“You ready, bro?”
“Yeah, been ready.”
He stood up from his seat.
“Everything good with you, mama? You need something before we go?”
“No, I’m fine. Going to finish this soup and take some down to grandma. She said she wasn’t feeling well earlier.”
“Okay, and thanks for always looking out for her.”
“You know it’s no problem. Don’t thank me for what I do for our family, Hov.”
I leaned down and kissed her on the lips. When I pulled back, she reached up and gently touched the side of my face, just like she always did.
“Love you, mama, and call me if you need me. My phone will be at my hip.”
“Okay, safety baby. I can’t wait to see you later.”
I nodded and kissed her knuckles.
“See you later, little mama.” I grabbed Amira’s tiny hand, even smaller in my fingertips. I can’t wait for the day I say goodbye to my own child. I know it will be even harder than saying goodbye to Amira.
Crew and I got in the car and headed to the spot where Amir told us to meet him. We had cars in front and behind us in case of an ambush, but I doubted it. Word had spread about Mecca’s son Abraham being killed in a so-called tragic robbery. I guess they moved like us, not letting anyone know who harmed their people, so they could get revenge in peace, as we say.
When we arrived down from the location, Amir was already there. I noticed bandages peeking from the collar of his shirt, showing he was hurt.
Crew and I stepped out of the car and walked up to Amir who was leaning back against an old school Tahoe. His curly hair fell over his face, hiding his eyes until he pushed it back.
“Thank y’all for showing up.”
“You know we were coming, no doubt.” Crew replied as we shook hands with the nigga.
“Alright, so you sure you're good with this hit, right? We're not going to have to double back on you, after it's over, are we?”
“Nah. We're good, I promise you that. Just don’t hit the ladies or the kids because they're just being dragged along in this shit. But I’m straight on getting the rest of them fuck ass muthafucka’s out of the way. Better them than me.”
“Overly understood,” I replied to the nigga.
“Pop your shit. May Allah send them to hell.”
He said as we walked back to our car.
The plan was simple: Mecca was holding a graveside service for his son at a private family cemetery, on a back road an hour from Brooklyn. There was only one way in and out, and the funeral was scheduled near nightfall because Mecca was paranoid.
Amir got the details from the cameras he’d planted around the house during his time with them, which over time confirmed his suspicions of him being the black sheep. He gave us the address, and we drove for almost an hour before stopping down the road from the cemetery and they had no idea we knew where to come.
I took out my phone and made that call to my generals, who I was sure would clear the path the right way for us.
“Yo?” Scotty answered the phone.
“Just checking to see if you niggas know what to do.”
“Yes, sir, take out the guards posted up at the front of the street that leads down to the targets.”
“Alright, y’all niggas got your silencers on, right?”
“You know it. All they are going to hear is whistling before they drop.”
