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Although Lamar had lived in Princeton, New Jersey with Nikia and their daughter, he had spent less time there, and a lot more with Amilli. Despite that, he had plans to head to her mother’s home for a day party. Nikia wouldn’t tell him what they were celebrating, but he agreed to go even though he had been mentally preparing to break up with her. His life was speeding along and she just wasn’t keeping up the pace with it. One false move and she’d be fired.
Driving along I-76 from picking up drugs from Oz, he passed Boat House Row and admired the serene appeal of the quiet Schuykill River. In the distance was the Art Museum of Philadelphia. He envisioned doing cardio on the steps with Amilli by his side in tights and a sports bra. There was something about her that forced him to day dream about doing things with her only done in romance novels and written in advice columns of men’s magazines. Exiting at Grays Ferry Avenue, his cell phone rang.
He answered and without preamble heard, “Lamar, you were supposed to be here this morning.” Nikia whined on the other end of the line.
“Baby, I’m on my way. I told you that I had some business to handle this morning. I’m coming there now. Is everybody there yet?” It was her family’s function, so why’d Nikia want him to attend.
“Yeah, everybody is here except you, Lamar. People want to meet Celebrity’s dad.”
“OK, I’m passing the VA Hospital,” he said, swerving around a reckless taxi driver.
“Hurry up, big head.”
“Shut up, dust bunny. Wassup with my daughter?” Lamar asked.
“Just hurry up, boy.” She hung up.
Lamar’s phone rang. “Yo, Hamma, what it look like?”
“Ain’t shit, bull. I just woke up. You good? Where you at?”
“‘Bout to be at Nikia’s mom’s crib. They having a little get together. I just left Oz, and grabbed twenty-five of them things. They at the Northeast spot.”
“Aight get at me when you get done, though. I’m ‘bout to get dressed and go holla at Trap. He taking the driver’s test today. Watch ya body, homie.”
“My .40 gon’ do that.”
Ten minutes later, Lamar walked up to the front steps to Ms. Kesha’s home, kissed his daughter on her tiny face, and then, Nikia on the cheek. She frowned. The sound of the door opening and closing caught their attention. A male came out of the house talking on a cell phone, smoking a cigarette.
“What the fuck,” Lamar blurted out, before easing back two steps and taking his .40 from his back. He smoothly placed it in his back pocket.
“Oh, Lamar, this is my daddy. Daddy, this is Lamar,” Nikia said gleefully. “They call him Lambchop.”
Slam hung up the phone at the sound of Lamar’s name.
Lamar said nothing in reply. The air was silent. He was imagining Slam in a coffin wearing a beige suit to compliment his complexion. His airways were choked. He nodded, adding a villainous smile.
“So we finally meet. Aye, Princess, let me and Lambchop get to know each other. Grab us a beer.”
Nikia passed Celebrity to Lamar and made her way inside. Before the door shut behind her, Lamar’s .40 was in her father’s face. The ten seconds of staring seemed like an hour.
“Since you haven’t shot.” Slam eased his gun from his waste band and smirked. “The only thing that’s stopping me from putting those cute tattoos of yours on the ground is my granddaughter in your arms.” Slam hissed.
“Pretend that she isn’t because this will be the only time that you get close to a man like me. The only reason you’re still on your feet, breathing, is because I know all of those good Christians inside that house is going to send me right where you just left.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Nikia returned from getting the beers and found her father and boyfriend in a standoff. “What is going on?” Nikia asked in awe.
“Here, take her,” demanded Lamar. She complied, and he said, “Now shoot, pussy. Shoot me now. Raise your arm so that I can blow that gray hair off ya fuckin’ head.”
“Lamar!” Nikia screamed. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s a time and place for everything,” Slam said, smiling.
“What the fuck is going on?” Nikia screamed.
“Your lame ass dad. Your mom should’ve kept the fake death routine going on, so you would still think he was dead. But you may as well pick a side because this is already passed negotiations. Your absent dad, or me, your real daddy?” He tilted his head to the side and squeezed his eyebrows before he squinted his eyes.
“Y’all are crazy,” she replied.
“He’s been threatening to kill me over my block for years now. But, answer my question. Daddy”—he nodded towards Slam—“or daddy?”
“Lamar, don’t do this,” she said forlornly.
Slam’s head slowly moved left to right, from her to him, as if he watched a tennis match.
“I guess you rolling with him,” Lamar said, snatching Celebrity out of her arms.
“Lamar, please,” she pleaded.
“Old head, you’s a sucka,” growled Lamar, letting his gun down and backing up.
“I’ll see you in traffic,” Slam said, pulling Nikia into his arms.
“Indeed.”
Lamar pulled off with Celebrity in his lap. Two blocks away, he pulled over and put her in a car seat that he kept in the trunk. Back in the pilot seat, he sent Nikia a text message:
Do not go to the crib in Jersey. Stay at your mom’s crib or get a hotel. Ur dad has been out to kill me since he’s been out of jail. And please do not let him or anyone mysteriously know about where I lay my head Nikia if you want to see your daughter again. Alive. I mean it.