“Home.”

He looked at his watch. “I tell you what. I’ll be there to pick you up at six. I have to do some things, but I’m going to take you to a nice restaurant so we can talk.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said softly.

He knew how to melt her. “I miss you, and I guess I needed time away from you to realize how much that I would. You’re all that I know.”

“Is that only reason why you miss me?”

“No, babe,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be there,” he said and hoped things didn't escalate. No apology for hitting her. No true acceptance that he left her, causing him to miss her.

“OK, and I miss you, too, big head. I’ve been worried sick about you. I heard Gunna and Turk were shot. Are they OK?”

“Yeah, they good.” He wasn’t trying to talk about that. “Get dressed to kill, I’ll be there at six. I’m in a white Impala.”

CHAPTER 18

Lamar opened Nikia’s door in front of the Liberty Place and handed the key to the R2L restaurant’s valet in Center City Philadelphia. They entered the building and boarded an elevator, exiting at the thirty-seventh floor. An early evening dinner, for just the two of them. He needed to be alone with her for many reasons. At the maitre d’ lectern, he admired her beauty. Nikia looked good in a black dress that stopped right above her knee. Red pumps. And a hot pink purse. Her smile and energy injected him with resilience and hope.

They were escorted to a table with a spectacular view of the city’s twinkling lights, with no interruptions for miles. He had been doing so much dirt in the city that he was elated that the glass was reflective so he could enjoy the view and watch his back. Brilliant. They ordered drinks—milkshakes, because Lamar was carded—enjoyed the candlelight ambiance, and heard a saxophone whistling somewhere.

She said, “This is nice of you. Sexy.”

“GQ Magazine. I’ve been reading.”

“Is this the part when you kiss me and we make up?”

“I guess it is.” The waitress dropped off their drinks.

“Because it’s getting hard.”

He leaned over and kissed her.

“Lamar,” she said sheepishly.

“Let’s not argue, baby.”

“I was in the shop earlier,” she said, switching the subject, “and over heard this chick named, Janice, talking about how her boyfriend named, Tic, shot Gunna and Turk. She scared for their lives. Really shook up.”

Lamar couldn’t believe what he had heard. He stared out at the window at the lit-up Art Museum of Philadelphia, attempting to remain as stone-faced as possible. Straight poker-faced. Did I kill five people in vain? A waitress came over and took their orders. Seafood Boil, shrimp, clams, and king crab, for him. For her, chilled oysters on the half shell.

When the waitress left, Lamar asked, “Is that all she said?”

“Yes, I’m so glad that you were with me, and not on that corner, which is where you belong.”

“You might be right.”

“I know that I am.”

“Me, too.”

“When are you going to leave the streets alone?”

“I gotta make sure that we’re straight, ‘cause I’m not tryinna be a working slave.”

“Make it soon.”

“Insha Allah.” If Allah wills it.

“We don’t need any money, or all of that material stuff. I love you and don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“Promise me, you’ll be safe.”

“I can’t promise you that.”

Brief silence. Deafening.

He asked, “What kinda car she drive?”

“Who?”

“Janice.”

“A silver E-class Mercedes-Benz.”

Long story short, she gotta go. “Does she work at the shop?”

“Don’t do this Lamar. I told you to prevent you from hanging around there.”

Blank stare. “Does she work there?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s enjoy this dinner.”

CHAPTER 19

After dropping Nikia off at home, the night began to set in. Lamar drove the Impala through the city at a steady pace. About nine that night, Lamar found Trap and Crook posted on the strip, smoking a Backwood filled with blueberry haze. It was a cool night, but other people were out.