CHAPTER 8

Moments passed and Lamar ate while amusing himself with the various apps on his iPhone. Fifteen minutes passed before, he looked up as Gunna walked into the diner. He was dressed in a brown Louis Vuitton sweater and matching brown checkerboard sneakers. He gave off an impression of importance as he gave head nods to a few people before he hung up his phone.

"Yo, Amilli," he called out to her before finding Lamar and joining him at his table.

Amilli rolled her eyes in contempt towards Gunna. Though he and Lamar's lifestyle were similar, Gunna's arrogance made her despise the man. Learning who he was there to meet, she continued her duties, knowing she'd have to deal with Gunna if she dated Lamar.

"Lambchop, what up, bro?" Gunna said as he took a seat.

"What's up?" replied Lamar deadpan. His voice was laced with animosity. "I'm hearing a lot of shit about you lately," revealed Lamar.

"Like?" Gunna asked confused.

"Like the fact that you ain't drop no work on Turk and Trap in almost a month. Them li'l niggas wanna eat just like you and me with everybody else out there. You ain't playing fair."

"How I ain't playing fair, Lambchop? While you were booked, I kept the li'l bit of work I had out there on the block. Them li'l niggas got me fucked up. I am Bartram Village, nigga. I am Fifty-Second and Kingsessing. All you niggas would be broke if it wasn't for me." Gunna's voice rose, as he disregarded who heard the argument.

"First off, nigga, I never asked you or any one else for a handout. So miss me with that bullshit you talkin'. I made me who I am. I'm self-made, nigga, and never been broke. When I was sittin' in jail, I didn't call or ask you for a dollar. So, again, miss me with that bullshit." He took a bite of his eggs. Sipped orange juice, and then added, "Not to get off subject, but who the fuck this white bull you been hanging with along with that clown, J-Rock? I went to jail because I shot his snow bunny, so I can't see him befriending my homie without ill intent." He jammed a piece of bacon into his mouth to punctuate his point.

"Aye, Gunna, let me see that lighter real quick. I'm trying to light that Backwood," Lamar said, admiring his purple haze filled stogy. They sat on the steps of an abandoned building in their projects, a few doors from their trap spot.

"Listen here, playboy, gimme my shit back, you good lighter thieving muthafucka."

Between laughter, Lamar said, "I got chu, I do be having like seven lighters when I empty my pockets at night."

They sat smoking, doing what average teenagers did when Gunna spotted a brunette peeking into the window of an abandoned house. She didn't look bad enough to be a smoker, but not good enough to be a super model, either.

After careful observation, he nudged Lamar, and said, "Lambchop, you see Becky right there by the trap?"

"Yeah, I see her. Fuck she doin'? She doesn't look like no smoka. Whatchu think? Cop? Or one of them building inspectors or something?" Lamar replied.

"I dunno, but she got to go before somebody else sees her and gets to thinkin' some strange shit, like she is a cop and she in front of the trap spot. Feel me?"

"Yeah, so what you trying to go tell her to keep it movin'?" Lamar asked.

"You damn right," Gunna responded, making his way in her direction.

Sprinting, Lamar caught up to Gunna and decided to make the first contact. "Aye, lady, can I help you with something?" Lamar asked, lifting his shirt, revealing a black .25-caliber Taurus pistol with a mother of pearl grip.

"No, no, young man, can I help you with something? I was sent here by an agency to check out this house for my black husband and me to move in, so if you'll excuse me," the lady retorted sarcastically.

"Well, this is how were gonna do this, with ya smart ass mouf. You got sixty-seconds to evacuate the premises before the agency and your husband finds your ass having disappeared."

"No white people allowed. Get where we coming from, lady? We don't want any residents in this particular house, ya dig?"

Angrily, the woman fumbled in her purse for her cell phone, screaming, "How dare you―"

Lamar impulsively puts two bullets into her mid-section. She fell to the pavement, grabbing her stomach. Another shot went through her thigh before he took off running with Gunna behind him.

Unbeknownst to them, a neighbor across the street and two houses down, was on the phone, calling nine-one-one before they had a chance to turn the corner.

Returning to the future, Gunna looked puzzled, and said, "White bull?" repeating Lamar's question.

"You're dumb now?"

"Naw, you talkin' 'bout my white homie, Stan."

"Quick memory," Lamar said, smirking.

In a quiet tone, Gunna said, "That's who I got the pistol, I gave you when you got out. He is running up in the gun stores in New Jersey, so he is having guns on deck. And J-Rock cool as shit, too, and turned me on to a coke connect. They good money. The chick that you shot was some white bitch he was fuckin' for her money. She was taking care of him." He took a breath and let all of those lies sink in. "But fuck all that, I just got the call on the way here. That pack touching down in Darby in a few days. Plus, I got some more bread to score for a hit if you wit' it." Gunna locked his eyes with Lamar's to indicate that it was a serious matter.

"I'm with whatever, as long as it's about this paper," Lamar replied nonchalantly. "But you better get ya shit together, my nigga."

"Aiight, well, look, you and Trap caught that body on the block when I was up the street with J-Rock and this dude named, Oz."

"Stop mentioning this body on the block, muthafucka," Lamar said, pounding the table. "Now, what's up?"

"Well, my man, Oz, from up the Badlands and shit. He got some work he needs taken care of."

"A hit?" Lamar asked.

"He got thirty-grand for us to put someone in the dirt. He tried to give me some of the money right then and there, but I told him to hold off until I ran it by you. It's easy money, Lambchop," Gunna said, nodding his head to the side.

Lamar sat in silence as he contemplated Gunna's words. "Let's do it."

"All right, say no more. We on it then." Gunna's excitement was evident. "I'm gonna give him a call in the morning. He got the bread for us for sure. He drives around in a Maybach and calls his Range Rover his hoopty. This nigga is a major playa."

"Listen, Gunna, don't none of that shit impress me. Just make sure he got that bread," stated Lamar.

Gunna laughed. "He's a good dude and ain't gonna try no funny shit. He already knows what type of time we're on, bro. I'm tryinna be a couple thousand dollars richer, you feel me?" Gunna leaned back, interlocking his fingers behind his head.

Lamar took a sip of his orange juice, wondering what the future held for him and his friend. It looked bleak.

CHAPTER 9

October third―a week later―Lamar pushed his seat to an upright position, excited at the prospect that he would be richer after they robbed the house in Upper Darby. He was glad that Gunna had been making plans for them both to get money. That was the least he could do considering all of the other areas in life that he was failing. Good thing he knew that Gunna knew how to keep his mouth shut because if the police caught them it would be no task to prove what they planned was classified as premeditated. This took the robbery-homicide to a more serious level.

"You ready, bro?" Gunna asked, breaking the silence as he looked over to the driver's seat where Lamar was driving.

"I have always been ready. I was born ready." He drove up Walnut Street, crossed Sixty-third Street, and into Upper Darby Borough.