Page 65 of Dirty Reads

“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.