Dick

by Scott Hildreth

  “Apology accepted,” he said with a laugh. “And my condolences regarding the loss of your husband.”

  “Preston was a fine man for sure. He’ll be so pleased about this.” I reached over and placed my hand on top of his. “As long as this diamond checks out.”

  His caterpillar lip almost made me barf. He chuckled a deep but very brief laugh. “I’m sure you’ll find it to your satisfaction.”

  Seton looked puzzled. He poked the diamond, stared down at his tester, poked it again, and sighed heavily. “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.”

  What the fuck?

  Diamond specialist my ass.

  Proceed under the belief?

  “How sad,” I said, trying to hide the fact I was about to barf.

  Seton turned toward me. “Would you like to see it?”

  I nodded. I felt sick at my stomach. I coughed a light laugh and extended my open palm. “Is a pig’s ass made of pork?”

  Seton handed me the cloth with the diamond folded into it. As I accepted it, he winked at me with his eye that was out of Tribideaux’s view.

  It was all I had to go on, but I assumed everything was a go.

  I found out through the education I received from Dick that a 10 carat diamond is barely over one half of an inch in diameter. In comparison, a dime was 50% larger in diameter than a 10 carat stone.

  Making it very, very easy to conceal.

  I unfolded the cloth, looked at the stone, and squinted. “I can’t see a darned thing without my glasses,” I said. “Forgive me.”

  I held the cloth above the table in my left hand so not to raise suspicion. With my right hand, I reached below the table and into my purse. After retrieving the fake stone and my glasses, I cupped the stone in my palm and lifted the glasses to my face.

  I rested the glasses against the bridge of my nose. “Let me have a look.”

  I unfolded the cloth and pinched the stone between the thumb and forefinger of my right hand. Now holding both stones in my right hand, one in my palm, and one in my fingers, I stared down at it and let out a laugh.

  “It’s seems so small without being set into a ring. Seton, dear, do you have one of those little thingies?”

  He chuckled. “A loop?”

  “Whatever you call it.” I chuckled.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a loop. As I reached for it, I loosened my grip, dropped the fake stone into the cloth, and rolled the real stone into my palm.

  So far, so good.

  I lifted the loop to my glasses, chuckled, and set the loop on the edge of the table. “I guess I don’t need these glasses after all.”

  While holding the cloth and diamond well above the table, I leaned over and dropped my glasses and the real stone in my purse.

  “Let me have a look,” I said.

  Seton studied the mustache man, and I studied the diamond. It seemed, for the time being, that everyone was happy. I looked at the stone for a few long seconds. It was pretty, but indiscernible from the fake. It was roughly the size of a Cheerio and worth almost $4,000,000, which I found to be ridiculous.

  “Oh my, that is a pretty one, isn’t it?” I asked, although it wasn’t anything special.

  My nostrils flared again. I handed Seton the loop and fanned my face with my free hand. “Reminds me of when Preston proposed to me.”

  Seton lowered his head. “God rest his soul.”

  Nice addition.

  I gave Seton the open cloth with the diamond in full view. “Mr. Tribideaux, forgive me. I must retire to the powder room for a moment.”

  The mustache stood up. Seton stood up. I stood, grabbed my purse, and did my best to keep from running. So far, everything had gone as planned and I was as happy as a little drunken thief could be.

  In my walk to the bathroom, I realized I was slightly drunker than I remembered being when I sat down. It happened to me quite frequently. From the time I stopped drinking until the time I was the drunkest seemed to be roughly two hours apart.

  Once in the bathroom, I was so excited that I almost couldn’t pee. After a long wait, I finally did, and only after I was finished did I text Dick.

  I opened the bathroom door slightly, made sure the coast was clear, and nonchalantly began walking toward the front door. Seton faced me, and Tribideaux had his back to me. As long as Tribideaux didn’t turn around, I knew I could make it.

  I heard the unmistakable rumble of the Ferrari’s exhaust. I glanced at Seton. He nodded. Kind of. Not a conventional nod, but an unmistakable lowering of the chin. An undercover clandestine nod.

  It was my cue.

  I ducked behind a couple who was walking in, pushed the front door open, and peered through it. The rain had stopped, but the streets were still wet. The many colors of the neon signs from the adjoining bars reflected off of the asphalt, making the scene seem slightly romantic.

  I glanced to the right. Sitting in the Ferrari fifteen feet from the door, he sat in wait.

  Dick.

  The beauty of our escape, the $3,500,000 diamond, the red Ferrari, outsmarting the mustache cop, it was just too much. My pussy was soaked. I was suffering from an alcohol induced sensory overload.

  I glanced left. A car was on the same side of the street as Dick, thirty feet behind him. The headlights were off, but exhaust bellowed from the rear of the car.

  The outline of two men was unmistakable.

  And one had a mustache. Undoubtedly a cop.

  I ran to the Ferrari, pulled open the door, and jumped inside. “I’ve got it!” I shouted.

  “Atta girl!” Dick hollered.

  I tossed my purse on the floor. “Seton’s gonna get the cash. Go!”

  Dick hit the throttle, causing the car to spin out on the wet pavement. Flashing lights reflecting off of the wet street caught my attention. I spun around. The car behind us had an undercover cop light on the dash.

  “There’s a cop behind us!” I shouted.

  “Fucker’s been there all night,” he said.

  Still peering through the back window, my eyes fell to the narrow flat space behind the seats of the car. A cage filled the space. Inside, a small leopard paced back and forth, growling.

  I blinked a few times. I was drunk, but I wasn’t that drunk. “Dick there’s a spotted cat in the back.”

  “Yeah, it was kind of gonna be a surprise.”

  The cat stopped pacing and locked eyes with me. It was creepy. And beautiful. Reluctantly, I broke its stare.

  Dick hit the gas again, and the car spun out.

  “Motherfucking rain,” he snarled.

  Each time the car spun out, the traction control kicked in. This would cause the car’s tires to stop spinning, and limit the engine’s power. Dick fumbled with the dash, found the button to disable it, and glanced toward me.

  “Ready?”

  Music to my ears.

  “Fuck yes,” I said.

  “It’s gonna get hairy.”

  As far as I was concerned, 700 horsepower in the rain with no traction control wasn’t hairy, it was exciting. I grinned and nodded my drunken head. “Just go!”

  I no more than spoke, and Dick’s door flew open. Startled, I screamed. Dick tried to drive away, but someone grabbed him by the jacket and yanked him halfway out of the car.

  Scared, confused, and not ready for anything of the sort, my eyes frantically darted around the interior of the car for anything I could grab to help. The dull thud of fists hitting flesh was more prominent than anything else. I felt sick.

  The umbrella.

  I grabbed the umbrella and waved it across the interior of the car toward Dick’s right hand – the only portion of him still in the car.

  “Dick, here!” I yelled.

  The umbrella tapped against his hand a few times. Finally, he gripped it firm.

  I glanced toward the cop car. The passenge
r door opened. The cop with the mustache got out. The sound of an agonizing groan caused me to shift my focus toward Dick. He threw one last punch, knocking the man into the street.

  He jumped in the car, got situated, and tossed the umbrella in my lap.

  My head spun to the rear. Mustache got back in the cop car. The leopard growled. Everything was happening so fast that it seemed my mind’s attempt to process it was making me sick. I grabbed the umbrella and tossed it aside.

  The unmistakable smell of blood filled the car. I glanced down at my hand. “I’m bleeding!”

  “It’s the umbrella,” Dick said. “I stabbed that guy with it.”

  Without warning, Dick hit the gas. The car shot forward, spinning the tires the entire time. The engine revved, the sound of the exhaust screamed out the back, and in an instant we were on our way to an easy escape.

  At the upcoming intersection, two horses began to slowly walk past in front of us. The district we were in had carriage rides through downtown, and, as fate would have it, one was directly in front of us.

  “Horse!” I shouted.

  Dick screamed and hit the brakes. I glanced to the rear. The cops were only a few feet behind us. Mustache got out.

  The sound of gunfire rang out, and the back window of the car shattered.

  “Those motherfuckers,” Dick shouted as he swerved the car to the left, almost into the oncoming lane.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted.

  “Open your door. Time for you to get out.”

  I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to escape. The plan came together and we were one horse drawn carriage ride away from escaping the perfect crime.

  The sound of another gunshot shot made me flinch.

  Dick pulled out his gun. “If those motherfuckers hit you or my cat…”

  The carriage was almost past.

  “Open your door!” he demanded.

  Reluctantly, I did as he asked.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I wasn’t.

  I inhaled a deep breath and nodded.

  And he pushed me out of the car and into the wet street.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Dick

  JESS fell out of the car with the finesse of a trained Hollywood stuntwoman. When she hit the ground, she rolled into the center of the street and stretched out like she’d been killed.

  The cops who were following me slammed on the brakes. Physically unable to drive around her, and bound by sworn oath to provide her assistance, it appeared they were doing just that. I turned to the right, hit the gas, and intentionally spun the car into a 180 degree turn, shooting off to the left. The car slid sideways, and the engine revved as I fishtailed up the street toward the highway.

  A quick check of the rearview mirror produced no one. Nonetheless, I hammered the gas, sped toward the highway on-ramp, and hoped there were no more cops on my tail.

  Once on the highway, the roads had been traveled enough that they were dry from the early evening Texas rainstorm. I didn’t need to be in a chase with the police if I didn’t have to be, and as it appeared, I was alone in my travels.

  I slowed to 70 miles an hour, checked my mirrors periodically, and couldn’t help but laugh when I pulled off the highway fifteen minutes later with not a soul in sight.

  Feeling rather anxious, I pulled over in a hardware store parking lot and set the parking brake. I grabbed Jess’ purse, scanned through contents, and found nothing.

  I looked again.

  Nothing.

  One item at a time, I removed each and every article from her purse.

  Nothing.

  Frustrated, I tossed the purse beside the growling leopard, and scanned the passenger side floor.

  A glistening from the center of the floor mat shot a glimmer of hope through my bloodstream. I got out of the car, walked to the passenger door, and opened it. I stared down at the floorboard where Jess’ purse had been, and immediately grinned.

  Against the black carpeting, the 10 carat stone looked like a fascinating pebble.

  A $3,500,000 pebble.

  I picked it up, held it under the streetlight, and smiled at the thought of it all.

  My life was almost in order.

  All I needed was one more thing.

  Jess.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Jess

  I wasn’t hurt at all, but tried to act like I was half-dead. Two men from the carriage hopped out and ran toward me.

  “Don’t fucking move,” one of the cops yelled.

  I wasn’t going anywhere. I was too drunk, and kind of sore. “I’m not,” I murmured.

  “I said don’t fucking move,” he yelled again.

  Apparently, he was talking to the fifty-year-old dude with the red hair who was walking over to see if I was hurt.

  “I’ll shoot your dumb ass where you stand, Motherfucker.”

  I looked toward the cop.

  Oh. My. God.

  His lip was covered in an award-winning porno ‘stache. I almost barfed.

  I glanced toward the two men from the carriage.

  “Lower your fahkin’ weapon,” the red-haired man said. “Ian Earling, I’m an ambassador...”

  “Keep your hands where I can see them.” The cop interrupted.

  “Fahk off,” his partner shouted. “I’ll have yahr fahkin’ job.”

  “Ambassador?” the cop asked. “Did you say you’re an ambassador?”

  “You’re fahking right. Republic of Ireland.”

  “You have papers?”

  “You’ll see ‘em when I see yer badge.”

  I glanced at the mustache toting cop. Another cop was standing to the side, hiding behind the cover of the car with his gun drawn as well.

  Holy shit.

  Badges and diplomatic immunity paperwork were exchanged. Apologies were given, and weren’t necessarily accepted. I wondered if I could leave. No one seemed to be paying attention to me. I pressed my palms into the wet street, raised myself from the ground, and attempted to stand.

  The cop at the car yelled for me to get on the ground.

  “You, in the dress, don’t fucking move!”

  Jesus.

  My knees ached. Other than that I was a little wet, but unharmed. I stood as still as I could.

  “Get on the ground.”

  “I just got up.”

  “Get on the fucking ground,” he barked.

  I pressed my hands to my hips. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “I’ve got her, Joe,” mustache said. He placed his hand against my shoulder. “Come with me, Lady.”

  “Am I under arrest?”

  He tugged me toward the car. “I said come with me.”

  I shot him a shitty drunken glare. “I asked you a question.”

  “You’re being detained. Get in the car.”

  Detained.

  Sounds official.

  He pushed me against the car. “I’m going to pat you down, it’s policy.”

  “Enjoy yourself,” I said in a sarcastic tone.

  He frisked me. “No I.D. No purse, no anything?”

  “I travel light.”

  “What were you doing in the club?”

  I saw no reason to lie, and from what Dick said, if everything went our way – which it did – I could tell them the truth.

  I turned around. The top of his mustache crept into his mouth. My stomach convulsed. “I was buying a diamond.”

  He pulled against it with his bottom lip. “Were you, now?”

  I looked away. “I was trying.”

  He cleared his throat. “Why’d you come outside?”

  I focused on cop number two. He looked like a game show host. “I was planning on barfing.”

  “What stopped you?”

  I turned to face mustache. “From?”

  “Barfing?”

  “I saw the guy in the Ferrari. I thought he left earlier. You know, when he left. When I saw him, I just got in his car. He told me to get
out, and I told him I wanted to suck him off. I tried to suck his cock, and he tossed me out in front of the horses.”

  “Looked like you had a purse when you got in the car. Where’s your purse?”

  I looked away. I’d reached my mustache quota for the month. “I’m drunk as fuck. I don’t know where my ass is right now, let alone my purse.”

  He laughed. “So you were buying a diamond, decided to barf, and hopped in a car to suck a guy off. Was he paying you for that blowjob?”

  “I’m not a whore, Asshole.”

  “Givin’ ‘em away, huh?”

  “He was a good dancer.” I shrugged. “I thought maybe…”

  “Where’s the diamond?”

  I tossed my head toward the supper club. “Last I saw it; it was down there.”

  “Load her up,” cop two barked.

  Mustache tugged against my shoulder. “We’re taking you in for questioning.”

  “Can we stop for a cheeseburger?”

  He shot me an evil glare with a mustache accoutrement. “You got a lot of nerve.”

  “I’ve got a full bladder, sore knees, and I’m fucking hungry.”

  “No, we’re not stopping for a cheeseburger. Give us some information about your partner, and we’ll see if we can get you a cup of coffee.”

  “My partner?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Her name’s Katie. She likes threesomes and being fisted. Probably right up your alley. You’re in the industry, right?”

  He did look like a porn star. I thought he might appreciate the remark.

  I was wrong.

  “You smart-mouthed little bitch.”

  Dick could call me a bitch. I found it on the cusp of being cute. Anyone else? Yeah, not so much.

  “Fuck off, pig.”

  The game show host loosened his tie and opened the door. Mustache pushed me into the back seat.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “10:00 straight up,” Mustache answered.

  They could do whatever they wanted.