby personally and he assured me that if we were trying to get something going in Harlem that we would have he and his crew’s full support as long as they got to eat from it.”

  El Diablo shrugged his shoulders, “If we have their support then what’s the problem?”

  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 that made him cringe. “Things have changed uptown,” he finally managed to get out. “Though our membership is still strong north of 110th street, Harlem is temporarily under new management.”

  El Diablo leaned in and peered at Cisco. “Who is so bold as to tell me that I can’t feed my soldiers?”

  “Crips, Michael.” Cisco said and braced himself or El Diablo’s reaction. To his surprised El Diablo burst into a fit of laughter.

  “Are you serious?” El Diablo tried to stop laughing long enough to catch his breath. “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 neck.

  “Michael, these are not the same disorganized street punks you remember!” Cisco gasped as the breath was being choked from him. “These two kids from L.A. came out here a few years ago and everything changed. They unified the gangs!”

  Now interested in what Cisco had to say he motioned for the giant to release him. “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. “They touched down in New York about two years ago, if my information on them is correct. At first they were just getting money on a few corners then they started recruiting workers. They didn’t appear to be making major moves so they flew under our radar, but over the last year or so things changed. They sought out the leaders of the smaller gangs and started getting in their ears and the next thing we knew the sets were unified and started claiming Harlem Crip with the two L.A. niggers as they leaders. By the time we realized what was going on they had Harlem in the smash.”

  El Diablo sat back in his chair. “Cisco, why hasn’t this problem been dealt with already? If these two men have the power to unify the gangs of New York then the threat must be neutralized.”

  Cisco straightened his suit jacket before continuing. “Believe me, we’ve tried, but our attempts have been less than successful. A while back some Bloods from up around the Gun Hill section of the Bronx decided they wanted to get money in Harlem but to do it they’d have to get rid of the two Crips. They sent down three of their best killers, and I’m not talking locals with guns. These guys were professionals. So these guys roll on one of the one they call Gutter one night outside of a bodega. They’re out there waving their guns and popping mucho crap and the whole time this Gutter cat is just laughing like he wasn’t about to get his face blown off. So why these mutha fuckas are trying to figure out what the hell is so funny, Gutter’s partner Lou-Loc jumped out on some ninja shit.” Cisco crossed himself. “When he got done with them there wasn’t enough left of their faces for their families to identify them.”

  El Diablo gave Cisco a very disapproving look so Cisco tried to save face by shifting the blame. “I wanted to keep going at them, but some of the other Blood leaders decided that instead of wasting our troops and making the streets hot it may be best just to leave them to their little corners.”

  “Cisco,” El Diablo began, “you and I came up together since we were little pissers robbing dealers for their packages and I love you like a brother. It is because of this love that you still live, but do not test the limits of that love. I will not tolerate excuses from you or anyone else. The Jamaicans couldn’t do it, the Italians wouldn’t but you let these crab mutha fuckas disrupt our flow and disrespect our set?”

  “Michael, on everything I love these two will be dealt with in due time.” Cisco assured him

  El Diab
lo removed a cigar from his jacket pocket and lit it, watching Cisco squirm the whole time. “Cisco,” he blew out a cloud of smoke, “for as long as we’ve known each other I had never realized that common sense isn’t one of your strong points. If a girl gives you crabs, you don’t wait and give them time to multiply and cause you more discomfort. You get rid of them, immediately!” He slammed his fists on the table for emphasis. El Diablo rose from his seat and flicked the ashes of his cigar into Cisco’s drink. “I will have Harlem, and you will get it for me or I will find someone who can.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Lou-Loc stepped out of his building, and was almost blinded by the crisp May sun. He threw on his sunglasses and peered up and the clear sky and smiled because it was looking like a beautiful day. His moment was soured when Gutter started beating on the horn again. “Kick back with that shit fool!” Lou-Loc shouted.

  Gutter stepped out of the car to greet his friend. With the blue bandanas tied to his wrists and the dark glasses covering his face Gutter looked like he had stepped straight off a television episode of Gang Land. He was a coal black cat with a shaggy beard that looked like it hadn’t been combed in a few days. Whereas Lou-Loc was more conservative about flying his gang colors Gutter was G’d up at all times. He was dressed in an oversized Duke Blue Devil’s sweatshirt; blue Levi’s and blue All Stars with the blue laces. He was one of the most dangerous men Lou-Loc had ever met as well as his best friend.