Red Hot Liar (9781617738654) (24 page)

“Oh yeah, and if he offers to tear me off some cream then what am I supposed to do?”

Ruddman looked at the dumb thug like he had a titty for a nose and shit for brains. “You
take it,
lil nigga,” he said. “If he offers you some money then you take that shit!”

 

“Hello Dy-Nasty,” Selah spoke into the phone after reluctantly accepting the charges from the Dallas County Jail. The girl had been calling her forever, and after receiving a bunch of letters from the facility she had finally decided to take her call. “What do you want?”

“Mama Selah,” Dy-Nasty blurted out to the woman that she had worked like a dog to double-cross. “Did you get all my letters?”

Selah frowned. Those letters, if you could even call them that, had been a hot mess. Dy-Nasty wrote like a first-grader, and Selah had been appalled at the childish drawings of a family of stick figures with big round heads and sad faces. The one that was supposed to depict Dy-Nasty always had a turned-down mouth, no nose, and tears pouring out of her eyes, and the scribbled caption beneath it would read something crazy like, “Are you still made at me?” or “Will you be my fren? Check the bocks Yes our No.”

Selah smirked. “Yes, I got them.”

“Okay, then. Since you didn't write me back I'm not gonna run you no bullshit or beat around no bushes. I need to get outta here, Mama. I wanna come home.”

A look of indignation crossed Selah's face.

“What in the world makes you think I would help you?” Heat rose in her as she remembered how she had tied her hair back and slicked her face down with Vaseline to get after the little ghetto troll. “In my opinion, Dy-Nasty, you're a criminal and you belong exactly where you are. Behind bars.”

“Please, Mama Selah. Please listen! Didn't you read all them letters I sent you? I said I was sorry, dang! I know I was wrong for the way everything went down and I ain't tryna rehash no beef with you. But these females is real gutter up in here and I need your help. For some reason these people think I'm Mink! Damn near everybody on this block is itching for a piece of her and it's gonna get real nasty for me unless I get ghost.”

“I still don't see how that's my problem.”

“I know it's not your problem, Mama Selah, but if you help me get outta here I promise I'll act right! I'll give you your ring back
and
help you get back at fat-boy Ruddman! I swear I will!”

Selah went silent on the other end for a few moments as she contemplated the offer at hand. As much as she wanted Dy-Nasty to rot inside the deepest reaches of a jail cell, Selah also saw the value in having the sly little monster working on her behalf on the outside. And not to mention she wanted her goddamn ring back! Hell, if she was ever going to get back with Viceroy and sleep in her own bed then she
needed
that ring back!

“Okay,” she said finally. “I'll think about it, and maybe I'll pull some strings and see what I can do.” Then she warned, “But I promise you one thing, Dy-Nasty. If I decide to help you and you cross me again, I will have your ass buried in a graveyard instead of in a jail cell, do you hear me?”

“Yea, yea, yea! I hear you, Mama Selah,” Dy-Nasty said with a hint of an attitude. “I'm already in jail so you don't gotta be so nasty!” she sniffed, sounding like she was about to cry.

“I'll be more than nasty if you fuck with me again,” Selah said coldly. “I'll be
deadly
. Now, try me if you think it's a game,” she spit, then clicked off the phone and slammed it down hard on the table.

Standing in her wing on the other end of the line, DyNasty giggled. She didn't even care that the boojie heffa had hung the phone up in her face. All she felt was relief at the thought that she was about to get a second chance to make some dastardly moves. But this time was gonna be different. She would be slicker and even more cunning. She would make better moves and deal from a slicker deck of cards. And this time she was gonna mark all of her trump cards and play them suckers
just right.

V
iceroy was sitting at his desk in his huge office burying himself in his work. With his campaign winding down he was trying to keep his business in order by handling contracts, looking over emails, and going behind his accountants to make sure his money was right. Viceroy hadn't made it to the top of the mountain by trusting other people to do what needed to be done. True, he had schemed his way into power, but he was also willing to hustle and grind harder than the next man to keep himself at the top.

He was shuffling through some files when his door flew open and he looked up to see his son Barron barging into his office.

“Don't you know how to knock,” Viceroy said as an acknowledgment. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure I taught your ass how to knock.”

“Dominion Oil is being sued,” Barron said as he slapped the paperwork down in the middle of his father's desk.

“By who?” Viceroy asked. Barron had his attention, but he wasn't overly concerned. “Which blood-sucking leech is coming after me this time?”

“Zeke Washington,” Barron said as he shook his head. He knew the potential danger there. “Earl Washington's son. He's claiming that you stole his father's empire and he's seeking restitution, damages, and an injunction against all Dominion Oil assets. And oh yeah”—Barron swept his hand over his face and rubbed the slight stubble of his beard—“if you remember, he also claims to have an original set of documents signed by you and his father that he says will prove his father was cheated out of a fortune.”

Viceroy never even blinked.

“I'm not worried about none of that,” Viceroy said. “So what, he filed a suit and has a couple of fake documents that won't prove a damn thing? This isn't the first time that old lie has been told. I'm much more concerned about what rock he crawled from under. What made him bring all this up now?”

“Honestly.” Barron shrugged. He hated to give his uncle Digger any props, but there was no other way to tell it. “I'm thinking Ruddman put him up to this. I didn't tell you about it right away because I wanted to check it out first, but Uncle Digger claims he got the documents and the info from a source inside Ruddman Energy. And I believe him, too. This feels just like a slimy move orchestrated by that cat. Especially when you look at the timing with Wally Su and all. Yes, if I had to bet on it I would bet it was Ruddman.”

“Uh-huh,” Viceroy said as he spun around in his chair and thought about that dirty son of a bitch. He wanted to get at that bastard so bad it made his skin itch. Ruddman had some grimy tricks up his sleeve and Viceroy knew it was time to get in his ass and get his hands dirty.

“Contact young Zeke. Bring him here and let me talk to him. Maybe I can make Ruddman's little lawsuit plan backfire on his ass. Maybe I can make him an offer he can't refuse.”

A couple of hours later Barron pulled up in a stretch limo with Zeke Washington, just like his father had asked him to do. Zeke walked into the office with a scowl on his face, obviously wary about being snatched up and brought to the company he was suing in court.

“How are you doing, Zeke?” Viceroy greeted him in a booming voice. “I haven't seen you in a long time, son. Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

“Nah, I'm cool,” Zeke said as he stood in the corner and folded his arms. “So what the hell do you want with me? My lawyer is gonna serve you the papers, so all me and you need to do is square off in court.”

Viceroy shook his head as he leaned back in his big dog chair and lit a Cuban cigar.

“Okay, cool. Let's cut to the chase then, shall we? As you can probably see, I don't want or need shit from you, Zeke. I've already got it all. And you don't have shit.”

Viceroy looked right into the boy's empty skull and watched the wheels turning in his head. This fool was just as dumb as his daddy. In his young mind he'd thought he had the upper-hand by listening to Ruddman and filing some funky-ass lawsuit. Did this lil nigga think he was gonna catch him sitting up at his desk holding his dick and shaking in his drawers?

“Listen Zeke, let me tell you something,” Viceroy said in all seriousness. “I didn't get in this position by bending over every time somebody wanted to fuck me, okay? What do you really think you're gonna accomplish with this lawsuit? I have a whole building full of lawyers who will eat this lil shit up. In fact, I can have this petty shit tied up in court for the next thirty years.”

Zeke was looking mad as fuck because he wasn't feeling the way Viceroy was talking at him and Ruddman damn sure hadn't prepared him for this part.

“From the looks of you I'd say you know the streets pretty well,” Viceroy continued his verbal thrashing. “How about I just keep it hood for you, then? You see, it's like this young'un,” Viceroy broke it down. “I'm from the same streets you're from, and I've had this shit mapped out way before you were born. It don't take much for a muthafucka to come up missing in Dallas, even though I'm not trying to go that route. Listen, I have a son your age and I'm willing to help you out the same way I just helped him. In fact, I offered your father the same position right before he died.” Viceroy leaned forward and put his elbows on his desk. “I run a tight ship around here, but I'm willing to bring you on my staff without asking for a drug test or even an application. How's that?”

Zeke was absorbing everything Viceroy said and he could tell he wasn't bullshitting. He wasn't stupid and he knew how to play the game. Who had thirty fuckin' years to spend in court when he could be a hotshot executive at a billion-dollar company tomorrow? Fuck Ruddman. That nigga wasn't offering up no cheese. It was time to make big boy choices and he didn't wanna fuck around and wind up on the losing end of the game.

“So what position are you talking about?” Zeke asked. “And how soon can we make this happen?”

Viceroy smiled, happy the kid was smart enough to see things his way.

“Don't even worry about it, I got you,” Viceroy said. “Just report to my Human Resources department on your way out. It's located on the third floor. Tell them your name and my people will take good care of you, and that's a promise.”

“Hey Connie.” Viceroy pressed an interoffice button the moment Barron had escorted Zeke out of his office. “I've got a new hire for you. Set Zeke Washington up in our system and have him put on the payroll immediately.”

“No problem, sir,” Viceroy's chief of human resources responded. “What position will he be placed in?”

Viceroy smiled, looking just like a shark.

“The mail room, Connie. Put him in the muthafuckin' mail room!”

I had always been the type of chick who walked through life with my eyes wide open. Couldn't nothing ever sneak up on me because I stayed plugged into every scene and I knew where I stood at every turn.

I had never once been true to a man in my whole damn life before, and that's why when I busted Suge and his so-called Asian “friend” at the BBQ it hit me in the gut and I started doubting myself just a little bit. Okay, hell. For the first time in my life I went into surrender mode. Yeah, with my banging body and LaRue good looks, I knew I had it going on in that come-bang-me hood-chick kinda way. Men swarmed at my feet and begged for just a whiff of what I was hiding in that triangle between my thighs, and I had been slamming my sex appeal down on dudes from the time I was twelve years old.

But this was different. Every chick that had ever tried her hand at competing with me had failed. I could slay a bitch and steal her man by just batting my eyes and shifting my hips, but when it came to this new chick on Suge's arm I couldn't help but feel like I was outta my league, out-classed, and outmatched.

“Heffa what you talking about?” Bunni demanded the next morning when I 'fessed up that I had no wins over the beautiful Asian chick who had my boo's nose wide open. “You way cuter than that girl, Mink! You got more titties and you definitely got way more ass!”

I shook my head. Bunni just didn't understand. Everything wasn't about a golden fuck-pole contest. This match-up wasn't about who had the slickest tongue or the bangingest body. I took the prize in that department, no doubt about it. But this shit went way deeper than that. For the first time in my life I felt inadequate because that Lil Bit chick musta been something that I could never be.

I had Googled Miyoko Su and found out that she had graduated from one of the best law schools in the whole damn country. If that didn't shut me up and sit me down, then nothing would.

“So? Just 'cause she's one of them hot-shot lawyers it don't make her no better than you!” Bunni spit. “You're smart too, Mink! You's one of the best con-mamis in the game, girl!”

“I'm smart, Bunni, but she's
intelligent
. She went to college.”

“So what? We know plenty of people who went to college! Some of them are still out there dancing and grinding and making it rain on a stage!”

“But she even graduated too!”

“So
what
?” my BFF bucked. “That don't mean shit! She might be university trained, but can a bitch pick a pocket? Can she bust a slick move? Can she polish up a pole? Is her twerk game on target? Can she gank a mofo for his racks and get away with all her teeth still in her mouth?”

“I don't know if she can do all that,” I admitted. “But I do know one thing she did damn well.”

“What's that?”

“She took my fuckin' man!”

 

I felt so hopeless. Life was meaningless and nothing seemed to be poppin' for me anymore. After putting every ounce of conniving energy I had in me into getting my hands on that Dominion loot, I had it. I
had
that shit!

And I didn't know what in the hell to do with it.

Oh, for true, for true, me and Bunni had shopped like two crackheads in a freebasing contest. We'd bought every pair of shoes that we could cram our corns in, snatched up expensive jewelry out the yang, ordered the entire premium line of Glama Glo wigs in every color under the rainbow, and dropped mega dollars for more designer-label clothes than would probably ever touch our backs. I mean, we had
turnt up
, baby. Harlem-style! Our hair stayed did, our nails stayed slick, we got facials and massages every other day, and we ate shrimp, crab, and lobster till we were shitting out seaweed.

Trust and believe, we had washed those Dominion dollars down the drain like they were city water, and just when I was exhausted and we thought our greedy asses were gonna overdose on finery and gloss, I had checked my bank account and that baby was still overflowing!

But right now reality was slapping me right upside my forehead. Me and Bunni were both forced to look in the mirror and face the cold hard facts of the matter, and what we saw staring back at us wasn't hardly cute at all.

We saw me and Bunni!

Two scheming-ass hood chicks who had pulled every racket in the book, gotten hold of more loot than we could ever spend, bought every piece of jewelry, every designer purse, drank more alky, and hit more get-high than a little bit, yet didn't have a damn thing else going on in our empty little lives.

I had smoked loud and got lifted up to the stars every night, and then woke up at noon and put on a brand new wig and got flyer than a mutha. I had pranced outta my suite looking lacy and tasty and spritzed my body in a thousand-dollar-an-ounce stormcloud of good smells, and for what? To groove in what action? To walk around this big old mansion being envied and adored by who?
No damn body
!

The truth was, being rich wasn't cracking up to be what I thought it would be. Without Suge to fuck with I was bored outta my mind. I missed my old life. The life where I woke up to a new misadventure, a new hustle, and brand-new grind every single day. What good was sipping top-shelf liquor and toking the best piff in the country if there wasn't no horny niggas to slick-talk with afterward? Hell, the mansion was way back in the woods with nothing and nobody around, when I was used to project living where I could always get fly and step out my door then switch my ass up on the avenue where the slangas, hustlers, and thugstas were sure to have some drama poppin'.

I had hung out and got high with Dane and stuffed my face with Bunni and Peaches a lot, but I was used to living in the eye of the storm 'ere single day, and no amount of steak and lobster could take the place of the excitement and the happenings on 125th Street. My mood was swinging real low behind that shit and my lip was starting to poke out. I wanted me a hero from the deli up on Eighth Avenue. I was having fantasies about a piping hot slice from the pizzeria up the block from my old crib. I craved some dirty Chinese food and a monster-sized chicken wing from Wing Luck Su.