Excerpt from Liar's Game by Eric Jerome Dickey, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I offered, "Wanna hit Roscoe's for some chicken, maybe coffee?"

"My girlfriend in New York said Roscoe's stole the idea from Well's Chicken and Waffles on Seventh Avenue in Harlem."

"Never heard that. Never heard of Well's, actually."

"Said Roscoe stole everything but the recipe."

"Is that fact or fiction?"

"Well, my fact is this: I support my people back in Harlem."

She gave me a firm good-bye handshake, then drove away.

Three tears in a bucket, motherfuck it.

I headed three parking spaces over to my old 300ZX. A ride that needed a set of new tires and new fuel injectors. With the layoffs, I'd been cutting corners. Aerospace had been as steady as a two-legged table during an earthquake.

When I came down a moment ago, I hadn't looked out across the lot, had been too focused on the woman from New York. Her friend, Gerri, was standing between an Eddie Bauer and a Range Rover, under the full moon, living in the broken shadows with Jefferson. His arms were wrapped around her like he was her protector. They were kissing and I heard their sound. Moans and groans that come from hardness and wetness. Her slim arms up around his shoulders, intense tongue dancing like high school kids.

I watched them until heat warmed my groin and envy burned in my lungs.

Yep, once again I'd wasted half the night and too much money on the wrong woman. I tossed Dana's ReMax business card facedown on the black pavement. I knew that I'll-call-ya routine.

During my three-mile drive, I passed by bus benches. Saw Gerri's photo plastered on a few. Felt relief. That was why her name and her face were familiar. It had nothing to do with my ex-wife, nothing to do with my past.

Copyright © 2000 Eric Jerome Dickey. All rights reserved.