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Lamar pushed Amilli’s Chevrolet Malibu through the deserted streets without stopping at any traffic lights. The smell of Slam’s dead body grew stronger in his nostrils, the closer that he got to Bartram Village. As he drove he continued to brood about what he and Amilli had discussed. He was digging her ghost. The only thing that stopped him from walking all the way out on Nikia was the fact that the grass was not always greener. Well, that and despite her nagging, he loved her. Love for her was like a cancer, there was no cure.
He finally reached the block, hopped out of the car, and approached Gunna who stood on the corner alone.
Where the fuck are the police if they lit up the block?
The police had to be lurking if shots were fired.
“Where the nigga at, dog?” Lamar asked, huffing like an animal.
“They around the corner on the nigga Slam’s mom block,” Gunna said.
Lamar parked the car in a nearby spot and then they walked a block over towards where Slam’s mother lived for the last forty years.
“Man, you sure they out here,” Lamar asked, taking his gun off his hip. He didn’t see anyone outside.
“They right in the middle of the block. Let me get the strap. These niggas chopped on me, so I wanna be the one to kill these faggots.”
Lamar respected that wish and passed his .40 off as he stood on the corner and waited. He turned his head for a split second as a stray cat made noise in a nearby trash can. Before he turned back around, he saw a flash out the corner of his eye, followed by a thunderous boom. Lamar instantly fell to the ground, watching a pair of feet jogging away. The pain that soared through his head mixed with the blood that surrounded him, Lamar knew that his life had come to an abrupt end.