“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.
“Wassup with y'all bulls?” Lamar asked, pulling up and double parking next to them. He could block his street when he wanted.
“Ain’t shit, playa,” answered Crook.
“I talked to Gunna’s mom, she said, he still on life support. I ain’t been to the hospital in about three days. I hate seeing him like that,” Lamar said with his mind wandering back to his last hospital visit. “I just got some fucked up news, too.”
“What’s up?” Trap asked.
“That shit out in Darby the other night—“ Lamar said.
“What about it?” Crook’s baritone voice boomed as he leaned in to get the news.
“They didn’t have shit to do with Gunna and Turk getting hit.” He let their reaction subside, and then said, “That shit was for nothing.”
“Get the fuck outta here,” Trap said, folding his arms.
“You bullshitten?” Crook said, shaking his head.
“I wish I was.”
“See li’l nigga, that’s why I told you to do your homework before you jump the gun. Fuck it, though, what’s done is done. Anyway, who shot up the block if it wasn’t them?” Crook asked frankly.
“This nigga named, Tic.”
“Tic?” Crooked chuckled. “With a name like that he gotta be a sucker.”
“Oh, you don’t know him?” Lamar asked Crook.
“Naw,” he replied, taking a puff of weed.
“I do,” Trap said. “He some lame from Fifty Second and Haverford.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lamar said, “what’s his beef with the block?”
“If it was him, he’s mad because Gunna fucked his bitch. Some hairdresser chick named, Janet, or some shit like that. When you were locked up, he came over this way and caught her leaving the trap with Gunna. He got outta pocket and we jumped that nigga and sent him running up outta here.”
“That lines up with what I heard,” Lamar said without revealing his source. “Y’all should have killed him, I say.” “So, now, we gotta go get this flea,” Crook said jauntily, masking his disappointment.
“I already know, the bitch, Janice, works at the salon, Platinum Shears, on South Street. They were in there talking about the shooting. That nigga a cold noodle. I’m supposed to get the drop on Janice next week. I’m gonna put something together after that.”
