Lamar, fully irritated, hung up the phone and threw it into the empty passenger seat. Ten minutes later, driving up Fifty-Second Street towards Arch Street, he stopped in front of Yummy's Diner. Lamar parked and grabbed a hoodie off of the backseat, before walking into the restaurant.
Once inside he understood why Yummy's was a spot where one could sit down, eat, and gain a piece of mind. It was busy, but quiet as the staff serviced the customers in a professional and personal way.
As he stood by the door awaiting a booth, he heard, "Lambchop? Oh, my God. How are you doing, boy? I ain't know you came home." A mature waitress greeted him with a hug.
Recognizing the familiar face filled with excitement, Lamar cracked his famous half-smile. "Yo, Amilli, what's up, Shorty?"
She was a CO at CFCF and kept him laced with weed and gave him a cell phone when he was there. "Nothing much, just working this part-time gig. You know I'm 'bout my money. When you get home?" she asked again. "I thought they sent you up state from the jail."
"Nope, I been home about a week now. I have just been busy as shit. I figured I'd come see you and grab a bite to eat while I was over this end." He lied.
"Oh, OK, I see you still look good." She complimented him and pat his shoulder.
"Yeah, you know, I'm moving at the speed of light out here. You need to give me ya number, though, so I can take you to a movie or the park or something. I'll have you home before dark, I promise. Scout's honor." Lamar held up two fingers, symbolic of the Boy Scouts.
The gesture caused Amilli to blush. "Oh, you're adding Luther tunes to your game now. Sexy," she said, running her fingers through her hair.
"Yeah, you know I'm a real playa, and I like 'em a little older than me. I'm about to get a new car and I want you to be the first to ride with me. What you think?" Lamar said, thinking that she'd be perfect to get him a car in her name, using her credit.
Amilli had butterflies thinking of dealing with Lamar. She had always looked at him as just another man who had an early death forthcoming or who was destined to spend life in jail. She worked two jobs, was in her first year of college, and didn't have time to chase men around, especially ones that frequented her primary job. She was twenty-nine-years-old and really did like the young buck, but debated with herself if she could survive his lifestyle or get him to leave it.
"Yeah, whatever, Lambchop," she said, playfully, rolling her eyes. "Are you orderin' or what, boy?" she asked, putting her cell phone number into his phone.
"Yeah, let me get the usual. Turkey bacon. Eggs and cheese scrambled. Home fries. French toast." He smiled, walked to the back of the diner to wait for his food, and played with his phone. While doing so, Gunna called him back.
"Yo." Lamar was clearly agitated.
"Come on, that ain't for us, bro. Stop with the girl shit."
"I ain't on no girl shit, dog. I just think you ain't been keeping it hunnid with me lately."
"What are you talking about, you just fuckin' came home, my nigga," Gunna said desperately, trying to figure out where all the hostility came from. "Mattafact, meet me right now," demanded Gunna.
"I'm at Yummy's. I was about to slide out in a minute. I'll wait on you, so hurry up, I don't have all day."
"We got a lot of talking to do, nigga." Gunna never gave Lamar a chance to respond before he ended the call.
Lamar then yelled to Amilli, "Make that for here."
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.
