With his eyes glued to my awesome cleavage, he bent over and rested his elbows against the glass display case.
“Read the fine print,” I whispered. “Those insurance companies are the biggest thieves of them all.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
He stood, and I stayed leaning over the glass case, my boobs bubbling out of the new bra and free for him to eye fondle through plunging neckline of the dress.
His eyes shifted back and forth between my tits and my eyes. “A cushion cut, was it?”
I blinked a few times. “Yes, Sir, it was. Five carats.”
“And you’re wanting an exact replacement?”
“Nothin’ in life is exact, is it?” I chuckled. “Now with my blessed Preston gone, I suppose I could go a little larger. In his memory, of course. Back when he got the ring, oil was down at $33 a barrel. Right after he passed, it was just under $100. I sold the field in Harris County right after he…”
Without standing, I paused and wiped my eyes. “I think he’d want me to go a little bigger. And I’ve always said bigger’s better. Preston would just laugh when I did. He had a sense of humor like that. Laughin’ at my jokes, you know?”
He grinned and nodded. “With diamonds and a few other things, bigger is better.”
“Oh, let me tell you how we met,” I interrupted. “That darned Maserati Preston bought me. I’d just as soon have me a big ol’ pickup truck. Bigger is better when it comes to vehicles, and that’s a fact. A big truck just makes me grin from ear to ear. You see, I grew up dirt poor. We had us a trailer house outside of Tomball, Texas, and my daddy told me I’d never amount to a hill of beans. I knew better. I didn’t tell my daddy, because there’s some things you just don’t tell your daddy, but…”
I glanced over each shoulder and bent over the counter again.
Baldie leaned forward, locked eyes with my tits, and grinned.
“I could suck a golf ball through a garden hose, and swallow an axe handle without gaggin’. That’s how I met Preston. I was dancing at the Pink Taco right off of 249 and Spring-Canyon Road, and in he came. He wanted him a lap dance, but I saw that watch he was wearin’ and I just said what the heck.”
I stood up and grinned. “You ever said that? What the heck?”
He swallowed hard. A nod of his head followed.
“Oh my.” I fanned my hand in front of my face. “It’s downright warm in here.”
“It sure is.”
“Now what about my little diamond? I’d sure like to have it before Preston’s birthday. It’d be nice to have it when I go out to dust his headstone.”
“When might that be?”
“The 21st. In thirteen days.”
Dick and I hadn’t discussed a time frame, and the idea of using my dead husband’s birthday as a deadline just came to me. After I spoke, I hoped the date would work for all parties involved.
His face was red and he was covered in beads of sweat. He rubbed his palm over the top of his bald head, returned a wet hand, and wiped it against his thigh. “Let me step in the back, and check my ledger. I may be able to help you; I’ll just need to check. I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” I said.
I wished Dick was there so he could see how well I was doing with the creepy little jeweler. I could tell he was talking to someone, and although I couldn’t hear what he was saying clearly, I imagined the man with the mustache from the noodle place being on the other end of the phone. I felt that mustaches were the creepiest things ever, and believed the men who wore them were never honest, and only creeps. I threw up in mouth a little bit just as the Danny DeVito look-alike was returning.
“I’m afraid I have good news and bad news,’ he said.
“The bad first. I love ending on a good note.”
“I may be able to help you, but it’s going to be twice the size of the original stone, and it will cost $4,000,000. It’s a bargain at that price.”
I stood there with a smile on my face and stared as if he hadn’t spoken. He cleared his throat.
I chuckled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was waiting for the bad news.”
“That was the bad news.”
“Oh, well, what’s the good news?”
“I think we can get it by Preston’s birthday, we’ll just have to have the payment in cash or bank approved funds.”
“That won’t be a problem. Now, I have a friend who advises me in such matters, will he be able to inspect the diamond before I purchase it?”
“Certainly,” he said. “Did I say the stone is round?”
“You didn’t. I’m just so excited to get it replaced, I’m afraid the shape doesn’t matter. How do we go proceed from here?”
“I’ll need a way to contact you,” he said. “And I’ll be in touch.”
The thought of giving the sweaty little man my phone number didn’t appeal much to me, but I realized I had no choice.
I gave him my number, a huge grin, and another shot at my tits, then left.
I knew Dick would be happy with what I found out, but I wanted more. I needed to know who had the diamond.
And my bet was it was the man with the mustache.
SIXTEEN
Dick
I’D never really cared for anyone, at least not that I could remember. I was sure at one point in time I loved my parents, but I couldn’t remember for the life of me when it was.
But Jess?
Jess was alright.
She gagged like she was going to barf. “I don’t think I like it.”
“You’re not supposed to chew the fuckers like a piece of god damned gum. You just swallow them.”
“Then why eat ‘em? I mean, if you’re just going to swallow ‘em?”
We were in a restaurant eating oysters on the half shell as an appetizer while we waited for our meal. She tried to swallow the same one three times, and each time, it came right back up. Determined to succeed, she continued to try until she finally accomplished the task. Now, it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not she’d keep it down.
She covered her hand with her mouth. “You can have the rest of ‘em.”
I chuckled. “You sure?”
She nodded.
I fixed my eyes on hers and slurped another from the shell slowly, exaggerating my slurping to irritate her.
She lunged forward, grabbed her stomach and coughed. The oyster shot from her mouth and landed on the plate in front of her.
She took a drink of water, glared at it, and picked it up.
“If you eat that nasty little fucker, you’re going to make me barf,” I said.
“I said I’d eat one, and I’m going to eat this little bastard.”
“You’ve eaten that same one three times. This’ll make four. That’s gross.”
She flattened her palm and stared down at the oyster. “I can’t tell the difference between when I saw it on the shell, and now.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
She lifted her hand, sucked the oyster into her mouth, and swallowed hard. After a few seconds she widened her eyes and opened her mouth. “Tadah!”
I pushed the plate to the side. “I’m done.”
“There’s like eight left, and you only bought twelve.”
“I’m done.”
“You think me eating that little fucker is gross?”
“I know it’s gross,” I said.
“And you want me to swallow your cum.”
I shook my head. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“It’s during the throes of passion or whatever.”
“That first night? You stuck your big fat dick in me. I was drunk as fuck. You didn’t know me. You were going to fuck me and forget me. You told me that. You said that’s all anyone got from you. And then you stuck your finger in my ass.”
“You told me to.”
“I wasn’t done.” She chuckled. “Anyway. I came all over your big fat cock, collapsed, and flopped onto my knees and suc
ked you off. You came like a porn star. And I swallowed that shit. So what, you’re going to tell me that was love?”
I shrugged. “No.”
“Was it gross?” she asked.
“No.”
“Okay, then why is me eating that oyster gross?”
“It just is.”
“Swallowing cum is more gross.”
“Why don’t you barf it up?”
She took a drink of wine, cleared her throat, and leaned forward. “Do you think girls like swallowing cum? Do you think we like the taste?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t really thought about it. As many of them did it, it would stand to reason that there was some redeeming quality about the taste. “I guess so.”
“We don’t. It’s fucking gross. Its slippery, slimy, salty, and bitter. It’s like rotten salty raw eggs.”
The three oysters I had eaten were churning in my stomach. “Why do you do it?”
“The same reason every other girl does it. We want to make you happy. To satisfy you.”
“But you don’t like it?”
“Fuck no. But I like doing it.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Maybe not to you. But it does to me. Look at it this way. The night I met you I swallowed your spunk. I swallowed that shit and acted like it was candy. Did that turn you on?”
I nodded. “Fuck yeah.”
“Okay. And look at me now. I’m still here. I bet if I would have collapsed on the bed and fell asleep I wouldn’t be.”
“Probably not.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Because you lacked determination or something.”
“And now you know why I tried four times to eat that raw fucking oyster.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because you wanted me to try it. And for the same reason I swallowed you cum, I was determined to swallow that grotesque little clam or whatever those fuckers are. I wanted you to be happy with me.”
I considered her logic and eventually nodded. “I think it makes sense.”
She laughed. “You think so?”
“I do.”
She brushed her hair over her shoulder and grinned a shitty little grin. “Appreciate me a little more?”
I did. I never looked at things the way she presented them. I never had to. Now that she made her points, I did appreciate her more. It seemed to be something that was happening on a daily basis.
“I do.”
“Good.”
She took another drink of wine. “So, you say my pussy is yours. Is your cock mine?”
“No.”
“Really?” She dragged the two syllables along for two really long seconds. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. Guys don’t do that shit. They don’t say this cock is yours. And girls don’t say shit like whose cock’s in me or whatever.”
“I want that big fucker to be mine.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “So I can say it’s mine.”
“Who would you tell?”
She acted like she really thought about it for a while. “Nobody, I guess. Just myself.”
“So it’d be your cock, but you’d just keep it hush hush?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, take it. It’s yours.”
She sat up in her seat. “Really?”
“Yep. It’s yours, claim it.”
“Are you saying that because you know I won’t tell anybody, or because you really want me to have it? I don’t want it if it’s some wordplay bullshit. I want that fucker because I really like it. And I don’t want anyone else to have it.”
“Right now, I’m not considering giving it to anyone else.”
“Right now while we’re eating, or right now, like at this point in your life.”
“The life thing, maybe. Long after dinner’s over anyway.” I chuckled. “Maybe even through the rest of the month.”
She stared back at me. “No shit?”
I took a drink of my beer and nodded. “No shit.”
“Fuck yes, that big fucker’s mine.” She reached for her wine. “I like you.”
“I like you back,” I said.
And I meant it.
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.