by Noire
“Of course you know the man you see here with your son Brandon is none other than Lance Hollister from the Lynch Corporation,” Ruddman smirked and then told a lie. “We have audio recordings of him confirming the transaction with his boss. Would you like to hear it?”
Bob’s breathing grew heavy and he clenched his ass-cheeks together as his stomach went loose and his bowels began to rumble.
Ruddman was right. This shit could send Brandon straight to prison. And him too!
“No, goddammit,” Bob managed to say hoarsely as his left eye began to tic. “I’ve heard enough.”
Ruddman pinched harder. “We also have the license plate of the limo Mr. Hollister arrived in. Let me show you,” Ruddman said as he advanced the film with a swipe of his finger.
The hotel’s exterior cameras had caught Lance getting out of a limo, and Ruddman swiped his fingers and zoomed in on the license plate.
“That plate comes back registered to your company, Bob.” Ruddman smirked. “Now did you really think a man of my intelligence wouldn’t catch this juicy move?” He laughed. “Bob, Bob, Bob. You gots to be mo’ careful, boy, as my granny used to say.”
“What do you want from me?” Bob said weakly, his words hollow in the frigid room as beads of sweat dotted his nose and the crown of his balding head.
“Oh, I don’t want anything from you,” Ruddman said jovially. “Or from Brandon either. It’s ya boy Viceroy,” he told him. “What I want has to come out of Viceroy Dominion’s pompous ass.”
“And what’s that?” Bob ventured.
“I want a loss,” Ruddman said. “I want that bastard to lose the goddamn election, and I want him to lose it bad.”
“You want him to throw it?” Bob asked incredulously.
Ruddman nodded. “Like a goddamn hand grenade.”
Bob sighed. The thought of tricking Viceroy Dominion into throwing the election sent his heart into a tizzy. He rubbed his knees and mopped his thinning hair off his forehead and stood up to leave. “All right, but you know, we’re really too old for this shit, Rodney,”
Ruddman looked at his old comrade and chuckled. “Naw, Bob. Your ass is old. I’m just getting started.”
CHAPTER 12
I’m a buh-buh-beast, my nig! I’ma muthafucka beast, ya dig?
In the sheets, on the beats, and the muthafuckin streets, my nig!
The bass pumping through his ride was rattling the windows as Zeke Washington pulled up to the valet outside of the Omni Hotel in Dallas. He grinned as he hopped out of his beat-up 1999 Hyundai, which was covered with dents, dings, and large splotches of dried-up bird shit.
“Make sure you take good care of her,” he said, tossing the uniformed valet the keys as he chuckled and headed toward the revolving front doors.
Two days earlier he had been boning this bad-ass Mexican bitch from the south side when he got a call from somebody claiming to be a representative of Rodney Ruddman, the CEO of Ruddman Energy.
“Is this Zeke Washington?” the female caller had asked in a professionally crisp voice that screamed, “Bill collector! Nigga-I-Found-Yo-Ass!”
“Nooo.” He’d held the phone against his ear and kept right on stroking that hot pussy as he replied with a fake Spanish accent. “Zeke no lib here! Theese is Who-leeo’s pone number now!”
“I have an important message for Zeke Washington concerning the financial assets of his late father. It’s believed that Earl Washington was the rightful owner of a substantial share of crude oil stock before he died, and as his heir, Zeke Washington could potentially be the rightful owner of those assets.”
“What?” Zeke had blurted, pulling his wet dick out of the chick and tossing her jiggly ass to the side. “Yeah, this is Zeke. Who the fuck is this? What’s the message, yo?”
“The message is that Mr. Ruddman would like to meet with you. As I mentioned, he believes your father’s estate may have a right to a major portion of lucrative stock. Would you be willing to sit down and talk to Mr. Ruddman?”
“Sheeiit!” Zeke had laughed. Growing up, his mother had hammered him with stories about how his father had been dumb enough to trust the word of his shiesty friends and ended up getting fucked out of a fortune. “I’d sit down with Jeffrey Dahmer if he could help me get my daddy’s dough back!”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any of your father’s old business documents still sitting around, now would you?” the female on the other end asked.
Zeke thought about the two boxes filled with his father’s papers that sat catching cobwebs in the storage shed he lived out of.
“Yeah, I still got some of his stuff,” he said, grabbing the Spanish chick by her hair and guiding her wet pink mouth toward his rock-hard dick. “Matter fact, I got all that shit.”
“Good,” the woman had said with a note of authority in her voice. “Bring it with you.”
Bunni was gritting hard on some fried pork skins in the kitchen of the Dominion mansion when the house phone rang in the middle of the afternoon. Sliding off her stool, she shimmied over to the counter and saw the word “Private” pop up on the caller ID screen. Her eyes bucked open wide and she crossed her fingers and hoped like hell that this was the call she had been waiting for.
Now that she was rich Bunni wanted to be famous too, and she gave less than a damn about that yang Mink was spitting. She wanted that big-time F.A.M.E, the shit that Fake-Ass-Muthafuckas-Envied, and taking matters into her own hands she had come up with a unique angle and drafted a lil write-up about how grand it would be to launch a reality show about her crazy new family the Hood Rich Dominions.
Bunni had sent out promotional blasts everywhere from Facebook to Craigslist, and she also emailed all the producers who had already turned her down and gave them a second chance at landing such a prize deal. She definitely hit up all the major cable networks like VH1 and Fox, and she was hoping Showtime would jump on their tip too.
Mink said she was bugging out and doing way too much, but Bunni felt she had a personality that was made for television and she was dying to show the world how a down-ass chick from Harlem could represent on a TV screen.
“Hello?” Bunni answered the phone with a big wide grin.
“Good afternoon! My name is GiGi Molinex. Is this the Dominion residence?”
“Yes!” Bunni screeched, jumping up and down so hard she damn near broke her toe. “I knew somebody was gonna call me today! I knew that shit!”
“I’m sorry, the woman said, sounding so cheery-o and wholesome that Bunni could tell right away that she was white. “May I ask who I’m speaking to?”
“Bunita Baines, baybee!!!”
“I’m sorry, did you say your name was Bunita Baines?”
“Yes!” Bunni screeched again. “This me, this me, this me! Whooop! Whooooop! Thank ya, Jeezus! I knew you would answer my prayers. Yes, yes, yes, Miss Moldiness! You a producer, ain’tcha? You wanna get my fam on your reality show, don’tcha? Gurl, I been expecting your call for days. I knew it, I knew it, I knew I would get my shot on TV! Did your office get them emails I sent? Did you like that beast-ass bio I wrote?”
“Well, errr . . . yes, Bunita, that’s exactly why I’m calling,” GiGi said, switching gears as a sneaky smile curled her red-painted lips. She had been flying totally off the cuff hoping something would come out of this cold call . . . and it did!
“Again, my name is GiGi Mo-lin-ex and I wanted to touch base with you because that bio you mentioned sounded very intriguing to me and my fellow producers. I’m glad you’re interested in having us showcase your family on a reality show, and I’m calling to get a deeper insight into your story. Can you tell me a little bit more?”
“Oh Lawwwd!”Bunni shrieked all in the lady’s ear. Mink had the moolah and now she was ’bout to have the spotlight!
“Well like it says in my bio,” Bunni said, out of breath and barely able to contain herself, “me and Mink came down here from Harlem, but now we’re part of the filthy rich oil family known as th
e Hood Rich Dominions! Us hoochies are live, full of jive, and we have arrived, baybee!”
“Great!” GiGi chirped. “But what makes you think your family has what it takes to float a reality show? What’s special about the Dominion family that people don’t already know?”
“Oh, we got what it takes,” Bunni puffed her chest out and assured her. “Plus, it’s so much shady shit that be going on with these mofos around here that people won’t hardly wanna turn off the TV! We wanna bring those cameras into our mansion so America can see how black folks with a lotta money, a lotta soul, and a whole lotta attitude get down with each other, ya feel me, GiGi?”
“Oh, I certainly do,” she replied. Bunni was ecstatic and GiGi was laying the game on her thick. “You and your family seem to be exactly what my team is looking for. Is it possible that I could get another copy of that bio you sent out? I need to reference it with my boss and my email server seems to be down right now.”
“That ain’t no problem,” Bunni said. “You on Facebook, right? Just go to my page and check it out. I put the bio up there and I posted a bunch of pictures too.”
“Great!” GiGi chirped again, playing her role. Bunni had just threw the alley-oop, and now all GiGi had to do was slam-dunk that shit. “I believe we have room on our production schedule for one more slot, and from what you’ve told us we’d be very interested in getting you some air time.”
“Yes! Air time! That’s exactly what we want!”
“I can tell you’re very excited, Bunita, but as I’m sure you already know, TV networks get a lot of bogus stories and people claiming to be someone they’re not. It’s my job to filter through these stories and see which of them are legitimate and exciting enough to grasp the minds of America and keep the ratings rolling in. If you don’t mind I’d like to set up a meeting with you and your family at your earliest convenience.”
“Sheeeit.” Bunni sucked her teeth. “You can brang yo ass over here right dammit now, while ya bullshittin!”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh sorry,” Bunni said with a chuckle. “I meant umm . . . I’m down to hook-up whenever you are, GiGi. You calling from Hollywood, right? Prolly somewhere over there on Ro-day-yo Drive, right?”
“Er, no. I’m a Texas affiliate with the network so I’m actually located right in the Dallas area.”
“Cool! So tell me what I gots to do to get my peeps ready for this meeting?”
“Oh, please don’t worry about any preparations. The meeting will be interview-style but,” the white chick warned, “you need to be aware that there are several other families who are competing for that time slot as well. We’re going to be using some very invasive pre-screening evaluations to help us decide who gets on the air. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Pre-screening evaluations?” Bunni repeated dumbly. “What the hell is that and why would I have a problem with it?”
“Well, for one thing, we have to come on site and interview the entire family. We have to ask some pretty probing questions in order to determine whether or not your particular story resonates with our target audience. People thrive on drama you know, and our viewers want plenty of it. If your family isn’t exciting and a bit dysfunctional with lots of juicy, scandalous secrets that you’ve been hiding, well . . . sorry to say it but we can’t use you. And the other thing is, we don’t compensate you for these pre-screenings. You won’t get any money out of it.”
Bunni narrowed her eyes.
“Um, lemme hit you with a lil something, Mizz GiGi. Must I remind you about who you talking to?” she demanded.
“Pardon me?”
“I mean, do you really, really, really know who the hail you talking to?”
“I’m sorry, you said your name is Bunita Baines, did I get that correct?”
“My name might be Bunni Baines, but my best friend’s name is Mink Domino! Domino, ya feel me! Like in Viceroy Big Daddy Drilling For Dat Oil Domino and Mama Selah Laced Out the Ass And Got it Going on Domino?”
“I-I’m afraid I don’t understand what you—”
Bunni laughed. “I’m just messing with you. Don’t nobody around here care about making no money, honey! We ain’t concerned about getting paid because we already rich, ya dig? And we ain’t stuttin’ ya little ‘evaluations’ neither because we already know we the shit! So come on wit’cha cameras and all ya nosey-ass questions too! We rollin scandalous like a mug ’round here, baybee! We ready!”
I’m ready too, GiGi thought as she giggled inside. Thank you, Bunni Baines for giving me such an easy way to screw your family from the inside out! This job is gonna be way easier than I thought!
“Awesome!” GiGi said in a wholesome tone. “I’m glad you understand and I apologize if I offended you. Not every family who contacts us qualifies for a reality show, so I like to make sure everything is clear and concise up front. This is an opportunity for your family to let the world know who you really are and how you live, and for my company to bring something new and exciting to reality television. So trust me, I hope you have a very scandalous story and everyone in your family is just as fascinating as you say they are. I have a very important meeting to attend right now, but I can swing by your place for an initial assessment early this afternoon. How about two o’clock? Does that work for you?”
“Hell to the yeaaa!” Bunni said jovially. “I appreciate you for reaching out to a sistah, Mizz GiGi, and we will damn sure be ready to get this TV interview thang rollin. I promise you girl, you won’t be disappointed ’cause we got just what your TV station needs.”
“I’m sure you do, Bunni.” GiGi smirked as she stared at the ratchet Facebook profile she had just pulled up on her computer screen and prepared to zero in on her next victim. “I’m sure you do!”
CHAPTER 13
I was crawling six feet deep at the bottom of a nightmare when Bunni woke me up and scared the shit outta me.
“Guess what?” she shrieked all loud with her lips right on my ear. “I just got a call from a TV producer, baybee!”
“Bunni, please!” I wailed as I rolled over in bed with my whole body sweating. I had been tossing and turning and dreaming that Gutta had his big hands wrapped around my throat tryna choke me out, and I was scared and mad at the same damn time. “What did I tell you about waking me up like that? Go somewhere and lee’me ’lone, girl!”
“C’mon, Mink!” She snatched my pillow. “I finally got one of them stuffy Hollywood mofos to agree to come out here and check us out so we can get our own reality TV show! Get in that bathroom and brush your teefus so we can get stupid on our grind today. The producer is coming over this afternoon to interview us and see if we’re the type of peeps who can hold down a reality TV show for more than a couple of episodes.”
I lifted my head and peered at her from one eye. “We? We who?”
“Me, you, and Peaches, that’s who! Keep up, dammit!”
Snatching my pillow back, I rolled back over and mumbled. “Bunni, please. After that bullshit with Okrah you know I ain’t feeling no more TV shit and Viceroy done already said Peaches can’t stay here playin’ all them tight skirts and high heels he be rocking. He swore to God he could see P’s dick print through his dress and it freaked him straight out.”
“So what?”
I flicked my hand at her. “So you scammed him, Bunni. You told him your manly brother ‘Paul’ was coming for a little visit! Viceroy practically shit on the couch when Peaches pranced up in here in that fly-ass pink Chanel suit.”
“So what?” she said again.
“So you can just kill all that reality show noise, okay? It ain’t gonna happen.”
“But P’s gotta be living right here in the mansion in order for us to get the show, Mink! That’s what’s gonna get us on, girl! People are gonna wanna see how all of us different types of rich black people live together under one big old gigantic roof.”
“That ain’t happening.” I shrugged. “Viceroy wants Peaches out the door like yesterda
y, and besides, none of them other producers who was blowing up your phone at first ever called you back again, now did they? I’m telling you I am not with this reality bullshit, Bunni. All they want us to do is talk shit about each other and stab each other in the back. Who they think we are? The Braxtons? Nah, I ain’t tryna put on no front and walk around with no camera stuck up in my face twenty-four /seven.”
“Trick is you serious?” Bunni shrieked as she plopped down at the foot of my bed. “Uh-uh, Mink! You cursed Okrah out on live TV so I know damn well you ain’t tryna act camera shy! Me and you belong on TV! Remember how we used to wanna be the hosts on Wildin’ Out so we could show off all the fly clothes we stole?”
I smirked. “Getting seen and being noticed ain’t everything no more, Bunni.”
“It is to me, goddammit!” My Harlem rowdy crossed her arms and poked out her lip. “I don’t know about you, but it is to me!”
Gutta and Shy stood outside the dirty Greyhound station smoking Newports and chillin’ as they waited for the bus to arrive. They were planning to take a long-ass ride down to the Lone Star State since going up in an airplane scared the shit outta Gutta. The bus station was filled with all kinds of people coming and going from one destination to the next. There was always an under-current of griminess and shady characters that rolled low-key among the ordinary travelers, and Gutta and Shy fit in perfectly with that set.
“Yo, son,” Shy said as he flicked the butt of his Newport on the ground and crushed it under his foot. “What’s the plan once we get down there, bruh? How we gonna get up close to these silver spoon-ass muffuckas?”