DIRTY READS

by Scott Hildreth

  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.

  TWENTY

  Dick

  I scanned the supper club for familiar faces and saw none. We’d just finished our last dance, and it was about time for me to depart. “You’re meeting them in an hour, it’s about time for me to go to the car.”

  We stood at the edge of the dancefloor. I was wearing a black tuxedo. Her hair was in a chignon with tendrils and she was dressed in a black dress, heels, and as much diamond jewelry as I could get her to wear. She defined elegance. Not the type of elegance than makes a man say damn, she looks elegant, but the type that sucks the breath from your lungs and causes you to stop dead in your tracks and take notice.

  Together, we looked like we were on our honeymoon.

  She locked eyes with me, gazed into my eyes for some time, and eventually sighed lightly. “I swear, if this deal works, this is the best day ever to replace my other best day ever.”

  “What happened on your other best day ever?”

  She fanned her face with her hand and took a moment to catch her breath. “I got fucked before breakfast, after breakfast, and then got in a car chase with the cops. After that, I won $600 in a slot machine, and then got asked out on another date with the best criminal ever.”

  “Wow. And this will top that?”

  She did her best to open her eyes wider than the slits she was looking at me through. “Yeah. I love dancing, and we just danced for two hours. I feel like I’m going to barf, though.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have had all that wine. And the margaritas.”

  She shrugged and offered a grin. “I’ll be fine. Is this rain going to stop before this is over?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t believe I left the umbrella in the car. It makes me sick to think about ruining your hair.”

  “I wasn’t talking about my hair. A high speed getaway in the rain might be dangerous. Or impossible.”

  “Either way, I’ll be faster than whoever’s behind me.”

  She nodded. “True.”

  “Slow down on the drinking, maybe eat something. But I’ve got to get out of here. I don’t want anyone to see me with you.”

  “Okay, just go, I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure you’re okay with everything?”

  Her eyes thinned to slits. “I’m fine. We’re in this together, Asshole. When are you going to believe me?”

  “I believe you. And you’ve got that Glock in your purse. Don’t forget that.”

  She waved her hand toward me, lost her balance, and about fell on the floor. “I know. Just go, before one of those snitches comes in here.”

  I reached for her face, steadied her jaw between my hands, and kissed her. The kiss was passionate, deep, and thought provoking. It made me want to stay, forget the diamond, and dance until we collapsed.

  Our lips parted, and I released her. She stood, her mouth slightly agape, and stared blankly at me for a moment before it seemed that her eyes went into focus.

  “Just go,” she said. “If you stay for another minute we’ll be arrested, and it won’t be for theft. I’m gonna rape your sexy ass.”

  I glanced at my watch. I had fifty minutes. Reluctantly, I turned and walked away.

  A quick scan of the dining area produced nothing out of the ordinary, and I recognized no one. I sauntered to the door, walked out into the rain, and inhaled a deep breath of the humid night air.

  The supper club sat on a corner in a swanky district in Austin, with a main street that ran along the front of the building with valet parking, and a brick street at each side that was roughly two and a half lanes wide.

  I planned on parking the Ferrari in along the brick street, hugging the side of the road, and waiting. I wouldn’t look any different than any other asshole who drove a $300,000 Ferrari and parked in three parking spaces to keep his car from getting door dings.

  I got the Ferrari from the parking garage and parked a block away. With the car running, and the windshield wipers dancing back and forth, I watched the entrance like a hawk.

  My buzzing phone startled me.

  A number I didn’t recognize.

  I answered. “This is Dick.”

  “Mr. Wiltshire?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Supervisory Officer Willis with TSA. We have a leopard you’re going to need to pick up.”

  Oh shit.

  “It’s really a bad time for me. Can I get it tomorrow?”

  “That is a negative,” he said. “The cat will be required to be picked up before 10:00 pm. Several messages have been left unanswered.”

  Fuck.

  “Can someone sign for it besides me?”

  “As long as they have I.D.”

  “I’ll have someone pick it up.”

  “The animal will be at the United baggage check. You should be able to park in the unloading lane and come in through the turnstile.”

  “I’ll get it taken care of.”

  “Thank you, Sir, and have a nice night.”

  I hung up. The last thing I needed was to have a fucking leopard in the car.

  I scrolled through my contacts, stopped at Seton, and pressed the call button.

  “Hello? Everything a go?”

  “I need you to stop really quick on your way.”

  “Really quick? I’m on my way now.”

  “It’ll be ten minutes out of your way. Stop at the airport, park at the terminal’s unloading lane for United, and go to baggage check. There’s a leopard in my name.

  “A leopard?”

  “Yeah, a cat.”

  “You’re having me pick up a leopard? Now?”

  “God damn it, Seton. I’m not going to fucking argue with you. Get the cat and hurry the fuck up. Don’t make me…” I pulled the phone from my ear and glared at it. “Just get the fucking cat.”

  Frustrated about it all, I hung up.

  Aggravated, I surveyed the street, the supper club, and the surrounding area. At 9:25, what I was sure was an unmarked police car parked half a block behind me. Two idiots sat in the car smoking cigarettes and talking.

  Typical cops doing a half-assed surveillance job.

  I checked my pistol, assured myself it was loaded and ready, and shifted my eyes from the rearview mirror to the door of the club.

  It was eerie how natural it felt having Jess involved with the job. I trusted her wholly and completely, which was something had never done. My life of crime had been performed single-handedly, and I had every expectation of continuing my modus operandi for as long as I was in the business.

  Now, however, I couldn’t imagine doing anything without Jess’ help. Her love of criminal suspense novels caused her to develop a keen eye and a criminal mind.

  My only concern was being one hundred percent certain that she wasn’t harmed.

  If anyone damaged as much as a hair on her head, I wouldn’t be in prison for counterfeit money, laundering cash, or stealing a diamond.

  I’d be locked away for murder.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Jess

  I sat at the table with Seton, who, ironically, was the man Dick was threatening the day I met him in the alley. With the money between us on the floor and a briefcase on the table, we sat and talked about everything under the sun while we waited.

  “You’re clear on if I go to the bathroom, you need to wait just a minute, secure the money, and then act concerned, right?”

  “That’s exactly what I’ll do. He’ll have the fake stone. No one in their right mind would leave the cash and the stone at the table. I’ll pick up the money and say I’m checking on you.”

  Out of my peripheral I saw someone who caught my attention. It was rather strange, because he was a hundred feet from me, but his manner of walking gave me pause.

  I shifted my eyes from Seton toward the man, and realized it was the man with the mustache from the soup kitchen. />
  “Holy shit,” I whispered, “That man over there by the bathrooms is the mustache man.”

  Seton didn’t turn his head, but he shifted his eyes toward the bathrooms. “Blue shirt, blue slacks?”

  “Yeah.”

  I tried to shake off my drunkenness, but it wasn’t possible. I squinted and tried to look like I was focused elsewhere while I watched him. “He’s the one who was talking to Drake and Duc at the soup kitchen.”

  “He’s a cop.”

  My eyes shot to Seton. “Is that an opinion or fact?”

  “Fact.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve seen him in court. He’s a detective.”

  “I fucking knew it,” I whispered. “Which means Duc and Drake are either snitches or they’re being investigated.”

  He turned his head to the side, gazed off in the distance for a moment, and then agreed. “I’d say you’re right. They’re probably both.”

  I didn’t like Drake from the minute that hotdog eating motherfucker tried to shake my hand. And Duc looked scary, and not the sexy kind of scary, the scary kind of scary.

  Seton sighed lightly. “Let’s hope he’s not the guy who’s meeting us. He may recognize me. It’s been a few years, but I’m sure it’s him. Detective Ortiz.”

  “What if you introduce yourself as my legal counsel?” I asked. “You could be my legal consultant and my diamond expert. It might make us look more valid. More, I don’t know, real.”

  “Not a bad idea,” he said.

  Mustache man started walking in our direction. When it was apparent he was going to be the one who met us, I stood up.

  “Hi, I’m Mrs. Wheeler.”

  “Thurston Tribideaux,” he said, “The third. I’m a broker with Southern Equity.”

  “Seton Hallsworth,” Seton said. “I’ll be acting as Mrs. Wheeler’s legal counsel throughout the transaction.”

  Tribideaux didn’t flinch. “Very well.” He glanced around, must have accepted the dining areas as safe, and reached into his jacket pocket.

  He reached toward Seton and handed him a folded cloth. “The stone.”