"Yeah, no question," answered Trap before tapping his waistline showing the Ruger's print.
Lamar smiled at his boldness. "Aight, anybody come through, shoot first and ask questions later. Hit my horn if you need something."
"Aight."
They gave each other the world-renowned one arm hug and parted ways. Lamar pushed his way by the gossiping looky-loos. He hated them and their false concern. Women were shedding tears―some he knew hated Gunna, and some didn't even know him. I hate people. Using more reflex than deliberate thought, Lamar walked away from the crime scene before the police started pulling people up for questioning. He passed a news van and smiled; Gunna had always wanted to make the news. Good thing, the two boys were not lying there suffering alone in the dewy morning street, waiting for the coroner.
A HALF-HOUR LATER, Lamar arrived at The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania at Thirty-Fourth and Spruce Streets. Blending in with a crowd of medical students, he bypassed the visitor's desk and found the corridor leading to the emergency surgery department. He pressed the button on the wall to open the automatic double doors and was greeted by Gunna's mother, Mrs. Robinson.
Her eyes were reddened, filled with sorrow and grief. On sight, she stood and hugged him. He was frustrated to see tears in her eyes. He dropped a tear of his own.
"What's going on with him? He dead ain't he?"
"My baby fightin', Lamar. He's in surgery. He died out there on the scene. They said he was dead on arrival, but they revived him. He's not conscious, but alive."
"Wow."
"God is good, Lamar. God is good."
"Yes. Any word on the kid that came in with him?"
"He's in stable condition." Lamar was speechless, and she went on, "Y'all are too young to be out here living like this."
Should we wait until our sixties? What-the-fuck!
"If your mother was alive, Lamar, she'd be disappointed. I know that poor woman is turning in her grave."
"I know, Mrs. Robinson. Let's sit down."
She had always been like a second mother to him. Someone that he could talk about anything. Lamar's mother and she were close friends until the tragic night when his mother's life was cut short.
"He was shot in the head and at least eight times in the body. They didn't have to shoot my child all them times." She shook her head and started to cry, again.
He got her some tissue and water and then sat back next to her.
After ten minutes of silence between them, she said, "You don't have to sit around here. Let me call you after the surgery."
"OK, I do have to take care of a few things. Tell, my boy, I love him."
"I certainly will," she said.
He kissed her on the cheek and made his exit.
CHAPTER 14
That afternoon, FBI Agent Jason Brown posing as J-Rock, watched Trap walk through the projects using binoculars and swung into action. He splashed vodka on his hands, and then wiped them on his neck like cologne. He went to his front door just as Trap was about to pass and called him, before stumbling drunkenly onto the porch, and down the steps to the curb to greet him.
"Damn, you're fucked up, J-Rock," Trap said, smiling, and then shook his head. "You bent, my nigga."
"Yeah, I been getting pussy, giving up the drunk dick, since Gunna got popped this morning." J-Rock was slurring and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's my ace, dog."
"That was fucked up, but you know we're on it, though," Trap said, adjusting his fitted cap on his head.
"No doubt. No doubt," J-Rock replied, leaning into Trap. "Gunna told me..."
"Damn, you smell like you been drinking all week."
J-Rock spits and then laughed. He knew liquor had lured men into a false state of confidence, so he continued his act. "Fuck outta here, bull. I'm good. Gunna told me that he and Lambchop put some nigga down in Darby, and they're probably the ones that shot shit up this morning." He ran his tongue over his lips, grabbed his throat, pretending to be parched. He violently shook his head, trying to regain his composure.
"I don't know about that, but I'm sure my old head would want to know that he told you that."
"OK, let me know if you need any heat. My man, Stan, got plenty of guns."
"Good lookin'," Trap said wide-eyed.
J-Rock squeezed his eyes together and rocked back like he was about to fall. Trap grabbed him.
"I'm good, man. I'm straight." He closed his eyes and stared at a passing car. "But, yeah, tell Lambchop to holla at the Darby niggas. I would tell him, but you know we got bad blood."
"True dat. How is your bitch doing anyway?" Trap asked, thinking about the incident. It seemed so long ago.
"She's good. Her parents got her at they crib in Northeast. They blame me for sending her down here and she won't see me," the undercover agent replied, lying to the young thug.
