Dirty Rotten Liar

by Noire

  Shrugging off all the local ballas who was feenin’ for some fresh meat, Dy-Nasty had picked herself out a mark who was sitting alone at the bar hunched over a drink. She had hooked him into buying her two double shots of Patrón before she zoomed in on another victim, and when mark number one started making noise like he was tryna get some kinda return on his drink investment, Dy-Nasty made like she was going to the bathroom and moved on to target mark number three.

  She was violating like a muthafucka and she didn’t give a damn neither. It was an unwritten rule that didn’t no outside bitch go up in a strip joint hustling for drinks or nothing else. Chicks riding the poles would jump down off that stage and straight fuck a scab up, and that’s exactly what happened when Dy-Nasty over-played her hand and over-stayed her welcome.

  “I’m tryna tell your ass I don’t fuckin’ work here!” she had screamed on some drunk baller who kept slapping her on the ass and demanding she make it jiggle for him.

  “Go slobber on one of them funky bitches over there!” Dy-Nasty pointed to some ratchet-ass chicks who were squatting over chairs and grinding on customers in the corner. “Fuck wit’ one of them hoes!”

  Suddenly Dy-Nasty’s hood intuition came down on her. She felt a hot ball of hate coming her way, and she tried to duck through the crowd and keep it moving toward the door, but some jealous bitch had raised the alarm and all the other hoes had spotted her.

  She had peeped an exit sign over a side door, and she was just about to bust up outta that bitch when she felt her weave jerked hard from behind.

  “Skank!” One of the strippers yoked Dy-Nasty up and tried to quick-flip her down to the ground. “Who the fuck you think you is, coming up in here gamin’!”

  There were three of them, and fighting to stay on her feet, Dy-Nasty cowered as they landed killer blows all over her head, back, and arms. The girl who yoked her was soft and juicy everywhere, and twisting into her body, Dy-Nasty sank her teeth deep into that bitch’s pudgy upper arm like it was a warm buttered biscuit.

  The stripper screamed and turned her loose, and Dy-Nasty ducked a punch from a girl with a red spiral wig and fought her way outside to the rain-soaked alley. She broke out running without looking back, knowing damn well them heffas wasn’t gonna miss out on no dough just to chase her down the block.

  Zooted up and breathing hard, Dy-Nasty stormed down the wet streets of Dallas cursing Jock out as she dialed his cell phone number and that shit just rang and rang off the hook. He was supposed to swing back by the club and pick her up, but she’d told him to come get her around two o’clock, and here it wasn’t even one yet.

  With her cell phone pressed to her ear, Dy-Nasty was swinging her big hips across a busy intersection when the screech of wet tires cut into the air and she looked back just in time to scooch forward so her ass didn’t get clipped by a car bumper.

  “Hey! Watch where the fuck you goin’!” she screamed as she whirled around and blasted the driver of a sweet silver BMW. “I had the goddamn light, you know!”

  The windows were tinted and dotted with raindrops so she couldn’t see who was driving that baby, but she stood there posted up with her hands on her hips shooting eye-bullets in his direction.

  She braced herself to curse him out from bumper to bumper when the driver’s window slid down, but when she peeped the chubby old man sporting a thirty-thousand-dollar designer watch and grinning at her from behind the wheel, the first word that went through her mining-ass brain was jackpot!

  And a jackpot was exactly what Dy-Nasty had hit as she rode down the wet streets kicked back and chillin’ in the showroom-fresh luxury Beemer that belonged to some rich-ass oil tycoon who told her to call him R.R.

  Dude had apologized fifty million times for almost ripping her ass on his bumper, and since it had started raining again he offered to give her a ride to wherever it was she was going.

  Dy-Nasty was all for that shit as she pumped up the music in his whip and enjoyed the liquor buzz that was still rolling through her head.

  “I’m going wherever you going,” she had told him, cheesing all over herself. She recognized his whip as a fresh-outta-the-factory absolute top-of-the-line BMW, and everythang about that baby smelled brand-fuckin’-new!

  And old dude was smelling pretty damn good too. Dy-Nasty’s eagle-eyes had scanned over him like she was airport security, and in about five seconds flat she had peeped his platinum and diamond ring, his tailored sports coat, and the fact that his fat frog-lookin’ ass had a quick eye for hot chicks with thick yellow thighs.

  “I have a suite at the Omni Hotel,” he’d told her. “It’s only a few miles from here. We could go have a few drinks and relax for a while if you want to.”

  Dy-Nasty’s eyes had lit up. Hell yeah she wanted to! And when ol’ boy pulled up in front of some plush-ass five-star hotel and them valet boys broke their necks running outside to open their doors like he was the freakin’ President of the whole United States, Dy-Nasty knew damn well she had hit the jackpot!

  He took her over to a private elevator and used a key to close the doors. His spot was on the top floor, and when the elevator opened right inside of his penthouse apartment Dy-Nasty sucked her breath in deep ’cause that shit was bad as hell!

  “Make yourself comfortable,” R.R. told her as he took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair, and then walked behind a stone bar counter.

  Every damn thing in the joint was marble and glass, and she could tell by the way it shined and smelled that somebody had been on their hands and knees scrubbing the hell outta every inch of it.

  Dude brought Dy-Nasty her drink, and then he clicked a switch and some easy R&B filled the room. He sat down real close beside her and lifted the lid on a rectangular box that was on a low end table.

  Now this is how you get a fuckin’ party started! Dy-Nasty thought as he dug in the box and came out with a couple of joints and some nice-looking packs of fish scales too. They sat there getting buzzed and toasted up and talking all kinds of crazy shit, and she loved every minute of it.

  Dy-Nasty was in the life, so she wasn’t surprised not one bit when Mister put his pudgy hand on her knee and then slid it up her hot thigh. She stole a quick peek at his crotch and saw a fuckin’ boulder stickin’ up outta his lap, and dollar signs ching-chinged in her eyes!

  “How about we,” he said, angling his head toward the balcony on the other side of the room, “go outside and relax in the hot tub for a little bit?”

  Dy-Nasty frowned. “I’m down but I ain’t got no bathing suit.”

  “Neither do I,” R.R. said, smiling as he stood up and unbuckled his belt. He unzipped his tailored trousers and let them shits fall down around his ankles. Then he pulled down his silk drawers and stepped outta all that shit and let his fat, foot-long dick wave in the air like a big black flag. “Neither do I.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Selah was disturbed by the way things had gone down the last time she hooked up with Rodney Ruddman, but that didn’t stop her from picking up the phone and dialing his number again.

  It was late, and her hands trembled as she listened to his phone ring. She felt low as hell but her sex hormones were raging and she just couldn’t help herself.

  Rodney had seemed real disappointed the last time they were together, but Selah knew he got off on her just as much as she got off on him. She was counting on him freaking her with his Johnson bone at least one last time, but if she was waiting for him to pick up the phone and whisper something hot and nasty in her ear, she was about to wait a long time.

  Rodney didn’t pick up until the fifth ring and his voice was brutally cold right from the jump.

  “Why are you calling me?”

  Selah swallowed hard. Damn fool sounded like he was through with her. No hello cat or hello dog. No Good evening, Mrs. Dominion. Nothing.

  “I said,” he repeated, “why are you calling me?”

  “H-h-hey Rodney,” Selah finally stuttered over the sounds of t
he loud music playing in the background. She could tell by the hollow noise that he was driving in his car. “I . . . I just wanted to see what you were doing tonight. I figured maybe we could talk or . . . do something for a little while.”

  He hit her with a short, cruel laugh, and even over his loud music his scorn for her came through loud and clear.

  “Oh, so now you want to talk?” He laughed again. “Talk about what? What you want me to do for you, or what I want you to do for me?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Selah said, flustered like fuck. As cruel as he was, just hearing Rodney’s voice had her woman juices flowing, and her heart started pounding with fear at the thought that he might hang up on her.

  “Look, it’s late, okay? I’ve got an early meeting in the morning. Why don’t you try to get some rest? And if you can’t sleep maybe you can hop in your jet and pay your husband a little late-night visit, huh? He’s still in the hospital, isn’t he? Maybe you can put on one of your sexy little outfits and pretend to be his night nurse.”

  “Fuck you, Rodney!” Selah’s whole body flushed hot as she hissed into the phone. This fool was going way too far! He was trying to degrade her. To humiliate her for jonesing for him. And truth be told, it was working too. “Just fuck you!”

  Rodney chuckled on the other end.

  “Fuck me? No thank you, Mrs. Dominion. I don’t think I’ll be fucking you anymore, but maybe you should extend that offer to your husband—that is, if you can figure out how to get his dick up again.”

  “Motherfucker!” Selah shrieked from between her closed teeth. “Don’t worry about my husband’s dick! I want my ring back, Rodney, you hear me? I want my goddamn ring back!”

  Even over the bass of the music she could hear the cruelty in his laugh.

  “Sorry, Mrs. Dominion. I’m afraid I can’t give it to you.”

  “What do you mean you can’t give it to me? Why the hell not?”

  “Because I don’t have it anymore.”

  Selah broke. “Uh-uh. Uh-uh! Don’t tell me you lost my goddamn ring!”

  “No, no, no. I didn’t lose it,” Rodney said coldly. “I gave it away.”

  I had hung out in Fallon’s suite for a good lil minute, and by the time I pranced over to Mama Selah’s joint it was pretty damn late. I stood outside her door tryna decide if I should tap-tap-tap or straight out nigga-knock on that bad boy, but then I took a few steps backward and peered down and saw that her light was still shining out from the crack under the door.

  “Mama Selah,” I called out as I rapped my fist on her hardwood door. I didn’t give it no po-po knock or nothin’, just a couple of soft taps, but when she didn’t answer I wondered if she mighta been taking a shower and couldn’t hear me, so I pressed my ear to the door and listened.

  And that’s when I heard her.

  Cryin’!

  Mama Selah was crying! And they sounded like some big, fat gulping-ass tears.

  I got confused for a second ’cause sistahs didn’t usually cry like that! Hell, on the real, if I didn’t know no better I woulda sworn it was a white chick up in there just’a boo-hooing like a muthafucka!

  “Mama Selah!” I hollered, and this time I did nigga-knock on her damn door. “It’s Mink! You okay in there, Mama Selah? Can I come in?”

  “Just a moment,” she called out but hell, by that time my hasty ass was already twisting the damn doorknob. And guess what?

  It was locked!

  “Mama Selah?” I hollered again. “You didn’t lock yourself in there by mistake, did you?”

  “Of course not, Mink.” I heard the lock slide back and then she opened the door.

  “Damn!” I blurted when I saw her red eyes and swollen nose. “You okay? Why you up in here crying with the door locked?”

  She shook her head and sniffled as she rubbed her nose. “I wasn’t crying, Mink. I have allergies. I locked the door because I was about to get undressed and I didn’t want anyone to walk in on me.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, eyeballing her with the skeptic look. Yeah, okay. Mama Selah was gonna hafta come a whole lot betta than that. I was a Harlem chick, and as many scams as I had run I could damn sure spot some bullshit story when it was being laid on me.

  “Well I just came to see what you were doing,” I lied right back. “Actually,” I slick-talked her as I brushed past her and walked deeper into her suite, “I was wondering if you would let me finish watching some of those shows you recorded.”

  She shook her head a little bit and I could tell she was about to say no, so I pounced on that ass.

  “I mean, I guess I could watch them some other time, but for some reason I just don’t feel like being by myself tonight.”

  She sighed real deep and I saw her whole body sag as she got all soft.

  “Okay.” She stepped back to let me in. “I could probably use a little company tonight too.”

  I felt like a gymnast as I vaulted my happy ass into her big-ass bed! While Selah went to take her shower I picked up the remote and scrolled through all the shows she had recorded until I found a couple I wanted to see.

  I laid up in that bed feeling like a winner for beating Dy-Nasty’s ugly ass to the punch, and when Selah got outta the shower and called downstairs to have a lil midnight snack delivered up for me and her, I started feeling like I could maybe get back good with her like I used to be.

  We watched a quick rerun and then we cracked up laughing to a couple of comedy shows. And by the time I started getting sleepy I looked over and noticed that Selah was already knocked out.

  Yeah, baby! I thought to myself as I clicked off the TV and grinned in victory. Dy-Nasty could forget about gettin’ her tart ass up under these nice clean sheets tonight! I had claimed my spot on Mama Selah’s throne, and for all I cared that hit-ass troll could take her ass back to Philly and sleep in somebody’s doghouse!

  I was snoring in my nice, comfortable spot in Selah’s big old bed when the door banged open and all kindsa noise and funk came barging in the room.

  “Mama Selah!” somebody hollered. “Where you at, Mama Selah?”

  I lifted my head off the plush satin pillow and peeked through one crusty eye tryna see what the hell was going on.

  Somebody was plowing through the room, bumping into all kindsa shit in the darkness and giggling under her breath.

  “Dy-Nasty?” Selah sat straight up on the other side of the bed, and when I rotated my red eyeball in her direction I saw a look of confusion on her face.

  “What the hell?” I muttered under my breath as I squinted at the clock. It was 4:48 and my head had just hit the pillow about an hour ago.

  “Girl, what the hell is you doing!” I demanded as that drunk trick clicked on the lights and blinded me. I dove under the covers like I was a vampire frying under the sun.

  “Dy-Nasty?” Selah said again.

  “Yeah it’s me!” that trick said all loud, and then she had the nerve to dive her ass straight into the bed right between me and Selah.

  “Get the hell offa me!” I shrieked as she rolled her big booty over and laid on top of me butt-to-butt. I tried to buck her off but that heffa was solid meat, so I reached up and pulled a Bunni move and pinched the shit outta her!

  “Owww!” she hollered like I had sliced into her with a damn razor blade . She scooted her ass off me and crawled over and laid her raggedy head in Selah’s lap.

  “Guess what? I just got back from Dallas!”

  “Dallas?” Selah asked. “What were you doing in the city?”

  Dy-Nasty giggled. “Hangin’ out! Jock took me up there but I rode back in a fly BMW!”

  That big fool dug her head even deeper into Selah’s lap and grinned.

  “Oooh, Mama Selah,” she moaned like she was in heaven. “You ain’t gone believe this, but I met me somebody.”

  “Prolly a damn pimp!” I muttered under my breath.

  “What do you mean you met somebody?” Selah asked.

  “Just what I said! I met thi
s dude. Some old-head. He took me to this bammin’ hotel and we had so much fun! He was so, so, so, so, so damn rich!”

  I lifted my head off the pillow and started crackin’ the hell up.

  “You mean you picked up a ‘customer’ baby. A client. A trick. A john.” I waved my hand and settled back into the softness of my pillow. “Stop frontin’ and ga’head and call that little transaction exactly what it was. Bizzness!”

  Dy-Nasty rose up on her knees and hit me with a nasty sneer.

  “Do this look like something that got dished off by a trick?” She held out her hand and I saw a huge fake diamond ring flashing on her finger.

  “Huh, baby, huh?” She grinned. “I bet nan’one of them broke New York tricks you be rollin’ with ever blessed you with nothing like this!”

  I smirked as I eyeballed the glittering knuckle-duster she was sporting. It looked like a winner, but knowing Dy-Nasty she had probably dug that shit out of a Cracker Jack box. I was just about to get loose at the mouth and say something real slick but Selah shut me down when she stared at Dy-Nasty and blurted out, “That fool gave you my goddamn ring?”

  She grabbed Dy-Nasty’s wrist and stared down at her finger.

  “Your ring?” Dy-Nasty snatched her hand away and hid it behind her back.

  “Yes! My ring!” Selah snapped. “That’s the very first ring Viceroy ever bought me and it’s worth over a million dollars!”

  She motioned impatiently with both hands like, Un-ass my shit now! Give it up, give it up!

  “Uh-uh, hold up,” Dy-Nasty said. She was still up on her knees with her hand behind her back, and now she poked out her lip and turned to the side, shrinking away from Selah.

  “How you know my friend, Mama Selah? That dude I was with tonight. How did he get a hold of your ring?”

  I couldn’t stand Dy-Nasty but I was totally wit’ her on that one, and all four of our big hazel eyeballs jumped halfway down Selah’s throat because I was wondering the same damn thang!