Free Is the Bitch Dead, Or What? by Wendy Williams Page B

repulsed, and then there is hate that brings intrigue and is addictive. It's why so many people stay in bad relationships. They know they need to leave that abusive man or cheating woman, but they can't because they believe the next time it will be different.
    But it never is. The abuser or cheat is so charming that they promise never to do it again, and they are believed every time. And every single time they are lying. Moon was one of those types. He was a perfect replacement for Ritz.
    Chas had Aaron compile two weeks' worth of Best of shows featuring some of Ritz's interviews, including her final interview with Ivan Richardson, the man who had outed one of the hottest ministers in the country. That one they repeated twice during the packaged shows.
    Chas needed to secure one more thing before he met with the bosses at WHOT.
    “Moon?”
    “Yo, whassup? Who this?”
    “It's Chas. I don't have a lot of time to go into details, but I need to know if you're up to leaving that rinky-dink station of yours in D.C. and head back to New York for your chance at the big time?”
    “Rinky-dink? Nigga, I'm in the nation's capital and I'm numero uno. Please! For what station?”
    “Stop smelling yourself. I need to know if you're interested,” Chas said.
    “I'm listening. What you got?”
    “I'll call you back with the details,” Chas said, and hung up before Moon could respond. Chas didn't want to have too much conversation. He was a student of the 48 Laws of Power. And Law No. 4: Always Say Less Than Necessary, implied, “Powerful people impress and intimidate by saying less.” Chas had mastered that. He had mastered quite a few of the laws, including Law No. 8: Make Other People Come to You— Use Bait if Necessary. He loved being around hungry people and holding all the food.
    Moon was very hungry.
    Now was the time for Chas to see how well he'd studied the laws of power. If he could pull off this coup at WHOT, he would be the official master.
    Chas drove up Park Avenue and was rounding the block to the garage that he normally parked in near the station.
    “What a difference a couple of days makes,” he said.
    It was only a few days earlier that Chas had been on this same street and all was calm. It had just been another day, with people going to and from work. Today there were some leftover pieces of yellow police tape, and reporters and news trucks parked out front. Undercover detectives were surveying the area and interviewing anyone who may have seenanything. They were looking for any lead that might uncover who had shot Ritz Harper.
    Chas pulled into the garage. He got the ticket and handed his keys to the attendant. He smoothed out his silk shirt and let his hands run down his linen-blend pants. He walked past the reporters and the police, took a deep breath, and pushed through the revolving door.
    He was about to employ Laws No. 28 and 29: “Enter Action with Boldness” and “Plan All the Way to the End.”
    If it worked to perfection, Chas would knock the queen out of the box and be the undisputed king of all media.

14
    “I don't give a fuck!” Ritz's voice was very hoarse and crackly from lack of use. It was also raw from the tubes— which had been removed just two days before— that had been running down her throat and into her stomach, feeding her for the weeks that she was in a coma. The intent and delivery, however, were still very Ritz Harper–like— all diva.
    Ritz's recovery was going well. She had a lot of time to lie in bed and think about everything that had happened. She was getting antsy. She wanted to get back in the game. Ritz needed to be back on the air.
    Since coming out of the coma, she was feeling stronger every day. She could finally take herself to the bathroom. Her wounds were healing nicely. Her collapsed lung, which was reinflated, was also healing well, although the doctorsuggested that she do no loud talking. Ritz was not a very good patient.
    “You get Chas on the phone