Dick (12 page)

“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 knew 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 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 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.

When I planned a job, it often made my cock hard.

“You know,” I said. “A true love for the game isn’t something that can be taught, it’s either part of who you are, or it isn’t.”

“By the game you mean the job? The heist?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You want the truth?” she asked.

“It’s all I want,” I responded.

“That’s the first thing that attracted me to you. Threatening that guy in the alley. I love this shit.”

At that moment, I was convinced. 

Jess would never be a Becky Baxter.

NINETEEN

Jess

DICK’S
discussion on the definition of love filled me with hope. I was convinced if I could be instrumental in helping him get the diamond back that he would accept me as being completely trustworthy, and our odd little relationship would flourish soon following.

“You ready?” he asked.

Chills went down my spine. “When you ask me that, my legs go weak.”

“I’ll take that as a
yes
.”

He was dressed in sweats, a wife beater, and flip-flops. I really liked seeing him in a suit, and he looked great in slacks and a button-down, but nothing was better than seeing him wear a wife beater.

The muscles in his six-pack abs rippled through the material of the skin-tight shirt. His broad chest flared out the sides of the arm openings, and the tattoos on his right arm were visible. To me, the tattoos were confirmation of his bad boy status in the world, and seeing them made me wobbly-legged.

He began to pace the floor of his living room, talking as he walked. “Here’s the plan. I’m assuming there’s a cop in the mix somewhere. Actually, I’m banking on it. So, you’ll meet the guy with the diamond at a public place. We’ll try to get it at a supper club I know that’s right off highway 35. It’ll give us an easy exit. And you’ll have your diamond expert with you. He’ll inspect the stone, he’ll test it to see if it’s real, and you’ll show them the money. They won’t take time to count all the money in the bar, they’ll either do it outside, or later. I guess all of that will depend on how much they trust you. My guess is $4,000,000 won’t leave much room for trust, but cops always assume the money is real. They’re less concerned with the money, because they want the arrest, not the cash. So, you check the diamond, give them the money, and at some point you’re outside with the stone. And that’s when the game changes.”

I waved my hand in the air. “I have a question.”

“Okay.”

“How am I going to test a diamond to see if it’s real?”

“Your accomplice will. He’ll have an electronic diamond tester. It’ll say if it’s real or fake. They’re 100% accurate.”

I never heard of such shit. I found it fascinating. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

He started pacing again. “You get outside, and I’m going to be in the Ferrari waiting. Now, if there are cops, and I’m sure there will be, they’ll let me sit there and wait without fucking with me, because they won’t want to chance blowing their cover. So, even if they know it’s me, they’ll wait until the deal is done in hopes that they can arrest you and me in the car.”

“Okay, so assume I’ve made it to the car with the diamond, then what?” I asked.

“This is the part you won’t like,” he said.

I laughed. I was ready to do whatever I had to do to get the diamond. “As you say, I’m all ears.”

“We’re going to drive about a hundred feet, and while I’m rolling up to the intersection beside the bar, you’ll open your door, and I’m going to toss your cute little ass out in the street. You’ll roll into the middle of the intersection and start flailing around like you’re hurt. Whoever is following me will stop, and that’ll buy me just enough time to make sure I get out of there.”

“Why the Ferrari? Won’t they be looking for it after the chase?”

“It’s the fastest car I’ve got, and they’ll never fucking catch it, that’s why.”

“I fall out of the car and…”

“Pushed out. You get pushed out. It’ll look like I used you to get the stone. They’ll take you in, question you, and you’ll tell them nothing of any substance. An attorney, who, ironically, will be your accomplice, will show up and get you out of the questioning. They’ll never catch me, and I’ll have the stone. I’ll sell it in Houston for about $3,500,000, which will leave me about $2,000,000 up after the $500,000 I lose in the deal.”

“Why will you lose $500,000?”

“It’ll be the real money. The bait money.”

“What will the rest be?”

“A damned good counterfeit.”

I gasped. “You counterfeit money?”

“Hell no. But I bought some a long time ago. It’ll pass for real, though.”

“You bought counterfeit money? On purpose?”

“Bought $5,000,000 worth. It’s good money for show. Paid $50,000 for it. I’ve used it over and over.”

I sat and thought about all of the novels I had read over the years, and how the hero and the heroine always got away with similar heists. While lost in a daydream about one of the books, an idea came to me, causing me to chuckle a laugh. “I’ve got another idea that might just make this a foolproof plan and save you $500,000.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Well,” I said. “It involves a fake 10 carat stone, and if I can get it to work, it just might save you your $500,000 in cash.”

“Exchange stones?” he asked. “Deny the buy?”

“Something like that. Exchange stones, go to the bathroom. My accomplice walks out with the money. Everything would have to go perfect to do the switch, but it might work. I’ll need a fake 10 carat stone and a pair of reading glasses.”

He scrunched his nose. “Reading glasses?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I got this.”

He nodded. “I like it. A lot.”

I admired his physique and imagined us as an actual couple. Husband and wife, doing jobs and giving the money – part of it, at least – to people who really needed it. “I have more questions.”

He grinned his shitty smirk. “I’m all ears.”

“How am I going to carry $4,000,000.”

“A million bucks in $100 bills only weighs 20 pounds. So four weighs 80 pounds. Two forty pound bags.”

I assumed he knew what he was talking about, but it sure didn’t seem right. “Twenty pounds? That doesn’t seem like much.”

“Believe me, that’s what it weighs. It’ll be like carrying a few bags of groceries. And, you’ll have help.”

“Okay, so what if there aren’t any cops? What if we’re scared for nothing?” I asked.

He shrugged. “It’s that much better. We see who shows up. Maybe it’s Danny DeVito, maybe someone else. Hell, maybe it’s fucking Drake or Duc. But whoever it is will believe the money’s real, and as long as the diamond’s real, I’ve got my money back, and I’m up $2,000,000 or so.

“So we can’t lose?”

“We can. We can get arrested for money laundering, possession of stolen property. Charged with burglarizing the football player’s house. Possession of and use of counterfeit money in the furtherance of a crime. Hell, the list is long. State charges Federal charges. Probably talking about twenty years to life if we get caught. Which brings me to the last part.”

“Which is?” I asked.

He stopped pacing. “Are you in, or are you out?”

I stood up, raised my hand in the air, and turned my palm to face him. “I’m in. All the way.”

I was twenty-four years old. I had spent 16 of those years reading everything from Nancy Drew books to Robert Ludlum’s books on Jason Bourne. I’d even read all of the Jack Reacher novels by Lee Child. My dream had always been to be involved in
something
. This was my one and only chance to do it.

He slapped his hand against mine. “That’s my girl.”

After hearing him say
that
, they could arrest me and toss me in prison. I wouldn’t care. I was on top of the world.