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“Alhamdulillah.” Praise be to Allah.
Lamar awakened Monday morning with Nikia in his arms, feeling more relaxed and satisfied than he had in recent months. Her head was nestled under his shoulder, her left leg flung over his lower body, and the toes of her foot was clamped onto the slim ridge of his heal. She admired him and assumed he’d been awake sometime before her. She spied him silently without moving, gazing greedily at his physique—the regal blocks of his stomach, his buff chest, and his strong hands. She surmised he was purposely not moving in order to bother her, but his eyes were wide open and focused on the TV—the news.
“Good morning, Covergirl,” Lamar said, smiling as he leaned over and kissed her on the lips, memories of their multiple orgasms from the night before at the forefront of his thoughts. “I might not be able to convince you, but you were real good.”
Nikia threw the sheet over her face, blushing and grinning, and then uncovered her face. “I had to wear you out, to be sure them bitches can’t get a chance to get you.”
Lamar stood up, exposing his nakedness. “Oh, really?” he asked, grabbing a fresh towel to head to the bathroom.
“Baby, where are you going?” Nikia asked. “I was going to cook.”
“Please, not right now, Nikia. I gotta go see, Gunna, then takes some work to the block, so we can have some bread to move.” He wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’m broke.” If she ever really truly faced the facts of life, she probably would skip getting her day started.
“Broke?”
“Yup, but I need you to start looking for us an apartment out Northeast or New Jersey.”
Nikia sat up and her perky breasts hung in the air. Her face showed a little excitement, despite her disappointment because he continued to sell drugs. “I guess I can do that.”
“You can. And you will,” he said, making his way to the bathroom to take care of his morning hygiene.
When he finished he threw on a crisp, brown Dickie set and some beef (brown) and broccoli (green) Timberland hikers.
“Lamar, you got mail,” Nikia’s mother called out to him from the living room. Oh, no, another postcard.
“Aight, here I come,” he yelled after putting his .40 on his waist and kissing Nikia on her forehead.
Down stairs, Nikia’s mother handed him the letter. It was from one of his homies at CFCF. He opened it, walked onto the porch, and read it:
Lambchop,
What’s up with you, bull? Hopefully, by the time this kite lands, everything will be everything. As for me, though, I’m chill. They finally marked my case MUST BE TRIED. That’s next month, so hopefully, I touch down. Insha Allah. Your name poppin’ in here. Ya girl, Ms. K, still be giving me cigarettes and weed to sell. She ‘bout her bread. Wassup with the hoes out there? Oh, yeah, I heard about your man, Gunna, as well. If he lives keep an eye on that crafty ass nigga, dog. Aight, bull, I’m out for now. Good lookin’ on that $500, too. Shoot me some flicks.
Bulletproof Love,
Two Can Ham
Lamar smiled as the letter came to an end. This nigga, Hamma, shot out, he thought, walking down the front steps of the house. He saw a strange white man circling his car. The car hadn’t moved since the night he and Gunna caught their last body in Upper Darby.
“Hey, how you doing,” Lamar asked, hoping the man wasn’t a cop. “You like that there?”
“Yeah, bud, I actually love these bad boys,” the man replied excitedly.
“Right. Right.”
“These things are hard to come by. Most guys go and get a Grand Marquis, change the bumper, and throw on an extra exhaust pipe.”
“And, then, think that they have a Marauder,” Lamar said, laughing.
“This one is official.”
“Yup,” Lamar said, smiling. A friendly salesman. “It runs great and I only want eighty-five hundred for it.”
“No way, kid. This isn’t your little guy?”
“Actually, it’s my mother’s, and she’s off today. We can make a deal, ASAP.”
“Well, shit. Yeah, I’ll buy it. I only have about eighty-two on me, right now.”
“No problem, we can stop at a bank on the way to change the title. Let me get my mom,” Lamar said, shaking the man’s hand.