Page 62 of Dick

I decided to listen to the conversation and try my luck at reading the lips of the guy on T.V.

“Always,” Beer Belly agreed.

“Something’s fucked up. He paid me $55,000 on a deal, and it was all $100’s. New bills. Banded. No old bills, no small bills.”

Beer Belly stood up. He was wearing boxer shorts. “Coffee?”

Dick shook his head. “No, I’m straight.”

I continued to stare at the T. V. “Me too.”

“What in the fuck does me too mean? One of us is getting’ a cup, and one ain’t. Me too yes or me too no?”

Jesus.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Suit yourself.” He walked into the kitchen.

Dick glared at me. I shrugged and sniffed loudly. “What’s with the cinnamon?” I whispered.

“It always smells like that in here.”

I accepted his response, but I didn’t like it. There had to be a reason. Beer Belly returned, eyeing me as he walked into the room.

I went back to reading lips.

Beer Belly sat down. “Odd he paid with new bills.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Dick said.

“I’d ask him. Sounds like front money. Unless something’s changed in his life, he’s still spending all the money he made in the 1980’s. Been spending it for a while. Strange thinking he’s done spendin’ it and he’s dipped into a new stash.”

“Yeah. Strange,” Dick agreed.

“What the fuck is she doing?” Beer Belly asked.

I kept my eyes glued to the T.V.

“I don’t know, ask her.”

“Hey. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to read this guy’s lips,” I said without looking away from the T.V.

He laughed. “You read lips, do you?”

“Not really.”

“Maybe she’s a cop,” Beer Belly said.

Fuck you and your cinnamon house.

“She’s not a cop.”

“Maybe she’s wearin’ a wire.”

Are you serious?