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Lamar walked towards his car parked on the corner of Nikia's street. Her face flashed in front of him, the disgusting way in which she'd stared at him. He killed a worthless drug dealer. Big deal. It came with the rules of the game, which everyone playing knew all too well. He begged her not to talk down to him. But, no, Nikia hopped on the first opportunity to degrade him. Bitch! A trickle of saliva ran down the side of his chin, he wiped it with the back of his hand and smiled.
When he reached the corner of Ithan Street―Nikia's street―and Elmwood Avenue, he leaned against the Marauder and watched the police in a riff with two truant delinquents. They were all imbeciles for sure, the cops especially. Here, I am over here. A killer. A big fish. Forget those kids. He simply stood there frozen. He couldn't move, breathe, think. He had to remain calm, figure out a game plan.
He was a Boy Scout―always prepared.
Ten minutes later, he popped the trunk and removed the Dr. Denim bag with the drugs from the previous night's robbery/homicide. Rummaging through Nikia's book bag, he found a black Magic marker and some loose-leaf notebook paper. On it, he wrote FOR SALE, his cell phone number, and then placed it in the back window. He removed Nikia's book bag and his charger from the car and then locked the car up. With no desire to be bothered by Nikia, Lamar stuck her bag between the screen door and front door, before texting her to let her know that he had left the bag there. He disappeared on foot before she came to the door.
Five blocks away he decided that the only solution to calm down was to call his best friend, Gunna. He smoked a Newport to ease his stress. Better.