The Best Latrell Wade Quotes

Latrell: My son was shot and killed at the corner of 85th and Wabash on July 5th. He was 17 and nothing's been done about it.
Jay: That's a rough neighborhood. Do you live over there?
Latrell: No. We live in Calumet Heights. And I know what you're thinking. My son wasn't in any gang. He was a good kid.
Jay: Okay. Is that what the police think, too?
Latrell: The police? The police don't *think* anything. *They* never did a damn thing about it.
Jay: Okay, I doubt that. Come on.
Latrell: No, no, no. Don't tell me. Black kid lying dead in the street. Step over him. Move on. All the same to them.
Jay: I understand that's how you feel. But right now, I'm having a hard time connecting to your son being killed to you running dope for Dante Rashard who's the biggest heroin dealer on the South Side.
Latrell: Man, that's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm just playing along with these gangbangers so I can find out who murdered Sean.
Jay: How do you even know that someone in that gang killed your son?
Latrell: Because I did what the police didn't. I investigated. I look into the murder myself. And everyone I talked to in that neighborhood said the Prophets were responsible.
Jay: You need more than that. That's not a lot to go on.
Latrell: Two people saw a silver car racing down on Wabash right after Sean got shot. So that's what I'm looking for. A silver car. Now, if I get in deep enough with these Prophets, I'ma find out who drives that car, and when I do, I'ma know that's the son of a bitch who killed Sean.
Jay: How did you even start working with these guys?
Latrell: I heard about this young brother named K-Mac. Found out he rolls with the Prophets, moves a lot of dope. So I found out how to meet him. Told him I knew how to drive gas tanks, build traps. A week later, he calls, asks for my help.
Jay: So you're really doing all this just to find your son's killer?
Latrell: He was my son, my flesh and blood. And some punk shot him and left him to die in the street like an animal. So yeah. I'ma do whatever I have to do to find the killer. My son still talks to me every night. Shows up at my bedside. Just stands there, all soaking wet like the day he died. Says, "Don't let me die in vain, Pop. Don't let me die in vain." And I won't.