“Man, he was caught selling to that nigga, Snitchy Billy. You know that hot ass mutha fucka was an informant. He talked Gunna into joining the government’s team, man. That nigga has been an informant for years. I’m telling you now, they tried to get me to flip on you, but ya boy Gunna is a straight rat, man. He told agents your every move.”

“Slam, get the fuck outta here, yo,” Lamar said, slapping his knee with the indictment. “I ain’t buying that shit.”

“You ain’t gotta, dickhead. That nigga is the one that told me y’all was going to run down on me and Nikia. Why do you think I set up that nigga to die for me and got her and ya daughter outta the city? He was feeding me everything. I gotta tell ya, youngin’, you woulda had me, but he was putting me on all of the moves that you were telling him about. But when he agreed to kill you for some money, but only grazed ya ass, I was pissed the fuck off. That nigga ain’t no good. I hope they give me bail and let me the fuck outta here. I just did twenty. I ain’t doing no more.”

Lamar sat silently for a second, and then said, “OK...OK, Slam, listen. You ain’t getting bail, so we’re going across the street and you know they ain’t gone let us on the same block.” He didn’t add that it was still on sight that he would attempt to kill him. “I can tell you now that I am taking them to trial and making them prove this bullshit against me. Just keep my name outta ya mouth. That’s all I ask.”

“Little bit too late for that, youngin’. You already know that I just got released from doing a long ass sentence, and I ain’t about to get another one for nobody.”

Lamar put two and two together and just slammed his back against the wall. Slam was already broken.

CHAPTER 53

Lamar walked through the double doors of unit 5-North, dressed in a green jumpsuit and a pair of white skippy sneakers. He had a bedroll tucked under an arm, and his ID in his hand. He approached the CO station to get his bed assignment at the Federal Detention Center—a building hidden amongst other downtown Philadelphia buildings. This one, though, housed 950 inmates and was disrespectful across the street from the African American Museum.

Lamar walked by the men, watching TV on one of four wall mounted televisions. Glancing at the top tier he saw treadmills but knew that the jail didn’t have any weights for him to workout. He made it to his cell door and peeked in before opening the door. No one was inside of the cell, so he opened the door, walked in, and pulled the door shut behind him. The door opened and a close friend stepped into the room behind him.

“Wassup, playa?”

“Ah man, wassup? Long time no sees, Shep.” Lamar smiled and half-hugged his old head, David Shepard, whom he hadn’t seen in three years.

Lamar looked Shep from head to toe. His former solid two hundred and five-pound body was about one hundred and forty. His face was sunk in and he had bags the size of a king pillow on his face. He looked awful, and Lamar wanted to explore what had gotten into his old head.

“Damn, Shep, you looking skinnier than a greyhound. Ya people ain’t been sending you that money I was hittin’ them off with?” Lamar asked as Shep threw himself down into a plastic chair. He looked like he hadn't eaten in months.

“Yeah, I’ve been gettin’ it, lil nigga. Good lookin’ out. Wassup, though? Wassup with Crook?”

“Crook still on State Road. He goes to trial next month. I dropped a buck and some change on his lawyer, so Insha Allah, his lawyer can spank that shit.”

“Oh, OK, that’s wassup. I heard you were out there stuntin’ like ya daddy. Driving spaceships and shit, doing it real B I G.” Shep laughed.

“I was definitely getting it in—”

Shep cut off Lamar. “Aye, hold up. You know Gunna slid through here for about two weeks. He slid right out. I don’t know how he did that when he told me that he got booked for buying a quarter ounce of coke. That was freaky.”

For the second time in hours, Lamar had been reminded that there was always a price for someone’s loyalty. Of his whole team, he would have never thought that Gunna would have lined him up for this.

“Shep, that nigga is the one that lined me up. The pussy tried to kill me, man.”

“Yeah—”

“Yo, the nigga Slam paid him to get me outta the way.”

“Wow!”

“It’s been real out there. I downed a lot of niggas, OG.”

“Yeah.” Shep snapped and cut Lamar deeply with his foul breath, smelling like four sweaty fat men playing jailhouse basketball.

“Gunna lined up the clown, Slam, too. The indictment is some bullshit, though. I guess he’s this CI#1 mutha fucka that this indictment keeps naming. But I am going to bring you up-to-date. Who’s my cellie? He ain’t no rat, is he? You know I don’t play that shit.”

“Nigga, I’m ya cellie.” Shep was smiling.

Later, after ten p.m. lock down, Lamar and Shep sat up, talking about everything that was going on in the streets. Lamar brought Shep up to speed on all the murders, Slam’s birthday party stunt, Nikia stealing his drugs and vanishing, and his soon-to-be baby’s mother, Amilli.

He had no idea that his first night back in jail would be the worse day of his life.

EPILOGUE

Seventeen Months Later

Four blacks.

Eight whites.

The verdict was in.

The trial was over.

Guilty on all counts.

Time had moved slow, but judgment day had arrived. Lamar walked onto his prison unit with a faux sense of satisfaction as if he’d just won his trial.

He didn’t.

Ignoring calls from his pals asking if he had been found not guilty, he slid into his cell. Shep wasn’t there because he had decided to take the witness stand and testify to all that Lamar had told him during their late night chats and so-called trial strategy sessions. Shep was moved off of the unit days earlier and separated from Lamar. His cell was empty and the walls were caving in. He sat on a plastic chair in his cell, staring at the walls that were closing in. He began to panic. Heavy breathing. Shortness of breath. Claustrophobia. There was the distinct stench of burning crack vapor choking him. Ah, the memories. He was crushed.

Lamar faced a life plus thirty years sentence, and he knew that the judge would give him every day of it. From the politics and news reports surrounding his situation, he was doomed. Looking around the cell, he wondered how had he lost his Ritz Carlton lifestyle and was now at a Days Inn. He laughed at the absurdity.

“Dunken, visit.”

Was someone playing games with him to get him out of the cell? He snapped out of his moment and asked the CO if he had a visit.

He did.

Lamar ambled back to his cell and checked himself in the mirror. He brushed his teeth, then headed back to the CO’s station, and let him know that he was ready to be escorted to the visiting room.

LAMAR WALKED INTO THE visiting area and to his surprise, he was looking at Nikia, sitting there with a devious little sneer on her face. How the fuck did this bitch get in here? She shouldn’t even be on my visiting list. He walked over and sat across from her. For a second or two, they simply stared at each other. Their once Bonnie and Clyde bond were reduced to hatred, and he didn’t know what to say. Hell, she’s up here visiting me, so she should have all of the words.