Bad ass kids, he thought. Just worthless. He stood up and told the passengers, “Sorry folks, some bad demon child just pulled the trains’ cable from the power line. I’m going to reconnect it, and we’ll be on our way.”
He whistled Happy Birthday over the “oh come ons’ and ‘what the fucks’ coming from passengers, as he exited the trolley and walked around to the back of the iron-horse. As he reached to reconnect the cable, a masked man, popped up, tapped on Roc Wilda’s shoulder interrupting his tune.
He turned around and Lamar squeezed two silent rounds that hit the driver smack-dab in the middle of his face. The driver’s conductor’s cap flipped off of his head. His flesh and blood painted the back of the trolley and the tracks.
“Happy birthday, my ass, muthafucka,” Lamar said. “This is your worse birthday ever,” he added, running to his stolen getaway car. “Man down,” he confirmed into a walkie-talkie mobile phone, pulling into traffic
“ROGER THAT,” HAMMA replied into the walkie-talkie smiling.
Trap was giggling like a little kid and rubbing his hands together. “We’re up next.”
Hamma and Trap sat in a stolen car across the street from Celebrity’s day care center. They were in the same spot, they’d watched Slam drop her off every day for the past week. Slam had been pulling up on his 2005 Camry and spinning the block two times before parking, getting out, and taking Celebrity inside. He was fully aware of what he was taking on, so he was extra cautious.
“This nigga, Lambchop, crazy as shit,” Hamma said, laughing, and fiddling with his new SK. “He wants me to kill his daughter, too. That’s a fucking project terrorist, for real.”
“Fuck it. If that’s what he wants, then that’s what we gonna do,” Trap said.
“Oh, naw. I don’t give a shit about sleepin’ the li’l one. I do this shit. Men, women, and children. You hear me?”
“Listen, I hear you, all that cool shit sounds good. If you’d hit the nigga the other night like you were supposed to, we wouldn’t be going through this shit now. Gunna dead and shit. Glad he had a closed casket and funeral. ‘cause shit may have gotten real like we did at Mossberg’s jawn. You got me gettin’ up this whole week all early and shit, just to watch this nigga. I am tired as a muthafucka right now.”
“Nigga, you the one that was bitchin’, talking ‘bout you got hit, when ya stupid ass got grazed, yellin’...ah shit, I’m hit. Like a li’l ass girl. So, miss me with all that.”
“You had a K, dog. How the fuck you miss them, niggas?” Trap asked, before noticing Slam’s Camry pull up.
Slam stopped, looked around, and made his usual two trips around the block.
“He just pulled up,” Hamma shot through the walkie-talkie, before pulling a latch back on the SK and making sure it was ready to go.”
“What the fuck is on the front of that shit?” Trap asked, looking at the bayonet, sitting on top of the assault rifle.
“I’m ‘bout to show you.”
Slam pulled back around and finally parked his car. he got out, dressed in jeans, boots, and a blue Atlanta Braves hat, pulled down, and a hoodie with dark shades that covered a large portion of his face. He double looked at the tinted Honda Accord that Hamma and Trap hid in, but paid it no mind as he grabbed Celebrity from her car seat. Once getting her out, he covered her with a small blanket to protect her from the air. He then grabbed her bag, shut the door and headed for the daycare.
Hamma tiptoed across the street.
Slam took one step down the stairs to the daycare’s basement before Hamma jammed the SK into his back. Hamma yanked at the trigger three times.
“Get off my knife, pussy,” Hamma grinned, kicking and pulling the knife out of Slam, forcing him to tumble down the stairs with Celebrity in his arms.
Hamma fired more shots into the back of Slam’s head and body as he lay face down. He looked down at the baby who wasn’t moving or crying, apparently dead from the fall down the stairs.
Finished his mission, he broke back across the street to the stolen Accord.
“Man and baby down,” he said, breathing calmly into the walkie-talkie, letting Lamar know that Slam’s life was officially terminated.
CHAPTER 47
Lamar and his team were right back to getting money. They had killed Slam, Roc Wilda, and was looking for Redz because he had a date with death. Despite that, Lamar was in better position to get to his ten million without meddling from washed-up thugs. Since the war began, he regretted nothing. The way he saw it, he was less likely to see his daughter again anyway, knowing Nikia would have probably run off with her. He had yet to figure out where she and her mother was hiding. From Lamar’s perspective, the only rule to a war was to win, so he’d find and eliminate them.
Just before he left out of his new home shared with Amilli in Aberdeen, Maryland, he grabbed his keys and kissed an expecting Amilli on her forehead. He told her that he’d be back in a couple of hours. She had resigned from the Philadelphia Prison System and was planning to open a restaurant to wash Lamar’s dirty money.
Lamar joined Trap and Hamma, who waited outside for him. After the brief small talk, Lamar looked down at his cell phone and saw a message from Gunna’s number. He checked it. It was a video. he watched it and paused.
“Y’all look at this shit?” Lamar said to his crew.
“What you lookin’ at?”
They watched a video of Gunna shooting Lamar, and Lamar was reminded of the postcard that he’d received in the mail weeks earlier. Someone had their eye on him and it was abundantly clear they were recording him. What did they have? And who had him in their crosshairs? That nigga had tried to take me out after all I’ve done for him.
“What the fuck,” Hamma said, frowning. “I knew this nigga was a snake, but who sent you the video?”
“One thing for sure, not Gunna, even though, it’s coming from his number.”
“Someone is playing games,” Trap said. He then added, “I’ll never do anything to cross you like that nigga did, dog. Real shit. I love you like a brother. You a real good nigga, and you don’t really find too many all-around good dudes no more.”
“It’s a lot of good corny ass niggas out here, but you keep it a hunnit. So, to me, we more than a team, we family. Whenever our names get called or them Feds come scoop us, just remember, we family.” Hamma spoke from his heart, looking his boys in their eyes.
Lamar paced back and forth, realizing that he had to make some major changes. His first order of business was to get rid of Nikia. She knew too much and had to go.
“Did you get the info on Slam’s funeral?” Lamar asked Trap.
