My Frontier was back in the drive and fully repaired. The grease monkeys at Justin’s No-More Junkers did a fine job. Justin treated me like gold and only charged me a portion of the bill, which made me very happy.
Eight days after my tryst with Donlito and I ended up at Club Sustantivo again, which had more men inside it than a skin flick star. The ultra-modern music roared and drinks were clicked together in dramatic toasts. The club was filled with queer pilots, bankers, sexy dentists, firemen, greasy mechanics, and a dozen or more different types of men. Four shirtless bartenders worked the two bars, zipping to and fro. The college boys were earning the best tips. Dollars built within their tip jars, proving just how busy the club was.