Out of nowhere, Hamma’s AK-47 rapidly ripped through the cool breeze sending everyone running and screaming back into the church. Shots penetrated Mossberg’s youngest brother’s back, who shielded their mother. He died instantly. Hamma ejected more rounds into the crowd of people, taking out windows from the hearse and causing the pall bearers to drop the casket in the middle of the pavement.

Mossberg’s stiffened body rolled out of his casket, and Hamma watched the carcass bounce out onto the blacktop. He pumped shots into the dead man.

Trying to kill him, again? No?

After carrying out his plan to instill fear, a getaway car whisked him away.

“That coulda been you,” Slam said to Roc Wilda, ducking between two cars. “I bet you want parts now.”

CHAPTER 38

Under the Sixty-third and Market Street SEPTA El Station, the nefarious Slam and the traitor Gunna met. Word traveled fast that Lamar had cut Gunna off, and Slam pounced on the opportunity to create a millennium, Benedict Arnold. Lamar was currently terrorizing the city, and Slam needed help to even the score.

“Listen, young buck, that shit Lambchop and them did at my man’s funeral earlier today just took this shit to a whole ‘nother level,” Slam said. He was flustered by Lamar’s disrespect towards Mossberg’s family. He chains smoked Newports, a habit that he had brought home from state prison.

“Yeah, old head, I must admit, I’m only meeting with you because, I don’t fuck with the clown no more,” Gunna said interrupted by a train zipping by above them. “I wanna kill this nigga, and he’d never expect it from me.”

“Right. Right.”

“I’m still able to get close up on him.”

“Aight, yeah, I been heard that you’re official. I hope what they say is true.”

“Indeed it is.”

“I got fifteen grand if you kill the li’l bitch.”

“I gotcha, OG. Just give me coupla days, and I guarantee he’ll be on the cover of the Daily News. Real rap. I hate that, nigga. Before I kill him, I’mma rob him. I know where he lives at out in New Jersey. I’m going to get that ass.”

“Nice,” Slam said, rubbing his hands together.

“You got some heat?”

“What? A gun?” Slam asked puzzled.

Gunna cocked his head to the side and nodded. “Yeah.”

“I only got this li’l ass .32. This is just something to keep ‘em up off me, that’s all,” Slam said, smiling.

Gunna went in for the kill. Why not add Slam to the pile? “I can get my hands on something big for you. That ain’t ‘bout shit. I’mma link you with my white bull. He is robbing gun shops in New Jersey.”

“OK, bet. I got some family business to tend to. They’re throwing me a coming home event since you ruined my big shindig,” he said, chuckling. “I’m kinda glad you offed Mossberg. He was bitchin’ and scared to death of that Lambchop.”

“Aight, bet. Sorry ‘bout that,” Gunna said, laughing.

“How’d you get out anyway?”

“Bail. I got a bail bonds man in my pocket. I get him and his bounty hunter boys guns.” And if you buy that, I got an island off of the coast of Paris waiting for you. He smiled and walked away.

CHAPTER 39

Although Lamar had lived in Princeton, New Jersey with Nikia and their daughter, he had spent less time there, and a lot more with Amilli. Despite that, he had plans to head to her mother’s home for a day party. Nikia wouldn’t tell him what they were celebrating, but he agreed to go even though he had been mentally preparing to break up with her. His life was speeding along and she just wasn’t keeping up the pace with it. One false move and she’d be fired.

Driving along I-76 from picking up drugs from Oz, he passed Boat House Row and admired the serene appeal of the quiet Schuykill River. In the distance was the Art Museum of Philadelphia. He envisioned doing cardio on the steps with Amilli by his side in tights and a sports bra. There was something about her that forced him to day dream about doing things with her only done in romance novels and written in advice columns of men’s magazines. Exiting at Grays Ferry Avenue, his cell phone rang.

He answered and without preamble heard, “Lamar, you were supposed to be here this morning.” Nikia whined on the other end of the line.

“Baby, I’m on my way. I told you that I had some business to handle this morning. I’m coming there now. Is everybody there yet?” It was her family’s function, so why’d Nikia want him to attend.

“Yeah, everybody is here except you, Lamar. People want to meet Celebrity’s dad.”

“OK, I’m passing the VA Hospital,” he said, swerving around a reckless taxi driver.

“Hurry up, big head.”

“Shut up, dust bunny. Wassup with my daughter?” Lamar asked.

“Just hurry up, boy.” She hung up.

Lamar’s phone rang. “Yo, Hamma, what it look like?”

“Ain’t shit, bull. I just woke up. You good? Where you at?”

“‘Bout to be at Nikia’s mom’s crib. They having a little get together. I just left Oz, and grabbed twenty-five of them things. They at the Northeast spot.”

“Aight get at me when you get done, though. I’m ‘bout to get dressed and go holla at Trap. He taking the driver’s test today. Watch ya body, homie.”

“My .40 gon’ do that.”

Ten minutes later, Lamar walked up to the front steps to Ms. Kesha’s home, kissed his daughter on her tiny face, and then, Nikia on the cheek. She frowned. The sound of the door opening and closing caught their attention. A male came out of the house talking on a cell phone, smoking a cigarette.

“What the fuck,” Lamar blurted out, before easing back two steps and taking his .40 from his back. He smoothly placed it in his back pocket.

“Oh, Lamar, this is my daddy. Daddy, this is Lamar,” Nikia said gleefully. “They call him Lambchop.”

Slam hung up the phone at the sound of Lamar’s name.

Lamar said nothing in reply. The air was silent. He was imagining Slam in a coffin wearing a beige suit to compliment his complexion. His airways were choked. He nodded, adding a villainous smile.

“So we finally meet. Aye, Princess, let me and Lambchop get to know each other. Grab us a beer.”