I knew West Lake Oaks; it was a really ritzy neighborhood. I stared off to the side and acted disinterested, finding it odd that Dick didn’t introduce me.
“There’s only one Fat fucking Willie,” Dick snapped
“I was just askin’.”
“So, when you do a deal with Fat Willie, what stands out about him when he pays?”
“Pays in old bills and small bills, why?”
Out of my peripheral, I saw Beer Belly reach for his neck. Naturally, I wanted to see if he was scratching his scar, and I took a quick glance.
His eyes shot to me.
I looked away.
“Always. Not sometimes, always, right?” Dick asked.
I decided to listen to the conversation and try my luck at reading the lips of the guy on T.V.
“Always,” Beer Belly agreed.
“Something’s fucked up. He paid me $55,000 on a deal, and it was all $100’s. New bills. Banded. No old bills, no small bills.”
Beer Belly stood up. He was wearing boxer shorts. “Coffee?”
Dick shook his head. “No, I’m straight.”
I continued to stare at the T. V. “Me too.”
“What in the fuck does me too mean? One of us is getting’ a cup, and one ain’t. Me too yes or me too no?”
Jesus.
“No, thank you,” I said.
“Suit yourself.” He walked into the kitchen.
Dick glared at me. I shrugged and sniffed loudly. “What’s with the cinnamon?” I whispered.
“It always smells like that in here.”
I accepted his response, but I didn’t like it. There had to be a reason. Beer Belly returned, eyeing me as he walked into the room.
I went back to reading lips.
Beer Belly sat down. “Odd he paid with new bills.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Dick said.
“I’d ask him. Sounds like front money. Unless something’s changed in his life, he’s still spending all the money he made in the 1980’s. Been spending it for a while. Strange thinking he’s done spendin’ it and he’s dipped into a new stash.”
“Yeah. Strange,” Dick agreed.
“What the fuck is she doing?” Beer Belly asked.
I kept my eyes glued to the T.V.
“I don’t know, ask her.”
“Hey. What the fuck are you doing?”
“Trying to read this guy’s lips,” I said without looking away from the T.V.
He laughed. “You read lips, do you?”
“Not really.”
“Maybe she’s a cop,” Beer Belly said.
Fuck you and your cinnamon house.
“She’s not a cop.”
“Maybe she’s wearin’ a wire.”
Are you serious?
“She’s not wearing a wire.”
“Never know.”
“I know.”
“Oh really? You know, huh?”
Dick cleared his throat. “Don’t care much for you accusing me of bringing a cop into your home.”
Thank you.
“I wasn’t accusing.”
“You were, and you did. I brought her, she’s cool.”
“Fine. She’s cool. Well, I’d ask Fat Willie where he got the cash. Straight up,” Beer Belly said.
“I will. But that’s not really why I’m here.”
“I’m listenin’.”
“What do you know about Drake getting his hands on a 10 carat stone?”
I glanced toward Beer Belly. His eyes shot wide as soon as Dick mentioned the diamond.
He reached for his neck. “Robe wearin’ Drake?” he asked with a laugh. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”
“Guessed what?” Dick snapped back.
“Didn’t figure weird fuckin’ Drake would ever end up with a rock like that. He don’t know nothin’ ‘bout rocks.”
“No arguments from me on that.”
“Ain’t seen that weird fucker in a spell,” Beer Belly said. “When you see him last?”
“Couple of weeks ago. Needed to borrow a car.”
“You see that ‘Vette he bought?”
“As a matter of fact, he let me borrow it.”
Beer Belly chuckled. “Must have needed a favor.”
“Something like that,” Dick responded. “I know you get a shot at every large rock that comes through this town, so what have you heard about the stone?”
Beer Belly took a drink of coffee and cleared his throat. “Dallas football player. Quarterback, if I remember right. Married some big titted country singer chick, and then caught her sucking off the place kicker. They split up, and she run off with the kicker. Quarterback ended up with some local chick wears cowboy hats all the time. Anyway, like all them fuckers do, he lived in one of those sprawlin’ mansions. Well, him and cowgirl announced they was goin’ to Hawaii to get hitched, and when they was gone, somebody broke in the home. Couldn’t get the safe unlocked, so they just took the fucker. Said the safe weighed 1,600 pounds. Imagine haulin’ that fucker out into the trunk of your Benz.”
Dick shook his head. “Wouldn’t happen.”
“That’s the only stone of that size I know about. It was the country music singer girl’s wedding ring.”
I’d seen the story he was talking about on the news. They didn’t mention the diamond, but they did mention everything else.
“What do you know about the football player’s stone?” Dick asked again.
Beer Belly adjusted himself in his seat. “Slightly over 10 carats. Round. Colorless. Flawless.”
“Where would you price it? If you were guessing?”
“$3,650,000. And that ain’t a guess. Been waitin’ for it to come up for a while now, but ain’t seen it yet.”
“Heard anything about it?”
Beer Belly nodded. He took a sip of his coffee. “Asians. Rumor was they had it up for sale. I put a call in for it, but it disappeared.”
“How long ago?” Dick asked.
“How long ago what?”
“How fucking long ago was it up for sale?”
“Couple weeks ago. In fact, I was gonna go give a bid on it, and then the fucker up and disappeared. Why so many questions?”
Dick shrugged. “Just curious. Heard a rumor a 10 carat rock was going out for bids and $1,000,000 was the price. Caught my interest, and then, like you said, it disappeared.”
“Somebody’s sellin’ a rock like that for $1,000,000, they’re either a cop or a dumbass.”
“Agreed.”
Beer Belly reached for his neck and rubbed his scar. “So you lookin’ to buy it?”
Dick shook his head. “Just heard about it. Sounded too good to be true. Never been much of a dream chaser.”
Beer Belly glared at me. “What the fuck are you lookin’ at?”
Shit.
In all of the excitement of listening to the stories, I stopped reading lips and started paying attention. I wasn’t staring, but I was following the conversation closely. In doing so, I ended up gazing blankly at Beer Belly.
“I uhhm…” I looked away.
He stood up. “You uhhm what? You lookin’ at my fuckin’ neck?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Sure as fuck was.”
“Was not.”
“Was too.”
“Was not.”
“Leave her alone. She wasn’t looking at your neck.”
Beer Belly glared at Dick. “How the fuck do you know?”
“I told her not to.”
“You told her not to what? Not to look at my neck?”
Dick nodded.
“Why the fuck would you tell somebody that shit?” Beer Belly growled.
“Because you’re sensitive about it. And you always end up doing this kind of shit when you think someone’s looking at it.”
“Fucker tried to cut off my head. You’d be sensitive about it too.”
“Maybe you should wear a scarf,” I said.
His eyes shot in my direction. “I k
new you were fuckin’ lookin’,” he snarled.
The cinnamon. My full bladder. His weird scar. His awful attitude. It was too much. I snapped.
I stood up, crossed my arms, and fixed my eyes on his neck. “I wasn’t fucking looking. I already saw it. I don’t care anymore. Get fucking over yourself.”
He started laughing. “Sure she ain’t a cop?”
“She’s not a cop,” Dick said.
“Fuck you,” I said. “You’re a cop.”
“Whoa!” he bellowed. “You don’t go accusing people of shit like that unless…”
“Exactly,” I interrupted. “How’s it feel?”
He reached for his neck and covered it with his hand. “Don’t say it again.”
“You don’t say it again,” I snarled. “You and your fucking cinnamon house. Probably smells like this to hide the smell of pork, you fucking pig.”
“Stop!” Dick shouted. He stood up and shook his head. “Jesus. Fucking. Christ. That’s it, we’re leaving. No more fighting, no more cop talk.”
“Amen to that, Brother,” Beer Belly said.
Dick nodded. “Appreciate your time, and I’ll keep you posted if I hear anything.”
“Don’t bring your little tart with ya next time,” Beer Belly said.
Tart?
I moved to Dick’s side and turned around. “I’m not a fucking tart.”
“Are too.”
“Fuck you. Am not.”
“Stop!” Dick shouted. “Jesus.”
“Lemme know what you find out about Fat Willie. Anxious to find out what you find out about that money.”
Dick opened the front door. “Will do.”
While we were walking to the car, I thought of all the things about Beer Belly that I didn’t like. His nervous tick of rubbing his neck when he responded to certain questions. The way he tried to divert the attention of being a cop away from himself and toward me. And, how he turned Dick onto a deal with Fat Willie and then Fat Willie paid with big bills.
I wanted to tell Dick that I thought his friend was a snitch, but I decided to wait.
I needed a little more time to think about it first.
To be sure.
EIGHTEEN
Dick
MAKING a conscious decision to be in a relationship isn’t love, nor should it be confused as such. Being blindsided by heartfelt emotion and reacting based on those feelings, however, may be.
I made a conscious decision with Becky Baxter in ninth grade. It ended poorly. I believed I was in love, and Becky believed she wanted to make her previous boyfriend jealous. Being unaware of the previous boyfriend, and of her plan, I was shocked when the relationship abruptly ended, leaving me with a broken heart and nowhere to stick my over-anxious teenage dick.
The failed relationship nor the lesson in love ruined me from ever being in a meaningful relationship, but I always remembered it whenever I took the time to consider whether or not a relationship was a viable option.
With Jess, I had no time to consider. After close to a month, something just happened. The right time. The perfect person. I had no idea, all I knew was that I felt differently about her.
And it wasn’t a decision I made.
“Love is blank. Finish that sentence.”
“If I had to define it? Like make my own definition?” she asked.
“Yeah. Like shoot from the hip.”
“I’m not good at this shit.”
I twirled the spatula in my hand and admired her makeshift pajamas – my sweat pants and one of my white V-neck tee shirts. “Do your best.”
“Love is when someone else’s needs, wants, and desires come before your own,” she said. “How’s that?”
I shook the skillet and checked the consistency of the scrambled eggs. “Pretty good.”
“Okay, now you.”
Although I had asked the question, I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I’d be. “Okay. Gimme a minute.”
I stirred the eggs, decided they were done, and pulled the skillet from the stove. After I prepared the plates and we sat down, I took a bite and considered my response. Explaining how I felt, and how I had changed in the last month would be easier, but it wasn’t necessarily what I was prepared to do.
I looked up from my plate. She was eating like she hadn’t had a meal in days. I wondered if our previous night’s sexual romp burned all of the calories she had in reserve. To go from living alone for my entire adult life to having her share a morning with me was a huge change, and watching her do simple things like eat or get dressed was rewarding.
I cleared my throat. “Love is when someone steps into your life, and instead of complicating it, they complete it.”
She looked up from her plate. Her mouth was full of food. She didn’t wait to swallow it before she commented. “Fat wuf fuckin awfumm.”
I laughed. “What?”
She swallowed, took a drink of milk, and cleared her throat. “That was fucking awesome.”
I took a make believe bow in recognition of her praise.
“Love is staying committed even when the other person loses devotion,” she said.
I raised my eyebrows. “Excuse me?”
She shook her head. “Generic. That was generic. I wasn’t throwing stones.”
I poked a large chunk of scrambled eggs and lifted my fork to my mouth. “Love is recognizing all of the good in someone, seeing all the bad, and choosing to express the former and suppress the latter.”
“Holy shit, Dude, I like that one,” she said. Her eyes fell to her plate and she began to eat again. At about the time I wondered if we’d reached a point that we were done discussing the subject, she swallowed and fixed her eyes on mine. “Love is when your heart has feelings for a person that your mind is incapable of putting into words.”
“And on that note, we should stop,” I said. “That was good. I like that.”
She smiled. “You know what?”
“What’s that?”
“I used to be kind of scared that one day you’d just tell me to go away. And I hated the way I felt. When you were gone. And when you came back around I’d kind of forget the way I felt when you were gone. Now, when you’re gone, I like it. I mean, I don’t like it, but I do. Because I get all excited knowing that I’m going to see you again. The difference in knowing and wondering is huge.”
“And now you know?”
“Uh huh.”
“How? How do you know I’m not going to decide to just leave you?”
“You don’t trust people. You trust me.” She shrugged.
“You’re right.”
She finished eating and shoved her plate to the side. “Want my opinion?”
I looked up from my plate. “Sure.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff, and I made some notes. Hold on.”
She jumped up, ran to my bedroom, and grabbed her purse. After pulling out her phone and scrolling through the screen, she looked up. “Ready?”
I found it cute that she asked me if I was ready. “I’m supposed to ask that.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”
She studied the screen on her phone. “Okay. Starting at the beginning. Drake said he just got the Corvette a few days before we got there, right?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Well, when we saw Beer Belly, he said he hadn’t talked to Drake in a long time, but he asked you later if he let you drive the ‘Vette. How would he know if Drake had a Corvette if he hadn’t seen him or talked to him?”
I jumped from my seat. “Motherfucker. I didn’t catch that.”
My mind began spinning while thinking of the possibilities of Bart being arrested and turning snitch. Anything, I decided, was possible.
“There’s a lot more,” she said.
I began pacing the kitchen floor. “Keep going, I’m thinking.”
She glanced at her phone. “Beer Belly set you up with Fat Willie, and
Fat Willie paid you in new bills when he’s always paid with his old stash in the past. They were banded and all $100s. It might mean Beer Belly and Fat Willie are in cahoots with each other, and with the cops.”
I stared at her in amazement. “How did you get all this on your phone?”
“I wrote a bunch of notes in my notepad last night after you fell asleep.”
I nodded. “I like your way of thinking. Okay, keep going.”
“Did Beer Belly himself tell you not to ever look at his scar, to look away?” she asked.
I chuckled. “He’s made that clear. We all just make it a point to focus on something else, why?”
“I knew it!” she shouted. “He doesn’t want you looking because he’s got a tell-tale sign when he’s nervous. He touches it. It’s like a nervous tick. He did it when you asked if he’d heard from Drake, and when you asked about him setting you up with Fat Willie, when you asked about Drake, when he asked you if you wanted the diamond, and when I accused him of being a cop. Think about that.”
“God damn, Jess. You think like a cop.”
She grinned. “It’s all the detective novels. And I’ve got more.”
I sighed. “Let’s hear it.”
“The little Danny DeVito looking jeweler guy. You said when you went in with the diamond that he went to the back and made a call to investors. He’s got a phone on the counter, why didn’t he use it? I’ll tell you why. Because he went to the back to make a call to have you smacked, that’s why.”
“Interesting,” I said. “But what do we know from all of this? How is it going to help us with the diamond?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I say you need to stop trusting Drake and Beer Belly both. And we just need to be prepared for the jeweler to try and steal the money, too.”
“He’s not going to steal the money,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re going to have a little bit of real money, and a whole bunch of fake money.”
She rubbed her hands together. “I like it.”
“Now,” I said. “You ready to plan the heist?”
She grinned from ear-to-ear. “Heist. I love it when you say things like that. It makes me wet.”
I realized at that moment one thing that Jess and I shared. It was probably the biggest reason we got along so well. She loved mysteries, action, crime, and being involved in all facets of it. She said it excited her greatly just thinking about it. She’d spent her life reading books and daydreaming of the stories she read as if they were real.
DIRTY READS Page 11
