Page 67 of Dick

“What’s that?”

“I used to be kind of scared that one day you’d just tell me to go away. And I hated the way I felt. When you were gone. And when you came back around I’d kind of forget the way I felt when you were gone. Now, when you’re gone, I like it. I mean, I don’t like it, but I do. Because I get all excited knowing that I’m going to see you again. The difference in knowing and wondering is huge.”

“And now you know?”

“Uh huh.”

“How? How do you know I’m not going to decide to just leave you?”

“You don’t trust people. You trust me.” She shrugged.

“You’re right.”

She finished eating and shoved her plate to the side. “Want my opinion?”

I looked up from my plate. “Sure.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff, and I made some notes. Hold on.”

She jumped up, ran to my bedroom, and grabbed her purse. After pulling out her phone and scrolling through the screen, she looked up. “Ready?”

I found it cute that she asked me if I was ready. “I’m supposed to ask that.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m ready.”

She studied the screen on her phone. “Okay. Starting at the beginning. Drake said he just got the Corvette a few days before we got there, right?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well, when we saw Beer Belly, he said he hadn’t talked to Drake in a long time, but he asked you later if he let you drive the ‘Vette. How would he know if Drake had a Corvette if he hadn’t seen him or talked to him?”

I jumped from my seat. “Motherfucker. I didn’t catch that.”

My mind began spinning while thinking of the possibilities of Bart being arrested and turning snitch. Anything, I decided, was possible.

“There’s a lot more,” she said.

I began pacing the kitchen floor. “Keep going, I’m thinking.”

She glanced at her phone. “Beer Belly set you up with Fat Willie, and Fat Willie paid you in new bills when he’s always paid with his old stash in the past. They were banded and all $100s. It might mean Beer Belly and Fat Willie are in cahoots with each other, and with the cops.”

I stared at her in amazement. “How did you get all this on your phone?”

“I wrote a bunch of notes in my notepad last night after you fell asleep.”

I nodded. “I like your way of thinking. Okay, keep going.”

“Did Beer Belly himself tell you not to ever look at his scar, to look away?” she asked.

I chuckled. “He’s made that clear. We all just make it a point to focus on something else, why?”

“I knew it!” she shouted. “He doesn’t want you looking because he’s got a tell-tale sign when he’s nervous. He touches it. It’s like a nervous tick. He did it when you asked if he’d heard from Drake, and when you asked about him setting you up with Fat Willie, when you asked about Drake, when he asked you if you wanted the diamond, and when I accused him of being a cop. Think about that.”

“God damn, Jess. You think like a cop.”

She grinned. “It’s all the detective novels. And I’ve got more.”