Page 86 of Dick

TWENTY-SIX

Dick

“OH my God,” Jess gasped as soon as she walked into the house. “What happened?”

My face, neck, shoulders, and arms were covered in blood. “I was attacked,” I said.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Seton breathed. “You look like death.”

“Believe me,” I said. “Whatever it looks like, it feels worse.”

“Knife fight?” Jess asked as she got closer.

Embarrassed, I shook my head. “The leopard.”

Jess laughed. “The spotted cat? It attacked you?”

I nodded. “It’s evil. If I can find it, it’s going up for auction.”

“The fucker growled the entire time it was in my car, I can say that much,” Seton said.

I turned toward Jess and opened my arms. “So, it sounds like everything went good. No surprises?”

Seton shook his head. “Just as I suspected, they couldn’t prove that they maintained a chain of evidence. Without proof that they tested the diamond immediately prior to the meeting, they couldn’t accuse us of switching it. Ninety percent of the time they can’t prove a maintained chain of evidence.”

“Interesting.”

Jess hugged me. I wanted to kiss her, but my face felt like it was afire. Covered with small – and large – lacerations, I looked like I had been in a knife fight with a hundred Ninja masters.

“You look awful,” she said.

“Forget me. Your performance in this thing was top fucking notch,” I said. “When you rolled out of the car, I almost died laughing. Out there in the middle of the street with your arms and legs stretched out…”

“I was trying to take up the entire street. I wanted to make sure they couldn’t get past me.” She chuckled. “And they didn’t.”

“And what about those fucking horses.” I chuckled. “When you screamed ‘horse!’ I about shit.”

“Horse!” she screeched.

The three of us shared a laugh.

I caught my breath and looked at Seton. “Did we learn how the fuck they got the diamond? Who attacked me at the jewelers?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t yet.”

Jess’ eyes shot wide and she gasped. “I almost forgot. The man with the mustache from the soup kitchen was the man at the supper club. He’s a Federal Agent. Whitmire. Anyway, guess fucking what?”

“What?”

“Well,” she said. “When we were at the supper club, I kept smelling something and it was about to make me sick. Every time I leaned over to talk to mustache man, it would make my nose burn. I didn’t get it at first, but when I walked into the interrogation room after I peed, I smelled it again. Guess what the mustache man smelled like?”

I shrugged. “What?”

“Cinnamon!”

I shrugged again. “And…”

“Beer Belly. The cinnamon house.”