Dirty Money(3)

"Zero? That sucks," Knox says, tossing napkins down on Gage's spilled  beer while Seth flags down a waitress. The trucker bar we're drinking at  is crowded, and all of our drinks are nearly dry. No one's hovering  over us to make sure that the Price brothers-all billionaires-get cold,  fresh drinks.

Funny how I'm okay with that here, and not out in the field. Maybe  because here, we're all anonymous wallets. Out in the business world, I  should be top dog, and instead, everyone fucking acts like I'm some sort  of criminal that just waltzed in. Like I don't belong. I could buy  every damn oil rig in West Texas and everyone would still turn their  noses up like I'm some sort of idiot. It's bullshit and I'm damn sick of  it.

I think of that golf course and the jackasses in their pink shirts,  giving me horrified looks. Like I dared to show up on their turf.

Their turf. I could fucking buy their turf and fucking salt it and  they'd never grow another blade of grass there again. I could turn it  into a fucking pig farm.

"You're still pissed," Gage realizes, sobering.

"I am." I drain the last of my lukewarm beer and put the empty glass at the end of the table.

"I don't get why it's such a big deal," Gage says.

"Because we're rich. We're good with our money. And people that should  respect us treat us like we're fucking ticks on a dog's ass."

Clay just snorts. "Worse 'n that."

He's not helping.

"So we're trash," Gage chimes in. "So what's the big deal? We might as  well own it." He grins and rips one sleeve off of his T-shirt, then the  other. Knox hoots with laughter, clapping him on the shoulder. Clay just  rolls his eyes.

"Because it should matter. We should matter. I want respect." I think of  all the assholes in my life that did me dirty, and it burns in my gut.  I've worked hard to get to where we're at today, harder than most men. I  want the assholes that sit down with me in boardrooms and out in the  field to realize I know what I'm talking about. That I'm not just a dumb  roughneck that struck it rich. That I took that money and turned it  into an empire in the space of a few years. That I make more money in  the time it takes for me to wipe my ass than they'll make in a lifetime.

Maybe that makes me an arrogant prick, but I don't fucking care. I want  people to tremble when they see me. I want those pencil-dicks in suits  to quail when I arrive, not turn their noses up at me. I want them to  know who's in charge.         

     



 

"It's all image, brother," Seth says, returning with the waitress. She's  pretty, with brassy blonde hair and tits that are overflowing her  too-tight shirt. She smiles at me but I just nudge my glass in her  direction. Ain't got time for waitresses. Those don't get a man respect,  especially not this one. We come to this bar regularly and I've seen  her sneak into the back with more than one trucker. If she wants a good  time, she ain't getting it from me.

"You're one to talk," Clay calls out to Seth, and mockingly runs his  hands through his hair. "Oh, look at me, I'm Seth and I'm using  product."

Our entire table bursts into laughter, and I even crack a smile. Seth  comes around the edge of the table and puts Clay in a headlock,  smirking. Clay just grabs at Seth's shirt and tries to haul our littlest  brother over his shoulder before he gets choked out.

The waitress ignores our roughhousing and switches the beers out. She  casts me one last heated look before giving up and returning to the bar.

"I'm right, though," Seth says to me, even though Clay's got the flat of  one hand in his face. "It's image. S'all fuckin' image, bro. Why do you  think those dumbasses wear suits everywhere?"

I shrug, but I'm pondering his words. He ain't wrong. "I'm not cutting my beard."

"No one's saying you gotta cut your beard, Boone," Knox comments, taking  a swig of his beer and then swapping it with Seth's full glass. "Just,  you know. Class it up."

I grunt. "I don't even know how." I am who I am, and if the world doesn't like it, they can suck my dick.

"Get yourself a big house."

"I got a house." Well. Sorta. I got a trailer. But I also don't have a  family and I work a lot, so a house isn't big on the priority list. But  maybe Knox is right.

"Get a bigger one. Big car. A classy lady." Gage wiggles his eyebrows at  me. "Spend some of that money you hold on to so tightly."

"You mean like you?" I drawl. Gage loves to live the good life. He takes  his buddies on vacations, buys them cars, and has an endless cycle of  new female friends in his life. Maybe he's right, though. It ain't me,  but . . . maybe I need to change. Maybe I need to start throwing my  money around if I want people to respect me instead of look at me like  I'm some dumbass hillbilly.

"Nah, my lady friends aren't quite to the caliber you need," Gage  replies. He picks up the advertisement card at the end of our table and  holds it out. "Like this one here. She looks like a classy broad."

I take the advertisement from him and study it. We come in here every  weekend, usually after a long drive out from Odessa, and I've never once  noticed the pamphlets they litter the ends of the tables with. This  one's bland and boring, for the most part. It's a picture of three men  and a slender, pale blonde standing at their side. Three Jacks Real  Estate. San Antonio's Premiere Living Experts. The guys in suits don't  interest me, but the woman does. She's wearing a cream-colored suit with  a tapered skirt, and it makes her legs look fucking amazing. She's  tiny, but those legs look like they go on for miles. I like a girl with  long legs, so they can wrap around me when I fuck her.

I'm a simple man.

The rest of her's pretty nice, if a little preppy and stiff. Her tits  are decent sized, which means small enough to not be fake. Her hair's a  soft, smooth gold pulled back into a ponytail, and her face is real  dainty with a pointy little chin and big eyes. She's wearing a strand of  pearls at her neck, and no other jewelry. She's not flashy, but from  top to bottom? She looks classy.

And I wonder what she'd look like with her mouth on my dick, my hand on that ponytail of hers.

Like I said, I'm a simple man.

I study the picture for a while longer, then glance over at Knox. "You know these people?"

He shakes his head and carefully switches his half-empty glass with  Gage's full one when Gage is eyeing a piece of tail by the bar. Knox is a  sneaky bastard, but that's par for the course. "Saw the flyers, that's  all. But she looks like a lady to me."         

     



 

I gaze at the picture, scratching at my jaw. That she does. From the  lines of her elegant skirted suit to the smooth fall of her hair-even to  them small tits-she screams class. And while I usually don't have time  to pursue a woman-business is the only relationship I'm in-I have to  admit she appeals to my animal instincts. Maybe it's that sweet, gentle  smile on her face or the perfection of her appearance. Maybe it's those  legs. Either way, I picture her in my bed, rumpled from a good round of  fucking . . . and I'm interested.

Someone like her? She'd class things up just by walking into a room. And  a girl like her wouldn't have anything to do with a guy like me. Not  before I got rich, that is. "All right. I'll take her."

"You mean someone like her?" Clay asks, amused.

"No, I mean her. I like the way she looks." I study the picture a moment  longer and then tuck it into my back pocket. I'm gonna jerk off to it  later, picturing that sweet, pink bow of a mouth closing over the head  of my cock. The more I think about it, the more I like the idea.

A classy woman. Yeah. One to stand at my side and look like a peach, and  make all those other bastards jealous. One I can dirty up and show just  what a roughneck likes between the sheets.

I like this idea. I like it a lot.

But Clay just laughs, and even Knox looks amused. "It ain't a girlfriend  catalog," Clay comments. "It's an advertisement. You don't know nothin'  about her."

"I know she's classy. That's all I need to know."

"If she's so classy, how you gonna get her to date you?" Knox raises an  eyebrow at me. He takes a sip of his drink and I notice it's full.  Again. I wonder how he does that-switching glasses without anyone ever  noticing. And then I wonder what else he switches when we're not paying  attention.

"I'm rich, ain't I? That convinces a lot of women."

"Not the ones worth having," Clay adds.

He's got a point. I stroke my beard thoughtfully. "You said I needed a fancy house. I guess I'll have her sell me one."

"What if she's married?" Knox adds. "You still want her then?"

I frown at them and pull the picture back out of my pocket. "Ain't  married," I say after a moment, studying her small hands. "No ring."

"She's the ad candy," Clay points out. "Put a pretty girl in there with  all the sausages in suits so guys like ol' Boone here think they have a  shot if they go in and buy a house." He elbows me, grinning. "Works,  too."