"Naw, nigga. You drawin' callin' my phone with false accusations," snapped Lamar. "What the fuck is you talking about?"

While glancing in his rearview, he observed a cop car behind him with its lights on. There was no way that Lamar was going to pull over, considering he had no license and weed and three guns in the car. Not to mention, one of the guns had a fresh homicide, barely an hour old attached to it. He was sure that if he pulled over, he'd be sentenced to no less than a twenty-five-year bid. Lamar felt the walls of his mental space closing in. His breathing tightened.

"So you just left me on the block?" Gunna asked.

"I don't have time for this shit. I ain't with the young bulls," Lamar said, and then added, "I'm out."

With the cop still behind him, he finally pulled over waiting intently on what was to come next. "Y'all don't say a word," Lamar said to Trap and Turk. "In fact, play asleep."

The cop got out of his car and cautiously walked up to Lamar's window with his hand on the grip of his service revolver. He ordered Lamar to roll down the window. Lamar complied, though, and let weed smoke filter out into the officer's face. The older, skinny, red-haired, freckle-faced officer turned red.

"Get the fuck out of the car you son-of-a-bitch," the cop yelled in frustration at Lamar's disrespect.

Lamar nonchalantly took another pull on the Sour Diesel and forced smoke into the officer's face a second time. Furious, the officer began tugging on the locked door handle. Lamar threw the Marauder into DRIVE, gave the officer one last dose of second-hand smoke and smiled wickedly.

"Suck my dick, cracker," Lamar stated arrogantly, throwing up the peace sign. He then mashed the gas, pulling away so quickly, he caused the officer to fall backward.

The officer hopped up and raced back to his car and called for back up.

"Now, that's what I call gangsta," Turk said in awe of Lamar's complete disregard for the law.

Lamar simply smiled in response as he felt a growing strength in him. His head start to get away from the cop forced a smirk to spread across his face, because he had flipped three corners and had lost the officer.

CHAPTER 5

Lamar lit up the next Backwood about a mile away and then hit the speed dial for Nikia. He had made significant gains towards getting away from the crime scene, but he had to get out of the Marauder.

She answered on the third ring. "Hey?" she said. Her voice held an abundance of happiness.

"Hey, Cover girl. What are you doing?" Lamar asked as calmly as his adrenaline allowed.

"Waiting on you to go to dinner."

"On my way to pick you up, then, drop off my young bulls. I'm a few minutes from your house now. I'mma come in for a sec, though."

"All right. I'm glad you're close, I heard from Alexis that somebody just got killed on y'all block. Please be careful. I don't know who it was or anything."

"Yeah, OK. Make sure you're at the door, though. I need you to put something up for me." Lamar got off the subject of death. Anything could be used against him in a court of law or the street of public opinion. Either, led him to a life sentence.

"Where you at anyway?" Nikia asked, moving towards the doorway.

"I'm turning on your block, right now," Lamar said, ending the call. "Aye, Turk, pass me them burners from back there." Lamar grabbed them, as he pulled into an open parking space. He then made his way to the door where Nikia waited.

On sight of the guns, she freaked out. "Lamar what are you doing? You ain't been home a good week and already on some 'put this up' shit. You just don't fuckin' learn, Lamar. I swear to you, you on your own if you go back to jail, I mean it." Nikia warned him. "I'm not visiting or sending you a dime. You gone miss my graduation."

He didn't understand her anger. He had slept with a gun in bed with her for a week. "Girl shut the fuck up. I'm about to take you to dinner and can't have this shit on me." Lamar took a deep breath, then, pulled her into his arms while cupping her soft derriere.

Not wanting to be placated, she said, "Stop, Lamar, I'm serious. You got to play it safe." She took two of the guns.

"And I am. That's why, I don't want to drive you to dinner with a gun," he replied and pushed her inside while kissing her on her neck. "Ms. Kesha's not home, yet, right?"

"Lamar, no, my mom, is not home, but...stop." Her attempt to stop him was frivolous.

Her resistance faltered when Lamar sat on the ottoman, got her pants down, and her panties pushed to the side. He was greeted with a mouthful of her juices. Her body naturally caved to his advances. She emoted softly as he nibbled on her clit. Both of her hands gripped tightly around the butt of a gun. The closer he got her to climaxing, the tighter she held the guns.

"Ohhh, Lamar. Damn, you make me sick," she said and he felt cold steel on the back of his neck.

"Shut up and shoot," he said.

She found herself moving her waist in a small circular motion while pushing his face deeper into her wetness. He had her right where he wanted her.

"I'm 'bout to bust, daddy," she said, panting, and then released her load in his mouth.

Sexual juices dripped from his chin. He remained between her thighs, continuing to lap up what remained from her orgasm. He stood and wiped his face while staring deeply into her eyes. "You're welcome," he said, walking to the kitchen to wipe his face with a paper towel, and then added, "put them up, then come on. I want you to drive because you have a license. I'll meet you in the car." He planned to put the third gun in a flower pot on the porch so that he could get it when he returned without her knowledge.

Lamar went to the passenger door, opened it, and told Trap to get into the back. They both got in, and Lamar went into his pocket for some cash before turning to face them. After handing them both two-hundred-dollars each, Lamar said, "Here's the plan. My girl is about to come out and I'mma have her drive y'all to the Sheraton Hotel at Thirty-Fifth and Chestnut Street in University City. I'mma tell her y'all meeting some bitches there and y'all got the money for her to check y'all in with her debit card. Stay there until noon tomorrow. Do not go out or draw attention to the room. Order room service to eat and pay cash for the food. Do not bill it to the room. No liquor or smoking 'cause that's gon' draw attention. I'mma take her right around the corner to the Harvest Restaurant at Fortieth and Walnut, right next to the movie theater, so I'll be close for a little bit. Don't fuck this up."

"We got it," Trap said, nodding his head. He was eager to prove himself.

"Yeah," Turk added, "but um...Can we really call our girls over?"

"Cool. But don't tell them shit. No bragging. I'mma tell you like this: never bring your dirt home or to where you lay your head. And no pillow talk. You bringing them to a fancy hotel is enough to prove you're getting money, so, say less." He watched Nikia locking her front door, and said, "Put ya seat belts on. We don't need any reason to be stopped by police." He did the same.

"See, this why you should be called Gunna, and he should be some other nut shit," Trap said, paying homage to Lamar.

"Yeah, why they call you, Lambchop?" Turk asked as Nikia got into the car.

"Hello," she said coyly to the occupants in the back seat. They both nodded, and she asked, "Where are we going, Lamar?"

"Go to the Sheraton in U City," he said. "I'll explain in a second why." She pulled off, he turned back to Trap and Turk, and said, "Growing up everyone used to call me, Lam, but, they added, Chop, to it. And that's how I got the name, Lambchop."

CHAPTER 6

"How did I do?" Gunna asked, his hands clasped tightly on the arms of his chair. "I'd be a damn good actor, huh?" He wore the smug smirk of a man playing both sides of the fence. Seated at a table in an interview room at the Philadelphia Federal Bureau of Investigation, he had just concluded his phone call to Lamar.

Special Agent in Charge Livingston, tipped his chair back on its hind legs glancing over at his partner. A thirty-two-year-old Black undercover agent, Jason Brown, was an Ivy League scholar with enormous potential to morph into a typical street thug with bright brown eyes and tar-colored skin. He had a dark complexion, and a slew of young women thought he was a dream walking. That made it easy to blend in any hood with him posing as some woman's broke man. He could rebuild a computer, cook a better meal than his mother, possessed beautiful straight, white teeth, masculine sex appeal, and chiseled body; and, no matter the hood the SAC placed him in, he took down the bad guys. Only with this sting his target took a shot at his female partner, paralyzed her, and was back on the street thanks to a plan to get him into hotter water, and a federal LIFE sentence. Or death!

"To be honest," SA Brown said, "I'm not sure that I heard a confession. Seems, your boy doesn't trust you to speak freely to you on the phone."

"Ergo," SAC Livingston said, "maybe we have no use for you, so we should just lock your ass up for the scum bag that you are." He was Agent Brown's handler and the case lead, determined to take down Lamar Dunken.