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Lamar Dunken woke up a few minutes past eleven a week later. His head throbbed and his throat was dry. He hadn't been away from Nikia's house in days. Empty Bacardi vodka bottles and fast-food wrappers littered the top of the bedroom dresser. Since his involvement in the Dot shooting, he had been laying off weed to remain as alert as possible. He mistakenly believed a vodka shot was less problematic than a weed high when the police were possibly on his ass. Stupid.
Amongst the clutter on the dresser were several hundred dollar bills, the proceeds of Gunna's drug deals that he made while Lamar was locked down in the house, letting the heat from the Dot shooting die. He wished that he had the courage to kill himself. How could he, though, when he was petrified of what was on the other side? He glanced over at a photograph of him and Nikia in New York's Times Square on the wall, both of them with bright smiles on their faces. He had to get his act together before he lost the best thing that had happened to him. She and her mother were sent from heaven, and a part of him wanted to keep a smile on their faces.
Fueled by desperation and rage, he decided to get out of the house to get a meal and to get a hold of Gunna to put some things into perspective while Nikia was at class. After getting dressed, Lamar hopped into the pilot seat of the Marauder, shuttling his eyes back and forth to be sure he ducked any Philadelphia PD detectives. While he thought of where to eat, he heard his cell phone vibrating. He checked the called ID, saw that it was Gunna, and answered the phone.
"Lambchop, wassup?" Gunna sounded eager.
"Nigga, where the fuck is you at? We need to have a conversation, but not over the airwaves," Lamar said, pulling into traffic. He was overly aggressive right out of the gate.
"Man, I'm in traffic right now. I would be more than happy to talk to you when you calm the fuck down, though."
"You the one running around gettin' high and blowin' money you ain't even got." He still couldn't believe that Gunna had called him asking about shooting Dot.
"So, what you sayin', nigga?" Gunna replied.
Lamar, fully irritated, hung up the phone and threw it into the empty passenger seat. Ten minutes later, driving up Fifty-Second Street towards Arch Street, he stopped in front of Yummy's Diner. Lamar parked and grabbed a hoodie off of the backseat, before walking into the restaurant.
Once inside he understood why Yummy's was a spot where one could sit down, eat, and gain a piece of mind. It was busy, but quiet as the staff serviced the customers in a professional and personal way.
As he stood by the door awaiting a booth, he heard, "Lambchop? Oh, my God. How are you doing, boy? I ain't know you came home." A mature waitress greeted him with a hug.
Recognizing the familiar face filled with excitement, Lamar cracked his famous half-smile. "Yo, Amilli, what's up, Shorty?"
She was a CO at CFCF and kept him laced with weed and gave him a cell phone when he was there. "Nothing much, just working this part-time gig. You know I'm 'bout my money. When you get home?" she asked again. "I thought they sent you up state from the jail."
"Nope, I been home about a week now. I have just been busy as shit. I figured I'd come see you and grab a bite to eat while I was over this end." He lied.
"Oh, OK, I see you still look good." She complimented him and pat his shoulder.
"Yeah, you know, I'm moving at the speed of light out here. You need to give me ya number, though, so I can take you to a movie or the park or something. I'll have you home before dark, I promise. Scout's honor." Lamar held up two fingers, symbolic of the Boy Scouts.
The gesture caused Amilli to blush. "Oh, you're adding Luther tunes to your game now. Sexy," she said, running her fingers through her hair.
"Yeah, you know I'm a real playa, and I like 'em a little older than me. I'm about to get a new car and I want you to be the first to ride with me. What you think?" Lamar said, thinking that she'd be perfect to get him a car in her name, using her credit.
Amilli had butterflies thinking of dealing with Lamar. She had always looked at him as just another man who had an early death forthcoming or who was destined to spend life in jail. She worked two jobs, was in her first year of college, and didn't have time to chase men around, especially ones that frequented her primary job. She was twenty-nine-years-old and really did like the young buck, but debated with herself if she could survive his lifestyle or get him to leave it.
"Yeah, whatever, Lambchop," she said, playfully, rolling her eyes. "Are you orderin' or what, boy?" she asked, putting her cell phone number into his phone.
"Yeah, let me get the usual. Turkey bacon. Eggs and cheese scrambled. Home fries. French toast." He smiled, walked to the back of the diner to wait for his food, and played with his phone. While doing so, Gunna called him back.
"Yo." Lamar was clearly agitated.
"Come on, that ain't for us, bro. Stop with the girl shit."
"I ain't on no girl shit, dog. I just think you ain't been keeping it hunnid with me lately."
"What are you talking about, you just fuckin' came home, my nigga," Gunna said desperately, trying to figure out where all the hostility came from. "Mattafact, meet me right now," demanded Gunna.
"I'm at Yummy's. I was about to slide out in a minute. I'll wait on you, so hurry up, I don't have all day."
"We got a lot of talking to do, nigga." Gunna never gave Lamar a chance to respond before he ended the call.
Lamar then yelled to Amilli, "Make that for here."