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grieving too heavily to manage my father’s funeral preparations and Scrilla was too damn lazy—or “busy” as he always said—so it all fell on me and Kisha. The $10,000 life insurance policy covered all the expenses. I went out with Kisha and Treecy and bought Pops a three thousand dollar Armani suit so he could leave us in style—and I ended up on an impromptu Michigan Avenue shopping spree that relieved me of and additional twelve thousand dollars on designer clothes for myself and the girls. I had put Pops’ raggedy old Caprice in a local detailing shop for a fifty thousand dollar makeover the day after his murder, and although I was too fucked up over his death, in the back of my mind I was anxious to see the old car’s new look.
    I awoke at 3:00 a.m. on the morning of his funeral, my head heavy with images of Pops lying dead in his casket, my eyes brimming with tears. I hadn’t cried in years, but now I did. The tears crept out of the corners of my eyes and cascaded down into my ears as I gazed up at the clean white ceiling of the Hilton Hotel suite Kisha and I had been staying in for the past two days. Kisha’s left arm was draped across my chest, and her face was buried in the crook of my neck.
    I thought of the nightmares I’d been having since the day of Pops’ murder. They had all taken place in different locations, but the situations had all played out the same way, with me being shot to death while driving my father’s Caprice past a group of young niggas in black hoodies. Twice the daunting nightmares had occurred in front of Mone’s stash house, and the others transpired in and around my hood.
    Shifting onto my side, I eyed Kisha’s beautiful chocolate-brown face and realized why those dreams were bothering me so much: I was afraid that one of them might come true, and that Kisha would be with me when it did.
    I pressed my lips against her forehead and pulled her naked body closer to mine. The warmth of her closeness comforted me, and soon I was drifting back off to sleep.
    “Lil Mikey. Lil Mikey, wake up.”
    Instinctively, I dipped my hand underneath my pillow and curled my fingers around the butt of my Glock before opening my eyes to investigate the voice.
    I let out a sigh of relief when I saw that it was Kisha. She was standing beside the bed in a black lace Victoria’s Secret bra and panties set. She had on the Christian Louboutins I’d gotten her last week, and she was ba lancing a palate-teasing breakfast tray in the palm of her hand: biscuits drenched in thick meaty gravy, scrambled eggs with cheese, hash browns, and a tall glass of milk.
    “Good morning, bae. Get some food in your stomach so we can get goin’. We need to be out of here in the next thirty minutes.”
    “I’m cool,” I said, pushing the tray back at her. I looked at the red digital numbers on the bedside clock, 7:15 a.m. “Just roll me a blunt, baby. And give me a kiss.”
    “You need to eat something, Mikey. You barely ate anything yesterday.”
    “I’ll be a’ight.” I sat up and fingered the crust out of my eyes.
    “No, you won’t.” Kisha planted the tray on my lap. “Eat.”
    “Nuh uh.” I sat the tray aside, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and ran my hands up her soft black thighs. “I’m not about to force myself to eat when I ain’t even hungry… unless you gon’ let me eat some of this.” I kissed the front of her panties, inhaling the mouth-watering scent of her pussy.
    “Boy.” She leaned down and kissed me on the lips. “Eat your breakfast, okay? I might give you a little snack before we leave.”
    “Better give me somethin’ , all that muhfuckin bread I done blew on you.”
    “So what? I’m wifey, ain’t I? You’re supposed to take care of me. That way I can take care of everything around us.” She slapped me gently on the cheek. “Now eat.”
    I smacked her on the ass and watched it jiggle as she walked out to the sitting room. We were in a Lakeview suite, the