Dick (11 page)

SEVENTEEN

Jess

“WHERE
are we going?”

“I told you, we’re going to meet someone. We need to see him before you try and buy that diamond back. I need to see if he knows anything.”

I loved being linked to the underbelly of the city. The criminal side of things. It excited me to no end to
not
know what was going on with Dick and his illicit activities. I preferred formulating my own version in my head. In my mind we were solving mysteries and stealing for the betterment of mankind while the bad guys were one small step behind us.

And I loved it.

I imagined being captured, kidnapped, held hostage and slapped around. Not a lot. No broken teeth or bones, just a good hard slapping from some sweaty guy who had a dingy tee shirt, four day’s growth of beard, and a beer belly. Dick would break the door down, kick the shit out of him just in time to save me, and we’d speed off in the Ferrari. Thinking about our criminal endeavors made me almost as wet as thinking about Dick’s big dick.

Not knowing was killing me. “So who is this guy?”

He turned the corner and shot me a glare. “You’ll see.”

I wondered if it was Duc or Drake, but I doubted it. Duc looked scary at the restaurant, and Drake was just fucking weird. I really hoped it wasn’t the guy with the creepy mustache, but I didn’t think Dick knew who he was for sure, unless he found out and didn’t tell me.

“It’s not that creepy fucker with the mustache, is it?”

“Yeah, it’s mustache man.”

“Seriously?”

“No, it’s not the guy with the mustache. I have no idea who that fucking guy is.”

I released a sigh of frustration. Not a big one. But a necessary one. “Okay.”

“When we go in here, don’t stare at his scar,” he said.

“He’s got a scar?”

“A big one. On his neck. It goes from right below one ear almost to the other ear. It’s pretty bad, just don’t stare at it.”

“Oh my God, what happened?”

“Guy tried to kill him. Cut his throat. Then, he crawled out into the street, and some lady almost fucking ran over him. She ended up taking him to the hospital. Saved his life.”

The guy who got his throat cut probably didn’t think so, but I thought it was an awesome story. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

I often felt that I was more sensible than most people. “Why didn’t she just call an ambulance.”

“They were in Mexico.”

“Oh.”

“Just remember, no staring. Look past him. At the wall or something.”

“Okay. I won’t stare.”

“He’ll probably try to get you to get high, too. Just tell him you don’t smoke.”

“I don’t.”

“Tell him that. Be adamant.”

It was almost dark, and we were driving through the hood. The neighborhood was a rundown area of Austin called Rundberg. Dick’s Mercedes looked out of place amidst the shitty cars and shittier houses, and the farther we got into the neighborhood, the less I thought what we were doing was cool.

About the time I began to wonder about making it out alive, he pulled into a driveway and right beside one of the shitty little houses. It looked like at some point in time someone had started painting it, and then stopped. The front was yellow, and the back – and half the side – was gray. An old car was in the yard, but it had no wheels. Just the car, sitting down in the dirt.

There was a truck in the driveway in front of us, and I didn’t need to ask if it ran, I could tell by looking at all of the shit leaned against it that it hadn’t gone anywhere in a long, long time.

He put the car in park, shut off the engine, and looked at me. “Ready?”

I wasn’t. I was scared. I nodded my head anyway. “Yep. Don’t get high, and no staring.”

“And don’t go to the bathroom. I mean, not unless you have to.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of what the shitty bathroom in the shitty two-tone house would look like and shook my head. “I should be fine as long as we’re not staying.”

“We’re only staying as long as we have to.”

I got out and paid close attention to where I walked to make sure I didn’t step in anything I didn’t want to. Dick checked over each shoulder and locked the car. I followed him to the door, and he knocked on it three times. And then two more.

The secret knock.

After a long wait, a man with a dingy shirt, a beer belly, and four day’s growth of beard answered the door. My mouth flopped open. Immediately, I knew I did not want to be kidnapped or slapped around by him.

Not at all.

I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like he was wearing boxer shorts. I tried to swallow, but apparently forgot how. I took a quick glance at his neck. A jagged scar followed right under his jaw from one side to another.

“Sorry, was in the crapper.” He tossed his head toward me. “She cool?”

“She sure as fuck wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t, would she?”

The man eyed me for a minute, stepped to the side of the door, and nodded. “Come on in.”

The inside of the home was remarkably neat and clean. I tried to make sense of why the yard, cars, and bathroom would be so disgusting – and the home so neat – but couldn’t. I decided to listen to whatever he and Dick talked about and put the pieces of the puzzle together on my own.

I looked around the small living room. There was no couch. We all sat in separate chairs while the T.V. silently played a news station with a stock ticker at the top and bottom of the screen. The sweet smell of cinnamon lingered in the air.

Beer Belly shot me a glare, then quickly shifted his eyes to Dick. “So, your text was cryptic, as always. What’s going on?”

“You turned me onto that deal with Fat Willie a couple of weeks ago. He just paid me.”

Beer Belly reached for his neck. “Fat Willie who stays over in West Lake Oaks?”

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.”