Real Wifeys: Get Money by Mink Meesha

Author:Mink, Meesha [Mink, Meesha]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2012-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

My Rick Ross ringtone sounded off as I drove my Jag toward the Twelve50. I glanced down at the caller ID. My insider.

“Hello,” I said.

“I got some info on your girl and for this you owe me big-time.”

I turned the car into the parking garage as I gripped my phone tight as hell. “Scale of one to ten?” I asked, my voice not filled with any hint of playing as I pulled into my reserved parking spot.

“Oh, this shit is a ten. Trust and believe that.”

“Give it to me,” I demanded, excited to finally have something to take Goldie’s ass down. The thought of that shit had my mouth watering and my clit throbbing like I was ’bout to bust a damn nut.

“Goldie booked me for a photo shoot in Puerto Rico with that rapper Big Gunnaz, and one of ’em came at me ’bout staying in Puerto Rico and spending the weekend with him—”

I rolled my eyes and clenched my fist so tight the skin over my knuckles stretched. “And?” I asked, trying not to sound too much like Bitch, hurry the fuck up!

“Damn, Luscious, chill the fuck out and let me tell the fucking story. Dayum!”

“I’m paying for info on Goldie’s no-good ass and not to sit here and listen to which whoring rapper wanted to sex you for the weekend,” I snapped.

“You really letting this Goldie shit get to you. That bitch ain’t even that serious. Straight up.”

Frustrated as fuck, I let my head fall back against the headrest as I pounded my fist against the steering wheel. “The money I’m paying you is crucial though, right?”

“Oh, so like I was saying. I turned him down all polite like and shit. So when Goldie called to check on the shoot, I mention that shit to her for giggles and shit, but peep this. The bitch kinda sorta asks me—without really asking me—what I think about escorting with famous dudes—”

I sat up straight in my driver’s seat. Escorting?

“Yo, I think that bitch tryna feel me out to trick for her. I’m a find out what it pay.”

Well, I’ll be damned. “So you think Goldie is a madam?”

“I don’t know nothing about her being no madam, but I think the bitch is a female pimp. Hell yeah, I can read between the lines. I don’t give a fuck, she was feeling me out . . . seeing where my head at. You know?”

I wanted to have some top-notch shit like this on Goldie’s ass . . . but how the fuck can I trust somebody who doesn’t know that a female pimp and a madam is the same fucking thing? Still, if my informant was right . . .

“Get me proof. Get me some fucking hard-core proof and I got an extra grand for you on top of what I been paying you,” I said, climbing out the car and sidestepping like R. Kelly’s “Step in the Name of Love” played around me. If this snitching bitch was right, then Goldie’s high yella ass was grass and I was the motherfucking lawn mower.

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