They could do whatever they wanted.
But if everything went as planned, it’d only last an hour.
TWENTY-FOUR
Dick
NOT knowing Jess’ status weighed down on me hard. I sat in the kitchen sipping whiskey feeling that the recovery of the diamond – and my investment money – wasn’t as important as I had previously believed.
Had she been gone shopping or at work, an hour would have passed in what seemed like a matter of seconds. Having no idea if she was safe, however, seemed to make time stand still. I began to regret the heist. Forfeiting Jess and gaining the diamond wasn’t a trade I was now willing to do.
But the deal was done.
I found out through the course of everything that trading Jess for $3,500,000 wasn’t a trade I was willing to do.
Jess was priceless.
I grew up in a very wealthy home, the child of a father who made his money off of other people’s investments. When the recession of 2008 hit, people under my father’s financial watch lost everything, while he continued to get even richer. Many lost their jobs, homes, and other material possessions. Yet others lost their ability to see a bright enough future to continue, and committed suicide.
Respect was something my father never earned from me. As a child, being alone because none of the other children were financially worthy of being my friend made some sense at first, but as I grew older, it made no sense. I grew to despise my father’s prosperity, his belief that the gap between the rich and the poor was never great enough, and his manner of feeding his growing wealth.
I sat at the bar drinking my whiskey and staring at the diamond wondering if I was slowly becoming more like him. The proceeds from the diamond were never going to be used for personal reasons, only for causes I believed to be worthy of receiving the wealth. Nonetheless, Jess’ absence made me feel I had paid the ultimate price for the stone.
My phone buzzed.
I jumped from my seat and ran to the end of the bar.
Seton.
“What the fuck?” I asked as I answered.
“Five minutes out.”
Damn, that was quick.
“Everything good?”
“Everything’s great.”
I had Jess’ purse, cell phone, and all of her personal items, so I realized she couldn’t call me. But. I just wanted to hear her voice.
“Let me talk to Jess.”
“I don’t have Jess.”
“You what?”
“I’ll see you in a minute, I’m 60 seconds away.”
“Where is she.”
“I’ll see you in a second.”
“Where the fuck is she?”
“Police station.”
“God damn you, Seton. I’ll slaughter your entire family if something happens to her. I swear.”
“Pulling in now.”
The phone went dead.
Fuck!
“What the fuck’s going on?” I screamed as he walked through the front door.
He stopped at the threshold. “Quit being a prick and go get the money. I’ve got to swap some things around. I need a small screwdriver set.”
“Where’s Jess?”
“I told you. The police station. I need to do a few things before I go get her.”
I walked around the corner of the bar and began to stomp my way to where he was standing. “Like fucking what?” I snarled.
“Like making sure they can’t charge her with a crime. Grab that money and get me that screwdriver set.”
“You’ve got the money?”
He nodded. “All of it.”
Having the money was reassuring, but I wanted the girl. I stomped out to the car, grabbed the money, and stomped back into the house.
I tossed the money on the entry hall floor and turned toward the garage. After digging through my toolbox, I returned with a small set of jeweler’s tools.
“Here.”
He carried his diamond tester to the bar, disassembled it, and began to pry against the circuit board with one of the screwdrivers.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He lowered the tool, sighed, and turned to face me. “I tested the stone. It was authentic. I said it didn’t test out. Your plan, Dick, had a hole in it. Now, what I need to do is disable this tester to make it inoperative, go to the police station, and in the event that the question arises – and I suspect it may – I can back up my end of the story. They have a fake 10 carat diamond, but they may have a real one that I am unaware of. This way I’m covered no matter what.”
“You lost me.”
“I’m not surprised,” he said.
“Don’t start getting smart with me, you motherfucker. I’ll…”
“Give it a rest, Dick.” He screwed the back onto the tester, slid it into his leather satchel, and glared at me for a second.
“See you in an hour,” he said as he turned away.
I had no idea what his ridiculous plan was fucking up his tester, but he was the attorney, and I wanted to assume he knew what the fuck he was doing.
He paused as he reached for the door. “Where’s the crazy cat?”
Oh fuck.
TWENTY-FIVE
Jess
10:40 p.m. the day of the heist
I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I didn’t want to go back into the interrogation room, I wanted to buy some more time.
“You do realize it’ll be in your best interest to tell us everything you know, right?” Necktie asked.
I shot him a confused look. “I don’t know shit. I’m fucking drunk.”
“I know some things,” he said with sarcastic tone. “I know you’re in a hell of a mess.”
“I danced with some hot guy. I tried to buy a diamond. I got up to pee, and my fucking head started spinning. I peed and thought I was good to go, and halfway back to my seat, I got a case of bubble guts. I went outside for fresh air. No crimes committed, Officer.”
“There’s more to it than that. Your story might change when we get back in the interrogation room.”
“What about that coffee?” I asked.
My tongue felt dry and calloused. I repeatedly pressed it to the roof of my mouth to try and clean it off, but each time I felt like I was going to puke as a result. Coffee wouldn’t cure me, but it damned sure couldn’t hurt.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“10:40.”
He got me my coffee, and I followed him back to the interrogation room. He pushed the door open, and upon entering the room, I got two nice little surprises.
One, Tribideaux was waiting.
And two, I identified the smell that caused my nostrils to flare in the supper club.
Cinnamon.
I acted uninterested in Tribideaux’s presence. “It smells like fucking Christmas in here,” I said.
“Sit down,” Porn ‘stache demanded.
I tried to steady my cup of coffee. “I’m working on it.”
I sat down and glanced at each of the three men. I had no idea where they were going to go with the conversation, so I decided to start my own.
I shot Tribideaux a sultry grin. “Did you bring the diamond?”
“Shut up, I’m asking the questions. Mrs. Preston Wheeler, my ass. Where’s your I.D.?” Tribideaux snapped.
I took a sip of my coffee and tried not to smile. “I have no idea.”
“Where’s the diamond?” he asked.
There were two too many mustaches in the room. I turned to the side and tried to focus on the necktie-wearing cop. “I gave it to my attorney when I went to the bathroom.”
Necktie slapped his hand against the edge of the table. “What did you do with the diamond?”
I wasn’t scared of their good cop – bad cop routine. I met his gaze with my best drunken laser sharp glare. “Weren’t you listening?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “Lying to an officer in the course of an investigation. Five years. Theft of a $4,000,000 diamon
d. Ten years. Obstruction of justice. Twenty-four months. Want me to continue?”
I took a sip of coffee and wondered where Seton was. I didn’t like hearing how many years they were going to lock me up for. Even if it was bullshit.
I held his gaze for as long as I could. “No.”
He straightened his posture and nodded his head toward Tribideaux. “Let me introduce Federal Agent Whitmire. You might know him as Tribideaux. Your world is preparing to collapse, little girl. Do you know what they do to girls like you in prison?”
My mouth went dry. I turned toward Tribideaux-Whitmire and tried to swallow, but got nothing but dust.
I took a sip of coffee and tried to force a smile. My face contorted into a drunken smirk.
Tribideaux-Whitmire crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You are in the middle of a joint investigation between the FBI, the state of Texas, and US Marshall Service regarding large-scale thefts and the money that is being laundered as a result of said thefts. Life. To the bitter end. That is what we’re talking about, not ten or fifteen measly years. Your cute little ass will rot in prison. Now I’m going to ask questions, and you’re going to provide answers, understand?”
I nodded.
“18 USC, section 1001. Lying to a Federal Officer in the course of an investigation. It’ll get you 120 months. That’s ten years, not five. All you have to do is tell me one little lie. Just one. No matter what else happens here tonight, if you lie once to me, you’ll go away for a dime piece.”
He leaned over the table and got so close I could feel his breath. “You look pale, little girl. Are you scared?”
I was. But I trusted Dick. I shook my head in support of my claim. “No.”
“You should be.”
I took a sip of coffee. “I’m scared of mustaches.”
The look on his face confirmed he didn’t appreciate my sense of humor. “Who’s the guy in the Ferrari?”
I shrugged. “Some guy I was wanting to fuck.”
That wasn’t a lie at all.
He shook his head in disgust. “What is his name?”
I glanced at the clock. 10:50. I needed to buy some time. Ten minutes if Seton was on time.
“His name?”
“Yes, god damn it, his name.”
“Dick.”
So far, I was on a roll for telling the truth.
He reached up and twisted his mustache between his thumb and index finger. I glanced at Necktie. His mouth was curled into a perma-grin. My eyes drifted to Porn ‘stache. He was scratching his nuts and staring at the dirt under his fingernails.
Tribideaux-Whitmire broke the awkward silence. “When you snuck outside, you had your purse. Where’s your purse now?”
“I don’t know.”
I did a mental fist pump. Hell, it was easy not lying.
“Did you leave it in the car?”
I cleared my throat. “I didn’t leave it anywhere. I was pushed out into the street and was almost trampled to death by two fucking Clydesdales.”
Also true. The death by slow-moving Clydesdales was a matter of opinion, but I doubted he could prove beyond a shadow of doubt to a court of law that I wasn’t in danger.
I chocked it up as another truthful response.
The door swung open. “Legal counsel for the lady,” an officer said.
I turned toward the voice.
Seton.
Thank God.
Seton reached into his pocket, removed a small gold case, and tossed three business cards on the table. It was time for shit to get real, and I was ready.
He brushed the lapels of his suit coat. “Gentlemen, Seton Allen Hallsworth, Esquire. The questioning will now be directed to me, and my client will only respond to questions I advise her to be in her best legal interest.”
“You phony turd,” Tribideaux-Whitmire said. “One of you two fuck-nuggets switched out the diamond on me.”
“An accusation such as that will not be taken lightly, Sir. Your diamond didn’t check out as being authentic. That, Sir, cannot be refuted. For the safety of my client, and in anticipation of being swindled, I recorded the entire conversation,” Seton said.
He reached into his jacket, removed a small device, and pressed his thumb against it.
“As long as this diamond checks out.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it to your satisfaction.”
“The tester appears to be malfunctioning. I can’t get an accurate reading. It’s telling me the stone is a fake. Let’s proceed under the belief that everything checks out.”
“How sad.”
“Would you like to see it?”
“Is a pig’s ass made of pork?”
He pressed his thumb against it again, stopping it. He grinned and placed the recorder in his inner jacket pocket.
Tribideaux-Whitmire looked angry. “The diamond was authentic.”
“Federal Rule of Evidence Rule 901,” Seton said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Otherwise known as the Authentication of Identification Rule, requires that the chain of custody for evidence be maintained. I’ll ask, Good Sir, if you could provide the chronological support to me for review.”
I had no idea what he was saying, but I really liked what everyone’s faces did.
Hashtag sad face.
A hand hit the table. “That fucking diamond was authentic.”
I looked up. Agent Tribideaux-Whitmire looked as though he swallowed a spoonful of something bitter.
“According to my tester, Sir, it was not. My tester wasn’t checked prior to our meeting, and could certainly be out of calibration, but there is no law in place to require me to test it or to calibrate it. There is, however such law in place to require you, Sir, to prove you had the diamond tested prior to the meeting. If you are unable to prove its authenticity was verified prior to the meeting, as a matter of law you may not claim its inauthenticity following the meeting.”
Silence.
“Based on your allegations, I would have assumed the diamond was tested prior to the meeting,” Seton said. “However, your three somber faces tell me otherwise.”
Tribideaux-Whitmire cleared his throat. “I think your tester works just fine, and you’re full of shit, Counselor.”
Seton coughed a light laugh. “My tester is not the subject of this discussion; your chain of evidence is. For the sake of entertainment, have you the stone?”
Tribideaux-Whitmire looked sick. He reached into his jacket pocket. The cloth and stone were produced.
Seton reached into his pocket, removed the tester, and poked the diamond with a small prod. A red light illuminated. He turned the tester toward each of the officers. They acted uninterested.
Porn ‘stache scratched his nuts.
“I will ask one last time.” Seton sighed and placed the tester in his pocket. “Did you check your stone for authenticity immediately prior to the meeting, and if your response is yes, I need to see the document supporting said test as well as the credentials of the person who performed the test.
“Fuck you, Counselor,” Tribideaux-Whitmire said.
“As I suspected.” Seton reached for my hand. “We’ll be leaving now.”
“This isn’t over,” Porn ‘stache warned.
“As a matter of law,” Seton said. “It is over. Any questions for this client will henceforth be directed to me. Without the authentication for the diamond, the only crime committed is detaining my client. Any attempts to question her will be considered harassment, and will be met with a civil action lawsuit against the state and the federal government.”
I stood up, reached for my coffee, and drank it in one gulp. “Gentlemen.”
Seton motioned toward the door. “After you.”
And, just like that, all my worries washed away.
TWENTY-SIX
Dick
“OH my God,” Jess gasped as soon as she walked into the house. “What happened?”
My face, neck, shoulders, and arms were covered in blood. “I was attacked,”
I said.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Seton breathed. “You look like death.”
“Believe me,” I said. “Whatever it looks like, it feels worse.”
“Knife fight?” Jess asked as she got closer.
Embarrassed, I shook my head. “The leopard.”
Jess laughed. “The spotted cat? It attacked you?”
I nodded. “It’s evil. If I can find it, it’s going up for auction.”
“The fucker growled the entire time it was in my car, I can say that much,” Seton said.
I turned toward Jess and opened my arms. “So, it sounds like everything went good. No surprises?”
Seton shook his head. “Just as I suspected, they couldn’t prove that they maintained a chain of evidence. Without proof that they tested the diamond immediately prior to the meeting, they couldn’t accuse us of switching it. Ninety percent of the time they can’t prove a maintained chain of evidence.”
“Interesting.”
Jess hugged me. I wanted to kiss her, but my face felt like it was afire. Covered with small – and large – lacerations, I looked like I had been in a knife fight with a hundred Ninja masters.
“You look awful,” she said.
“Forget me. Your performance in this thing was top fucking notch,” I said. “When you rolled out of the car, I almost died laughing. Out there in the middle of the street with your arms and legs stretched out…”
“I was trying to take up the entire street. I wanted to make sure they couldn’t get past me.” She chuckled. “And they didn’t.”
“And what about those fucking horses.” I chuckled. “When you screamed ‘horse!’ I about shit.”
“Horse!” she screeched.
The three of us shared a laugh.
I caught my breath and looked at Seton. “Did we learn how the fuck they got the diamond? Who attacked me at the jewelers?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t yet.”
Jess’ eyes shot wide and she gasped. “I almost forgot. The man with the mustache from the soup kitchen was the man at the supper club. He’s a Federal Agent. Whitmire. Anyway, guess fucking what?”
“What?”
“Well,” she said. “When we were at the supper club, I kept smelling something and it was about to make me sick. Every time I leaned over to talk to mustache man, it would make my nose burn. I didn’t get it at first, but when I walked into the interrogation room after I peed, I smelled it again. Guess what the mustache man smelled like?”
DIRTY READS Page 14
