Page 54 of The Man with a Treasure

Angelo shoved in a fry.

I shivered in disgust.

The back door reopened, and the man came back in, heading straight for us. His smile told us we were one step closer.

Sliding into the booth as if it were a treasured skill, he slid to a proud stop. “I may be your best friend after you hear this.”

Highly questionable.

“I know some bikers out in Idaho.” He licked his teeth—or what was left of them. “Those mountain boys really know how to have a good time. Know what I mean?”

Not in the slightest.

“Really?” Angelo acted intrigued.

“Oh yeah.” The man nodded as if the keeper of the best secret ever to exist. “I was out there some years back and, uh, they shared a special treat with us.” He looked around as if many new patrons had entered since he had stepped outside. “She was a beaut. A real wild one. Untamed as they come.”

I could no longer joke. This foul male was making me more ill than Angelo’s burger.

“Now, if you don’t mind her havin’ been fucked already, this bitch might be the one for you.”

I had to hide my internal shudder as Angelo groaned, “I already have a hard-on that says I don’t give a fuck.”

The man started laughing like Angelo’s sick and twisted side was just what he liked to hear. “Man, you should’ve seen it. They strung her up outside and let us all have a turn. Thank God she was tied. She was a fighter. She bit and kicked. It was a blast!”

Angelo asked, “Long black hair?”

The man replied, “Down to her perfect ass.”

“Blue eyes?”

“Big enough to fill with a hundred tears.”

“Pale skin?”

“Oh, hell yeah. She’s kept in a basement or some shit like that.”

“Full lips?”

The man’s eyes practically rolled in delirium. “A mouth that would be a man’s dream come true, if you dared to stick your dick near it.”

Angelo handed back the thick envelope. “When can I see her?”

Over the cellphone, my papa’s voice sounded on guard. And he was speaking English. Both aspects of this conversation were very unusual. “I have a delivery to make.”

Sitting on the side edge of one of our hotel room’s king-sized beds, Angelo’s spine straightened. There was a message to decode.

I asked my father, “Is this delivery for us?”

“No. Is your friend truly trustworthy? And her husband?”

I mouthed to Angelo, Friend?

His dark brows were pinched. Husband?

With no response, Papa offered, “We sure do miss our ‘men’ talks in the vines.”

After a couple of seconds, Angelo sat forward and scribbled on a hotel notepad.