“What’s good, DL? Can you cut me or are you on your best bullshit today?”

“I got you right after I smoke this Backwood.”

DL began rolling the exotic herb. He then lit it, took a few hits barely letting any smoke escape between puffs. The massive amount of smoke sent his lungs into a rage of coughing.

“Shit. Here, here, Crook.” DL passed the weed. “Damn, that shit good,” he said between coughs.

Crook ended up doing the same, finding himself trapped in a tornado of coughs.

“Damn, y’all niggas sound like y’all dying over there,” Trew called out stopping the haircut he was giving his customer. “Let me hit that shit,” he added. Trew quickly put the finishing touches on his client’s hair, brushed him down, and took the cape from around his neck. After collecting his money, Trew walked over to DL’s station, calling for the weed.

Crook laughed and pulled away from Trew. “Dog, you come here with ya tweezers all out, reaching for the smoke, and you ain’t even wash ya hands after you just cut that man’s dirty ass hair.” He joked before passing the weed to Trew.

DL turned on the stereo system and put on a mixed CD.

“Wash your hair, dog,” DL yelled over his shoulder to Crook.

“Aight, aye, where Linda at? Crook asked, making his way to the sink.

“She doesn't wash hair on Sundays,” DL replied.

“She still actin’ stingy with that pussy?”

“Yeah.” DL laughed. “You going with the mohawk this week again, right?”

“You already know, DL. That’s my twist,” Crook replied.

After Crook finished washing his hair and drying it, he hopped into the barber’s chair. DL grabbed the cape from the arm of the chair and neatly fixed it across Crook’s chest. Crook closed his eyes as DL flicked on the clippers.

“Yo, DL?” How many you got?” an unfamiliar voice asked, as DL forced Crook’s head down to start on the back. The voice caused Crook to open his eyes but he couldn’t see who was talking.

“Just this one, you next, Tic.”

When DL was done with the back of Crook’s head, he was finally able to lift his head and put a face to the voice. Doing so, he couldn’t believe his luck as he stood face-to-face with none other than, Tic, himself. He had already seen a picture of Tic on Janice’s Facebook page.

“What’s up, Trew?” Tic said, giving him a handshake.

Trew said, “I can’t call it, playa. How Janice and her fine ass sister? Hook me up with that.”

“Them bitches crazy, man. We beefing and not speaking right now. I took that bitch Benz back,” Tic said, smiling.

Crook jumped into the conversation, and said, “I thought, Janice, was fuckin’ with my young bull, Gunna?” while sending a text to Lamar. He informed his comrade that he had, one, Tic, in his crosshairs.

Both men sensed that there was a strong possibility that it was about to go down.

“Yo, Trew, who is this clown?” Tic said aggressively balling up his face.

Subtly, Tic moved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Unbeknownst to him, Crook grasped a concealed .380 with a ladder from his waist. Crook cracked a smile as his pores poured sweat. His grip on the Glock became tighter with each passing moment. Then, before he could say a word, Tic launched two shots at him.

Both shots ripped through Crook’s Dickie shirt and the cape, before slamming into his chest. Everyone in the barbershop looked on astonished and ducked for cover. Crook then returned four shots of his own through the cape that concealed his weapon. Crook’s assault missed terribly. Tic hit the door with Crook struggling to give chase.

As they exchanged rapid fire back and forth, everyone else in the barbershop was on the floor and begging for them to stop shooting. They were ignored. Tic fired two more shots, backing down the steps. Crook’s .380 howled as he stood at the top of the staircase. Crook struck Tic in the neck and shoulder, and he spun, releasing his last shot, coming up short on his target.

Crook realized that Tic lost his gun and took control of the situation. He sent a barrage of bullets toward Tic, catching him in the back as he tried to flee. Tic’s body fell face first at the bottom of the steps.

Crook staggered into the barbershop and turned his gun on everyone inside. Blood rushed through his wounds, standing with the barber’s cape hanging from his neck and gun in his hand, looking like a superhero with his cape on backward. “Get me the fuck outta here,” Crooked said through clenched teeth. He looked as if he could collapse at any moment.

“That door back there takes you to the alley,” Trew said frightfully.

Crook stumbled towards the door as fast as his wounded body allowed him Before he reached the door everything went black.

That was where paramedics and police found him a short time later.

CHAPTER 22

“Alhamdulillah.” Praise be to Allah.

Lamar awakened Monday morning with Nikia in his arms, feeling more relaxed and satisfied than he had in recent months. Her head was nestled under his shoulder, her left leg flung over his lower body, and the toes of her foot was clamped onto the slim ridge of his heal. She admired him and assumed he’d been awake sometime before her. She spied him silently without moving, gazing greedily at his physique—the regal blocks of his stomach, his buff chest, and his strong hands. She surmised he was purposely not moving in order to bother her, but his eyes were wide open and focused on the TV—the news.

“Good morning, Covergirl,” Lamar said, smiling as he leaned over and kissed her on the lips, memories of their multiple orgasms from the night before at the forefront of his thoughts. “I might not be able to convince you, but you were real good.”

Nikia threw the sheet over her face, blushing and grinning, and then uncovered her face. “I had to wear you out, to be sure them bitches can’t get a chance to get you.”

Lamar stood up, exposing his nakedness. “Oh, really?” he asked, grabbing a fresh towel to head to the bathroom.

“Baby, where are you going?” Nikia asked. “I was going to cook.”

“Please, not right now, Nikia. I gotta go see, Gunna, then takes some work to the block, so we can have some bread to move.” He wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’m broke.” If she ever really truly faced the facts of life, she probably would skip getting her day started.

“Broke?”

“Yup, but I need you to start looking for us an apartment out Northeast or New Jersey.”

Nikia sat up and her perky breasts hung in the air. Her face showed a little excitement, despite her disappointment because he continued to sell drugs. “I guess I can do that.”

“You can. And you will,” he said, making his way to the bathroom to take care of his morning hygiene.

When he finished he threw on a crisp, brown Dickie set and some beef (brown) and broccoli (green) Timberland hikers.

“Lamar, you got mail,” Nikia’s mother called out to him from the living room. Oh, no, another postcard.

“Aight, here I come,” he yelled after putting his .40 on his waist and kissing Nikia on her forehead.

Down stairs, Nikia’s mother handed him the letter. It was from one of his homies at CFCF. He opened it, walked onto the porch, and read it: