Dick

by Scott Hildreth

  I tried to force myself to say something, but instead lowered my eyes until they met the outline the rim of his cock made against the leg of his jeans.

  Holy shit!

  He reached for his back pocket. “You work in the bar?”

  I swallowed a mouthful of saliva and nodded.

  “Patel’s an asshole.”

  I exhaled and nodded again, shocked that he knew the owner of the bar by name. “Uh huh.”

  As he shoved his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans, the tail of his shirt raised slightly, but it was enough for me to see what it had been concealing.

  A pistol was wedged between the waist of his jeans and his hip. I tore my eyes away from the gun, hoping he didn’t notice me staring.

  Without speaking, he turned away.

  “Call me,” he said over his shoulder as he opened his car door.

  I stood and stared.

  “I mean it,” he said. “If you don’t, I’ll hunt your little ass down, Jess.”

  And what? Burn my fucking house down?

  I raised the shiny black card in the air and waved it in his direction as if agreeing to his demand. As his car sped away, I glanced down at the what he had handed me. A telephone number and his first name was all that was printed on the card.

  I gazed down at his name and grinned.

  Dick.

  How appropriate.

  TWO

  Dick

  BEING around Seton made me think of kidnapping his wife. Thoughts of his wife made me daydream of bitches with round asses, and the mental image of that brought me right back to the girl from the bar.

  Jess.

  Her ass was shaped like a “C”, and I could easily imagine it bent over in front of me while I shoved her full of dick. Right in the middle of trying to scare my $100,000 payment out of Seton, however, wasn’t the best time for me to be losing focus. In a last ditch effort to clear my mind of such thoughts, I pressed the tip of my index finger against the skin immediately underneath my right eye and pulled it down as far as I felt I could.

  With my eye bulging, I turned toward Seton. “Look in this motherfucker, would you?”

  He shook his head in an apparent attempt to get me to leave him alone. “Dick, I was just…”

  “God damn it, I’m fucking serious,” I hissed.

  Using my free hand, I lifted my eyelid with the tip of my finger as I continued to pull down on the skin beneath my eye with my other hand. “Take a look in this motherfucker.”

  With reluctance, he tilted his head back and peered into my eye. “What am I looking for?”

  “Compassion, kindness, hell, I don’t know. Maybe a little sympathy. You see a sympathetic person in there? Or a fleck of kindness?”

  He stared into it as if searching for something of significance.

  “You see any of that shit in there?” I asked.

  He sighed heavily. “I don’t think so.”

  “Take a good look, god damn it. I want you to be sure. Even a glimmer?”

  “I don’t…”

  “God damn it, Seton. Take a good fucking look,” I said through my teeth. “Look deep. I want you to be sure. Even a hint? You see a fucking hint of concern in there?”

  He leaned away. “I uhhm. I uhhm, I don’t think so.”

  I closed my eye and rubbed my fingertip against the eyelid. As I glared at him with my other eye, I shook my head. “You know why?”

  He shrugged.

  “Because I don’t give a fuck,” I growled. “I’m an emotionless businessman. And a prick.”

  I blinked a few times. “This is a business, and I’m a fucking businessman. If you fail, the system fails. If the system fails, I fail.”

  I needed the $100,000 he owed me. I already had it committed, and if he didn’t follow through, people were going to be disappointed with me.

  Extremely disappointed.

  I motioned around my living room with both hands. “Look around you.”

  He glanced around the room nervously.

  Decorated with lavish furniture and artwork worth more than he’d earn in a lifetime, the interior of the home reeked of wealth.

  “Do I look like a fucking failure?”

  He shook his head.

  “You know why?”

  He shrugged. “Because you’re not?”

  “Because I’m fucking not,” I said with a nod.

  I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t joking about your wife, Seton. She’s a pretty fucker, and with those new tits you bought her right after Christmas last year, those Mexicans would go crazy to get a shot at her. They love blondes, you know. Did you know that? About the blondes?”

  I watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall. “I uhhm. I’ll get it to you.”

  I walked to the couch and sat down. As he nervously studied me, I crossed my legs and continued. “I know you will. You know how I know it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Because if you try really hard you can imagine your wife down in Juarez sucking some fat Mexican’s sweaty cock while he’s eating a plate of chili rellenos. And my guess is that you don’t like the thought of it one fucking bit.”

  His face filled with anger and quickly washed to one of concern.

  “Hell of a thing, thinking that some Mexican traded a box of grapefruit for your wife, isn’t it? That’s what I’d trade her for, Seton. Just to teach you a lesson about fucking with my money. I’d trade her for grapefruit.” I chuckled. “Well, that and maybe a couple of those avocados they grow down there.”

  His face was ruby red and sweat quickly began to form on his brow.

  I nodded as I glanced around the room. “I’d swap that bitch for a box of grapefruit and half a dozen avocados. You ever had those Mexican avocados? Hass, that’s what they call ‘em. Hass. They’re good as fuck.”

  “I said I’ll have it. I’ll have it.”

  The business I was in prevented me from being a compassionate man. “I asked you a fucking question, Seton. The avocados. You ever have ‘em? They’ve got a little sticker on ‘em that says ‘Hass’.”

  He shook his head.

  “You should try ‘em. They’re fucking good.”

  I kept my eyes locked on his until he broke my gaze. As he looked away I glanced at my watch.

  “God damn it, now you’ve fucked around and damned near made me late.” I jumped up from the couch. “Go get my fucking money and don’t come back until you’ve got it. If you’re not back here by two weeks from Friday, I’m going to trade your wife for a box of fucking fruit.”

  Sadly, if he didn’t pay me, I would do just that. I’d spend fifty grand hiring someone to kidnap his wife and haul her ass to Mexico. After she was safely in the country, I’d drive down, meet with the Sinaloa Cartel, and trade the bitch for a box of fucking grapefruit. I’d probably have someone make a video of the transaction, just to convince others not to fuck with my money.

  I motioned toward the door. “Let yourself out. I’ve got to change clothes.”

  As I heard the front door open, I shouted over my shoulder. “Two weeks, motherfucker!”

  I quickly changed clothes, grabbed $5,000 from the safe, and ran to the garage. As I pulled out of the driveway, I mentally prepared my schedule for the evening. Basically, I had one thing I had to do.

  Pay for a leopard.

  It had been two days since I met Jess in the alley, and I hadn’t heard from her yet. I decided after I dropped off the money I would stop by the bar and see if she lost her job or somehow convinced Patel to let her keep it.

  Either way, I’d find her.

  I merged onto the highway, pressed down on the gas, and maneuvered around the traffic until I reached an open stretch of road. After setting the speed control, my mind faded to thoughts of Jess’ round ass.

  I pressed my thumb against the button on the steering wheel, activating the phone.

  “Call. The Brisco.”

  After the third ring, the phone was answered. “The Brisco.”<
br />
  “Hey, this is Dick. I need to make a reservation.”

  “Good afternoon, Dick. How many will be in your party?”

  “Two,” I said.

  “And what time works for you?”

  It was Wednesday night. Patel’s bar wouldn’t have fifteen people in it even if it was busy.

  “Nine o’clock,” I said.

  “Party of two for nine. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “Table in the back? In the corner by the fireplace?”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “See you at nine, Dick.”

  I pressed the button and ended the call.

  The look on Jess’ face when I handed her my business card told me convincing her to go to dinner would be a pretty simple task. The look in her eyes told me she was going to be an adventurous little bitch.

  And the eyes never lie.

  THREE

  Jess

  WORKING for a living sucked big fat dicks. Deep within me, a little rich girl resided, all I lacked was the resources.

  The Benjamins. Moolah. Bank. Dat swag money.

  And my job as a waitress at the shitty little bar I worked at wasn’t getting me any closer.

  “Hey, this tastes like shit.” A voice beside me shouted.

  I glanced over my left shoulder. A middle-aged man with a sweet as fuck comb-over raised his half-finished glass of beer in the air.

  “It’s a beer. What’d you expect? I’ll bring you shot of vodka to pour in it. It might help.”

  He looked confused. Maybe he hoped to get more from me, I don’t know. But if he expected me to make a glass of beer taste good, he was going to be in for a really long fucking night.

  He shot me a glare. “Huh?”

  “It’s beer. Beer taste like shit. What do you want me to do?”

  He shrugged. “Get me something different?”

  “Something that tastes good? Like an Alice in Wonderland or a White Russian? Or some of our fifty-cent wings? They taste good. Actually, they’re good as fuck. They’re dry rubbed, not battered and fried like everyone else’s. Oh, and the Black and Blue Burger. It’s good.”

  He chuckled a light laugh. At least he found humor in my sarcastic attitude. He raised the glass as if offering it to me and shook his head. “How about a Budweiser?”

  It seemed like a ridiculous resolution. “Budweiser’s beer, so it’ll taste like shit, too. It’ll be like comparing a cat turd to a dog turd. They’re both turds.”

  I thought I was quick-witted. Funny. Cute.

  He looked unamused. “Just smell this. Really. Something’s wrong with it.”

  I knew what was wrong with it, it was a glass of stinking fucking beer. For entertainment value alone, I turned around, snatched the glass from his hand, and took a whiff.

  My stomach convulsed. I fought not to puke. “Jesus. Fuck.” I shook my head and tried to clear the smell from my nostrils. It didn’t help.

  I stared at the glass of beer. It seemed normal. “What was this nasty fucker?”

  “Shock Top.”

  I couldn’t believe he’d choked down half of it. I raised my shoulders and the glass in apology. “Sorry. I’ll get you a Bud.”

  He smiled and nodded his head in appreciation.

  The bar I worked in catered to everyone from the owner’s drug-dealing friends to the lower layer of the city’s upper crust. As a result of waiting on the eclectic group of patrons, I was intimidated by no one, and felt that I was able to always be myself. Instead of kissing my customer’s asses for a tip, I provided great service and a smart mouth.

  I was the same person for everyone, always. Eventually, most grew to like me. Those who didn’t just had to learn to live with my attitude, foul mouth, and sharp wit until they were done with their drink or meal.

  I carried the glass of liquid filth up to the bar. “The Shock Top’s fucked up. Smells like ass.”

  Gabe spun around. “Bad?”

  “Smell it.” I handed him the glass.

  He raised the glass to his nose. His eyes went into full squint and his mouth puckered. “Holy shit!”

  “Yeah.”

  He stared at me like it was my fault. “What the fuck?”

  “Dunno. Don’t care. Pour me a Bud for table nine. Guy drank half a glass of that shit. I’m gonna comp the table. Actually, give me three Buds.”

  “Got it.”

  I peered over the bar. Katie looked like she was waving an F-16 onto an aircraft carrier. I glanced over my shoulder, saw no one, then pointed to myself.

  She nodded. “Hey Jess. Guy at seventeen asked for you by name.”

  I grinned. “Me?”

  “You’re the only Jess.”

  “Sweet. Thanks.”

  I dropped off the three beers. “Sorry about all that. Your food and the beers are on the house. Here’s one for each of you.”

  Comb over raised his glass, as did his two friends. I smiled in return. “Again, I’m sorry. Next time you come in, ask for me. Name’s Jess.”

  “Thanks, Jess.”

  I smiled and turned around. Wednesday night wasn’t a busy night for us at the bar, so adding another table was exciting. I maneuvered through the empty tables toward the booth that requested me by name. Maybe I could pay my rent and afford to eat if things kept improving – and no one ordered the Shock Top.

  “What can I--”

  Oh shit.

  It was him.

  Dick.

  I swallowed hard. “--get for you.”

  He folded his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the wall. “What time do you get off?”

  I cocked my hip. “Excuse me?”

  “Work.” His eyes slowly took in every inch of my five foot four frame. Twice. “What time do you get off?”

  I felt like he’d slowly fucked me. Without permission. “You come in to hit on me, or to order?”

  He shrugged. “Both.”

  I pursed my lips and tried to act unimpressed. “What can I get you?”

  “Six wings, all legs. Two shots of Gran Patron. The Platinum. And a couple of limes.”

  I nodded. “That it?”

  His eyes were still locked on mine. “For now.”

  Breaking his gaze wasn’t easy. Not at all. His eyes were a strange color of the lightest blue, and as much of an intimidating prick as he was, his eyes told a different story. They were inviting.

  I wanted to let him know I wasn’t the scared little girl who he had met in the alley a few days prior. I was independent, adventurous, intelligent, and had more self-esteem than any other girl I knew.

  As much as I didn’t want to, I turned away. “I’ll be back.”

  Normally, I worked the 3:00 to 11:00 shift, and left a little after eleven. Some nights I stayed later if we were busy, but it was infrequent. I had no idea what Dick wanted from me, but I had thought about him several times since the day I met him, I just wasn’t willing to call him. I wasn’t that girl.

  Katie worked the 11:00 to 7:00 shift, and was preparing to tip out the bartender.

  “You get seventeen?” she asked.

  I leaned against the bar. “Yeah.”

  I pressed my finger against the screen and placed Dick’s order. “Hey, would you pick up my tables if I left early?”

  She looked up from her stack of tips. “You were just bitching about rent. You’re gonna leave early?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Seventeen? He’s cute.”

  “Maybe.”

  She glared. “Maybe he’s cute?”

  “He’s something. I met him on Monday. In the alley. He was blocking the drive and I honked at him.”

  She went back to counting. “Yeah, I’ll pick it up if you want.”

  “I’ll let you know in a minute,” I said.

  I grabbed the two shots of Patron and walked past Comb over’s table. “You guys doing alright?

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Great.”

&n
bsp; I glanced at my other table; a man and a woman who appeared to be on an awkward Craigslist date. They sat across from each other talking, still nursing their first glasses of wine. I turned toward the corner and halfway to his table realized I’d forgotten the limes.

  Fuck.

  He was talking on the phone when I got to the booth. I carefully placed the two shots on the edge of the table, and before he had a chance to say anything, spoke.

  “Be right back with the limes,” I whispered.

  He pulled the phone away from his ear, motioned toward it with his eyes, and grinned. I walked to the bar and got the limes, wondering why he seemed so much different than he did the day we met.

  Maybe he burned the guys house down or sold his wife to the cartel, and now he was in a better mood. Maybe the guy paid his debt, and Dick didn’t have to do those things. In my experiences, how we react to the worst life has to offer us defines who we truly are.

  My guess was the Dick sitting in the booth was a shallow lie, and the Dick in the alley was the real Dick.

  The real Dick was a real dick.

  I slid the lime-filled shot glass between the two glasses of tequila and sat down across from him. “Here you go.”

  He pushed one of the shot glasses toward me. “Here.”

  I glanced at the glass. “Here what?”

  “Drink with me.”

  I pushed it toward him. “I’m working. I’ll get fired.”

  He chuckled and pushed it back. “Surprised that didn’t happen on Monday.”

  “Patel wasn’t here.”

  He offered a shrug as an advance apology. “If I drink both of these, I’m going to be half-drunk and it’s anyone’s guess how I’ll be acting when we go to dinner later. If I had to guess?” I’d guess I’ll be all over your cute little ass. But, if you drink one of ‘em, I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise. So, either drink one, or not.”

  I acted unaffected by his sexual innuendo. “Oh, we’re going to dinner, huh? I didn’t hear you ask.”

  “I’ve got a reservation at 9:00. For two.”

  I glanced at the tequila. I wanted him to drink them both and see how he’d act, but I felt like I needed one – if not both – before I agreed to go to dinner. “So, what, you’re just driving around asking women if they’ll go with you until you find someone dumb enough to agree?”