Page 30 of The Doctor's Twins

“I operated on a patient a few weeks ago. Whatever her man did to her is tantamount to torture. She looked like a punching bag.”

“Bastard. What did she say about it?”

“That’s the thing. I didn’t ask because I could tell she wouldn’t have told me anything if I had.”

“I find it so strange that women stay with men like that.”

“I’m sure they have their reasons. This poor girl lost her baby because of it.”

“That’s tragic, Ben. I’m sorry to hear that. I could never do your job.”

“Mostly, it’s rewarding. But, there are times when I can’t wait to go home and punch the shit out of something.”

“Save it for the tournaments, bud.”

After drinks, we had dinner and then I retired for the day. I must have been in the shower when the message came through on my cell phone. It was from Peyton.

Hi, Ben.

Thank you for the invite to the barbeque. What can I bring?

“What the fuck do you mean you haven’t found her yet? What am I paying you for, you useless fuck?”

Private dick, my ass! The guy had been pissing about for weeks, looking for Peyton. How hard could it be to find one woman? He knew where her family lived, her best friend, everything! And, still, he had no clue.

I’d managed to trace the Mercedes the bitch sold for a pittance. As for finding my wife, who knew where she was hiding?

“Mr. Garcia, I promised you I’d find your wife, and I will. These things take time.”

“I don’t have time! You’d better get your head out of your ass and try harder, or they’ll be looking for you soon. And, trust me, they won’t find you,” I snarled and ended the call.

Peyton had simply fallen off the face of the planet. No bank account, no credit card, no DMV address. It was infuriating. Meanwhile, she knew about the dismembered bodies in my basement, and I had no idea who she’d tell. I wasn’t worried about the Mexican police. Hell, I had Pedro to cover my ass, but knowing my prickly wife, she’d run to the FBI or something. The last thing I needed was to be hunted by foreign government agencies.

I drained the whiskey glass of its contents and slammed it down on my desk. I was frustrated and in desperate need of some TLC, so I grabbed my coat and headed for the door. Perhaps Club Hermosas Damas could sort me out.

I called Pedro from my car phone.

“Hey, Pedro. Feel like joining me for a game of cards later?”

“Sorry, Mateo. I can’t. The fucking police commissioner is here this week, so I have to watch my ass. But you go and have fun. Give the ladies my best.”

Oh, well. Lone wolf out on the prowl it is.

Cindy was always happy to see me. The woman could take a beating and still suck a golf ball through a hose. That was my kind of lay. Peyton was so unadventurous when it came to sex. I suggested once that we experiment with a few toys or even throw in another partner, but she put up such a fuss it wasn’t worth asking again. Frigid bitch.

“Hey, baby,” Cindy purred when she entered the room.

“Come here, bitch,” I growled.

The rest of the visit was fantastic—for me anyway. I’m sure Cindy liked it too, or she wouldn’t keep coming back for more. That was the thing about whores. They didn’t squeal about bullshit.

Fuck knew what Peyton had to complain about. The woman had everything she could ever want or need. I didn’t understand her. Perhaps it was time to marry a local. Foreigners were full of shit.

I had to give Cindy a little extra to keep her from crying to her pimp, but it was worth every punch.

My ego was bruised. Peyton had left the tip of her boot in it when she kicked me to the curb. The only way to restore the equilibrium was to find her, beat the snot out of her, and shut her up for good. Until then, I would keep the rage inside of me locked up tightly, away from the world that thought I was the perfect specimen of manhood.

You better enjoy your freedom, Peyton, ‘cause I’m coming for you.

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