Page 27 of Dirty Reads

SEVEN

Jess

“HOW long have you known ol’ Dick?” Drake asked.

I pushed my hand into the pocket of my shorts and pinched the $500 Dick gave me between my fingers. “I just met him.”

I was more attracted to Dick after the police chase. A bad boy who talked a long line of shit – but couldn’t back it up – was annoying. Dick, on the other hand, was the real deal. Police chases, guns, Ferraris, using rich friend’s houses for hideouts, and now a mysterious delivery to Chinatown?

Dick may have been a dick and unwilling to commit, but he was exactly what I desired in a man.

I was going to have a difficult time forgetting the Dicks.

Drake opened the refrigerator and pulled out a package of what appeared to be bologna. “Just met him a few minutes ago, or just met him recently?”

“On Monday.”

He held the package of lunchmeat at arm’s length. “Bologna?”

“No, thank you.”

“Monday, huh?”

“Yep.”

“What do you think?” He rolled up a piece of bologna and poked half of it into his mouth.

“About what?”

He chewed the bologna, swallowed it, and gazed at the other half as if it wasn’t at all what he expected it to be. He unrolled it, stared at it for a moment, and turned toward me.

I had no idea what he wanted. He alternated glances between me and the remaining lunchmeat several times. Eventually, I shrugged. It was all I could think to do.

He walked to the other side of the kitchen, sniffed the bologna, and shook his head. He turned to face me. “Dick.”

It took me a minute to realize he was responding to the question I had asked earlier.

“Oh. He’s fun.”

He tossed the uneaten half of the bologna in the trash. He stared down at the package he was holding for some time, and after a lengthy mental struggle, tossed it in the trash. A trip back to the refrigerator produced a package of cheese, and the same process continued.

He rolled a piece of cheese into a tube, ate half of it, and nodded his head as if it provided the satisfaction he was hoping to get from the bologna.

He offered me the cheese. “Cheese?”

“No, thank you.”

He ate the other half of the cheese slice and closed the refrigerator door. “Follow me.”

I did as he said and followed him through a very contemporary living room that was decorated with green leather furniture, chrome and glass end tables, and a large matching coffee table. Abstract art hung from the walls and random sculptures were placed about.

It seemed like something I would expect to see in the home of a big Hollywood producer, but not in Austin, Texas. Not even in the ritzy Mount Bonnell neighborhood we were in.

We walked down a long hallway, past a few rooms, and into what was obviously his casino. Two blackjack tables, a craps table, and a few dozen slot machines filled the large room.

He sat down at a slot machine. “Fun, huh? Suppose that’s a matter of perception.”

The way he responded or commented on a subject several minutes after we discussed it was confusing. I decided to keep to myself, and hoped Dick wasn’t gone for very long.