Natural Born Liar: The Misadventures of Mink LaRue (25 page)

BOOK: Natural Born Liar: The Misadventures of Mink LaRue

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Sexy Little Liar

In stores November 2012

CHAPTER 1

N
ew York was my shit! Our plane had just landed at JFK, and after ballin’ hard on a crazy misadventure down in fabulous D-Town, me and Bunni were hyped as hell to be back in the Big Apple.

We had dipped outta Manhattan with nothing going for us except mad dreams and devious schemes, and after working our grind and flipping the state of Texas upside down, we were rolling back in town with more dough than we had ever baked before.

“We need a taxi!” My best friend and partner-in-grime hollered as a bellman wheeled our luggage outta the crowded terminal. Bunni was posted up in a bright pink cat-suit and a matching pair of silver-buckle gladiator sandals, and I was rocking a platinum-white Glama-Glo wig that had big orange streaks down the bangs, and an orange and white tank top tucked into a skimpy white tennis skirt that barely covered my apple ass.

For two hood-bound Harlem girls, me and Bunni had crazy suitcases everywhere, and every last one of them was stuffed with mad jewelry and the hottest designer gear that money could buy.

I had recently become an official member of the Dominion oil family of Texas, and using my new status as the once-missing and now-found oil heiress Sable Dominion, me and Bunni had hit the rich folks’ mall in Dallas and killed every store in sight. I mean we ransacked that mall like a pair of greedy cat burglars,
oohing
and
aahing
as we touched, and admired, and tried on every damn thing we saw. We shopped like fiends for hours, and we didn’t come up for air until we were broke-down tired and all twenty of our toes had corns.

“Now, see there, Mink,” Bunni rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth as she struck a funky pose on the sidewalk outside the terminal. Bunni had a real stank shape and she always dressed to show that shit. Almost every dude who zipped into the terminal stole a quick peek at her round titties and bouncy ass as he passed by. “I knew we shoulda called us a limo before we left Texas. We got mad ends now, baby. How we gonna look pulling up around the way in some beat-up yellow cab?”

Bunni had it right. Image was everything in our hood, and I was damn sure tryna elevate mine. I was
not
the same con-mami Mink LaRue from the ’jects who had skied up outta New York just a few weeks ago. After chilling in a phat mansion and ballin’ around town in half-a-million dollar whips, I had the head and it was sure nuff big too.

“That’s okay,” I told Bunni. “We gonna roll with it for right now,” I said and grabbed her arm as I pulled her toward a waiting cab. “But this is gonna be our
last
damn time slumming around in a hooptie, okay? We’s paid now, mami! Our pockets are
swole!
As soon as we hit Harlem I’ma lease us a limo and a driver too, cool?”

We climbed our booties in the back of the cab and left the driver and the porter standing outside tryna figure out how to cram all our stuff in the trunk. It seemed like just yesterday that we had climbed in a cab at the Dallas International Airport and headed toward the Dominion Estate where we were on a mission to pull the biggest scheme of our lives.

It had all started when Bunni walked into the Food Land up the block from her crib and saw my picture on the back of a carton of milk. The National Center for Missing Children had just kicked off a new campaign aimed at some of their biggest cold cases, and a three-year-old girl named Sable Dominion—a rich little oil heiress who had been kidnapped from a midtown drugstore—was one of their featured kids.

Bunni had taken one look at Sable’s age-progressed photo and swore all out that the rich chick was
me
. She said me and Sable looked so much alike that my own mama wouldn’t be able to tell us apart. And she was right. I was a dead-ringer for the missing little girl, and we even had the same birthday too.

We did a few Google searches and damn near flipped out when we found out that not only was Miss Sable about to come into a hundred grand inheritance on her twenty-first birthday, but if Bunni pretended to turn me in, she could get a crack at the twenty-five thousand dollar reward money that the Dominions were offering to anybody who coughed up information that led to Sable’s return.

Well desperate times damn sure called for a desperate hustle, and me and Bunni almost burnt our brain cells out tryna cook up a scheme to get our hands on that Dominion dough. We were broke as hell and we needed that shit. Not only was Bunni and her brother Peaches about to get booted outta their tenement apartment, but a psycho drug dealer named Punchie Collins was tryna kill me for ganking him outta some ends
and
I had a shitload of court-ordered fines to pay up real quick, or else a warrant was gonna be issued for my arrest.

And if that wasn’t enough to light a fire under my big ass, my gangsta boo Gutta was finishing up a little bid upstate and he was about to be back on the streets in a minute, and I do mean on the
streets
too! See, Gutta had left me sitting on a stash of twenty-five g’s, and he needed that money to rebuild his drug empire as soon as he hit the bricks. But a rat like me just couldn’t help nibbling. A grand here, five grand there, shoes, wigs, chronic, jewels and parties ...
shiiit ...
me and Bunni had burned through Gutta’s cash so fast that before his bid was even halfway over his crib was a wrap and so was all his loot.

Pulling off a hustle for Sable’s hundred grand was my last crapshoot, my final shot at street redemption, and me and Bunni had used every flim-flam in the book to convince those super-rich black folks in Dallas that I was really the kidnapped daughter that they had lost so long ago. We’d busted up at their estate in the middle of their Fourth of July barbeque, and you can trust and believe that we set that joint on fire!

Those Texas folks didn’t know what to do with me as I laid my slick Harlem flow on their asses. In no time at all I had Sable’s mother, Selah, eating outta the palm of my hand, and my fine-ass play “uncle” Suge Dominion had done a damn good job of eating out the rest of me!

Bunni had played her role like a champ too. She’d scammed her way up on a freaky pain slut named Kelvin Merchant who worked at the DNA lab, and in return for whipping his ass and pinching his balls, Kelvin had hooked us up with a fake DNA report that guaranteed me a slice of the Dominion family pie.

With the DNA results on the table, I had rolled outta Dallas with a hundred-grand in my bank account, and Bunni made out like a street bandit with twenty-five large in reward money for all her hard work. All in all, it was the biggest hustle of our guttersnipe lives, and we were amped up and feelin’ ourselves for pulling off a gank so lovely. All I had to do now was pay my fines to the city of New York, tear off some ends to crazy Punchie Collins, and stash twenty-five grand in Gutta’s safe to keep that fool from slumping me when he came home.

After that, life was gonna be one big freaky-ass party, and as long as I handled my bizz I could get as wild and loose as I wanted to!
Hell yeah
, my blood surged with hood excitement as our taxi pulled up outside of Bunni’s building and the hater-bitches on the front stoop got to peeping all in the windows.
Handle ya bizz, Miss Mink LaRue!
That’s all a slick hood chick like me had to do.

DAFINA BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

First trade paperback printing: May 2012

ISBN: 978-0-7582-7939-2