Unstoppable (20 page)

He busted out in a dance move, spinning in circles and kicking one leg out to the front, eventually coming to a stop facing me with his arms out to the side. He looked like Harry Connick Jr. doing a Sammy Davis Jr. impersonation.

“Damn, dude. Someone’s gonna see that shit,” I laughed as I looked around the parking lot.

“Fuck ‘em,” he said.

“Yeah, there’s only one problem with that. I’m the one that’d end up fighting that fight for ya. You can dance, but you have slow as fuck reflexes,” I threw another jab at his face for good measure.

His hand came up to block the punch a good second after I had recovered from throwing the punch.

“Fuck you, Ripp,” he grumbled.

I smiled and shook my head slowly.

I liked this kid. He may not have known how to fight, but he could damn sure dance. And he had a hell of a smart-assed mouth on him. In ways, he reminded me of…

Me.

RIPP.
Sometimes we look at ourselves and ask
how the hell did I get myself in this position?
Generally, when I have asked myself this, the situation has been something other than favorable. I can’t really think of one time I looked at myself, my current situation, or my current life, and thought anything but
damn Ripp, you did it again.
I have never been disappointed with life, nor have I been dissatisfied with trying to live it.

But I’ve always been on the move.
Running.
Running toward something else. Something new. Chasing whatever it was at the moment that provided or may provide me with satisfaction. A new piece of ass. A new dude to beat the shit out of. A different car to race. Another bottle of beer. Or one more notch in my almost undefeated belt.

Fucking Dekkar.

And then came Vee. Right now, at this moment in time, I’m done. I’m completely satisfied with standing still.

And it scares the fuck out of me.

“The premium ones are sixty dollars a dozen,” the limp wristed flower salesman said.

“Did I ask you how much the motherfucker’s cost?” I grunted.

“No sir, you did not,” he said with a lisp.

“Do I look like I’m fuckin’ broke?” I asked as I pressed my hands into my hips.

“No sir, you do not,” he rotated to face the cooler full of roses.

I pointed to an arrangement of blood colored flowers on the left side of the cooler.

“Those, over there on the left. You got any more of those?” I asked.

“We have various arrangements prepared, yes sir,” he said as he spun in a half circle to face me.

“I don’t want pre-arranged shit. I want you to make it special for my girl. I don’t want some shit you made in your spare time last night while you listened to Coldplay. I want you to put this together for her. She’s special like that, got it?” I snapped.

He nodded his head, “By all means.”

“Okay, I want a vase like that one,” I pointed to a vase on display and paused.

“And those flowers on the left. Give me a dozen of ‘em.”

“The red roses?” he asked as he pointed at the flowers.

“The ones on the left,” frustrated, I pointed to the arrangement on the left side of the cooler again.

“Is that all you want?” he asked as he slowly raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“What else is there?” I asked.

“Well, we can arrange them with baby’s breath, and we can…”

“Stop.
Just stop.
Yeah, arrange ‘em however you do it. Make ‘em look like you’d make ‘em look if you were giving ‘em to someone that was, well…” I paused and thought.

“She’s just different. You know…”

“I know exactly what you mean. Yes sir,” he said softly as he nodded.

He walked through the door toward the rear of the shop and came back with his hands full of fresh flowers, green leafy stuff, and small white flowery stuff. After a few minutes, he had the arrangement complete. He stood back raised his hands in the air, and smiled.

“Well?” he smiled.

“Looks small to me. Can you add a dozen more?” I asked.

“Wow. Well, we sure can,” he said, his face filled with disappointment as he stared at his perfect arrangement.

Slowly and carefully, he added another dozen roses, more filler, and some of the little white flowery stuff. After shuffling the flowers back and forth in the vase, he stepped back, raised his hands in the air, and smiled.

“And now?” he said cheerily.

I looked at the flowers and squinted.

“Still lookin’ kinda small, dude,” I shook my head, “can you get another dozen in there?”

He placed his hands on the side of his butt and cocked his hip to the side, “Maybe if I had a shoe horn.”

“Just looks small. Kinda basic,” I said.

“Basic? Excuse me,” he snapped, his hands still pressed into the sides of his butt.

“It looks real nice,” I apologized, “can you get maybe six more in there?”

He pressed his lips together, pulled six more roses from the counter, and carefully inserted them into the vase with the others. He looked up from the vase and cocked one eyebrow.

“That thing is as full as…” he hesitated and looked down at the vase.

“Well, it’s just
full
,” sighed.

“Looks great, dude. I love it. I’m gonna grab a card, ring it up,” I said as I turned to the card display.

After looking at a few dozen cards that had things written in them that I would never say to anyone, I picked out a card that looked pretty on the outside, but had nothing printed on the inside. As I walked back to the counter, I tried to think of what to write in the card.

“With the card, that will be $166.12,” he said as he looked up from the register.

I handed him $180.00 cash.

“You got any pens?” I asked.

He pulled a pen from the counter and wagged it in the air.

“You got any pens for
sale
?” I muttered.

“Uhhm,
no,
” he hissed.

“How about you give me that twenty cent pen, and I’ll let you keep the change?” I asked.

“That’s a deal. And uhhm, how’d you know I listen to Coldplay?” he asked as he handed me the pen.

“Good guess I suppose,” I said as I grabbed the vase.

I carefully placed the flowers into the seat of the Chevelle and opened the card. I’d never really written anything meaningful in a card, and the thought of writing in it and having someone find any measure or means of value in what I wrote was almost laughable.

Vee,

Dekk tells me everything happens for a reason. I never really believed that.

I believe it now.

I looked at what I had written and smiled. I chewed on the end of the pen and thought of what to write next.

I ain’t gonna lie. I’ve been around, and I ain’t always been good. But the day in the bar we met, that day, that first one…

I knew.

I knew I wanted to know you. I didn’t know why, but the why don’t matter so much. Now, now that I’ve spent some time with you, I know this…

I looked down at the card and reread everything I had written. Hell, I was doing pretty well for a novice. I pressed the pen to the card and continued.

The empty space. The silent time. The time when I’m alone.

I used to love it.

Now I hate it.

Because all I can think about is one thing.

Filling that time up…

With you.

I read what I wrote from beginning to end a few times. There wasn’t any changing it now. I looked over at the flowers and smiled. The inside of my car smelled like my mom’s bathroom. I gazed down at the card again, smiled, and signed my name.

Ripp.

I slid the card into the envelope and sealed it shut. There’s a first time for everything, and I tend to remember my first times. Buying flowers for a girl is something I had never done. I’d no more forget this day than I’d forget Dekkar’s swagger when he walked into the gym on day one or the fact that he kicked my arrogant ass that day.

And, truth be told, I didn’t want to forget this. I don’t ever want to forget it. I want to hold onto to it. Cherish it. Remember it.

Because right now, I feel better than I ever have.

Right now, I’m Rippin’ it.

And life is grand.

Fuck yes.

VEE.
“Tonia, tell Ravenscraft we have that civil hearing set up for Monday. I think our pile is bigger than theirs, and we should get the house returned,” I said over my shoulder into my desk phone as I looked at Underground fight clubs in Austin on the internet.

Attempting to maintain a level of focus at work since I met Michael was clearly next to, if not entirely, impossible. I enjoyed doing
anything
with him; even sitting on the couch together was more enjoyable than about anything else I could ever think of doing alone. He was a take-me-or-leave-me type of guy, and there was nothing about him I would change if I had an opportunity to do so.

I liked him just the way he was. It had only been about three weeks since we started dating, and in many respects trying to remember life
without
him was difficult to even recall. Life with him satisfied me to no end. He often described, or attempted to describe how he felt, and he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He stumbled with his choice of words and phrasing - attempting to portray what he
wanted
to say to a point that he sometimes butchered his thoughts into unintelligible muddle.

“I have Ravenscraft on two, I told him you were in court. He wants to know the odds of winning,” Tonia’s voice crackled over the speaker on my desk phone.

      “Fuck, Tonia. I’m busy. Tell him you text me before I walked into court. I’d say based on what I believe, ninety percent, based on what I know, seventy. Fuck it. Tell him we’ll get the house back as long as they don’t have proof of what he did with the real estate. Hell, it was in his nephew’s name, we should be fine,” I barked.

“So…” she hesitated.

“Tell him eighty,” I snapped.

“Okay, eighty it is, thanks,” the phone clicked as she hung up.

A criminal case and a civil case are two completely different animals in the eye of the Federal Court. A criminal case, according to law, must be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. If the jury has reasonable doubt, the defendant is found not guilty. In a civil case, however, the case is decided by a preponderance of evidence. The two sides - prosecution and defense, present their support of their respective case to the court. Whoever has
more
evidence to support their case, wins. The prosecution has evidence of guilt; it’s required to allow a Grand Jury to indict a person, charging them with the crime. The defendant only has to provide an amount of evidence that insinuates innocence exceeding the prosecution’s pile to the contrary.

Ravenscraft had laundered millions of dollars through his real estate ventures. The money was obtained from the illicit sales of weapons. The illicit sales of weapons allowed a federal search warrant that uncovered evidence of money laundering. Ultimately, he was indicted by a Grand Jury for both. The weapons charges were dropped on evidence presented by yours truly that the confidential informant was addicted to drugs at the time of his testimony to the undercover agents. His testimony was used to start the investigation and to indict my client.

A snitch with an addiction to pain killers cost the federal government millions of dollars of revenue in seizures. One more small civil case, and the entire thing would be tossed out the window. I often wonder who upstairs pulls the strings of determining who walks away and who does not. It’s sickening at times, to say the least.

“Mrs. Simon, Mr. Ripton is here to see you,” Tonia said cheerily.

“Here?” I clicked the mouse and shut the window on the computer I had open.

“Yes ma’am,” she responded.

“Send him back,” I responded as I shuffled paperwork to the side of my desk.

He walked through the door into my office as I was trying to look busy at my desk. I looked up expecting to see him dressed in his shorts, a ribbed tank top, and his canvas sneakers. I saw nothing of the sort. As I heard him enter I looked up and saw…

Damn you Michael Allen Ripton.

Flowers.

It was all I could do to try to maintain some sort of professional appearance and keep calm. I bit my bottom lip to keep it from quivering as I dropped the handful of paperwork onto the desk. Right now there was nothing in my office but Michael, me, and what appeared to be at least two dozen roses.

“Oh my God. Are those for me?” I asked, trying my best not to lose my composure.

“Yep. The guy at the flower place asked if I wanted
him
to deliver ‘em. I said
why the fuck would I want some schmuck to deliver my girl flowers?”
he smiled as he placed the vase on the edge of my desk.

I swallowed heavily.

My girl.

I officially had a little girl moment. His spoken words caused goose bumps to rise on my arms. As he pushed the flowers from the edge of my desk, he looked up and smiled again.

“Don’t want ‘em to fall over. Asked for a dozen, and it looked like a really small arrangement of ‘em. So I said go ahead and give me two dozen, but it still looked small. Got two and a half dozen. They couldn’t stuff three in that vase. Got a card too,” he pulled a card from his back pocket and placed it on the desk.

“Don’t read the card till after I leave, okay?” he asked as he shifted his gaze from left to right.

I’ve received flowers before. Typically when I receive them, they bring feelings of joy, affection, appreciation and love. Today, the delivery of these flowers brought something different. I felt almost sick – in a good way. My stomach fluttering, arms full of goose bumps, and at this particular instant, incapable of speaking - I bit my lip and nodded. I stared at the flowers as my heart filled with joy. He was doing it. He was tipping the scales.

He bent at the waist and buried his face in the roses and drew a long slow breath through his nose. He straightened up, looked out the window, and exhaled slowly.