Chapter 21

The key, small in size at two inches long, and three-fourth inches wide at its metal handle, seemed important. Maybe it didn’t explain Matty Lavender’s whereabouts or why he was missing. The key felt significant, though, and something that Takis just happened to be looking for.

* * * *

The unnamed guest:

I was driving him again. He was always going somewhere. The movement of to and fro in his life never stopped.

“I’m taken,” he told me, checking me out in the rearview mirror from the backseat of David’s caravan. “I see you looking at my crotch. You can’t get there.”

“What’s his name?” I asked, caught. The V-area of his crouch bulged, twice the size of a normal man’s. Obnoxious in size. Massive. Porn-stuff.

“Kenito. He’s Spanish. He’s from Madrid.”

“How long have you two been lovers?”

“Three years. He’s not separated from his wife as of yet. Her name’s Casita. She’s a real bitch and hates Americans, especially queer ones who fuck her husband.”