Page 47 of Baker

“I had her pegged, Bake. All the way back.”

“Have Reno tear it down and rebuild it,” I said dryly. “I’d say the cam’s flat. Might be rings. Who knows?”

“God damn it. That motor’s not that old.”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” I said. “Just like the woman you named her after, Mary’s had a rough life.”

“Mary was hot as fuck. You don’t even remember what she looked like.”

I choked on a laugh. “She looked like haggard shit. One tit was bigger than the other, she had a two-inch scar on her belly, a mole on the left side of her neck, and her son’s name was Jesus. How’s that?”

He walked past me and pulled open the door. “I don’t remember the mole.”

The waitress pushed two tables together, seated us, and then tried to hand out menus. When she held an extended arm over Ghost’s lap with a menu in tow, he shook his head.

“Glass of water to drink,” he said with a nod. “Prime rib medium rare. Horseradish sauce and au jus. Baked potato. Butter. Sour cream. Whatever the vegetable of the night is will be fine. Please, and thank you.”

She tried to hand a menu to Reno.

Reno raised his hand in protest and shook his head. “Same.”

She looked at Goose.

“Ditto.”

She looked at me. I stroked my beard, gave a crisp nod, and grinned. “Same. Thank you.”

“I’ll follow suit,” Cash said.

“I’ll have the same,” Tito said. “No horseradish, though. Thanks.”

Cash leaned onto the edge of the table and cleared his throat.

Tito shifted his eyes from the waitress to Cash. “What?”

Cash glared. “You know the rule.”

Tito turned up his palms. “It’s a condiment, and I don’t eat the shit.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said flatly. “Leave it on your plate. But, we’re all served the same.”

“Alright,” Tito said. “Horseradish it is.”

Beside the meal, another ritual – or rule – was that we did not discuss our jobs in public. Ever. We made our plans in the office or the clubhouse, and that was it.

No exceptions.

The group meal was a time to relax, get our heads straight, and nourish our bodies.

Cash shook a toothpick out of the holder and clenched it between his teeth. “Bake’s fucking a Brazilian chick.” He glanced at each of the men. “Got a twat the size of a dime, and an ass the size of Alaska.”

I gave him a side-eyed look. “You dumb fuck.”

He fixed his eyes on Ghost. “True story. Say’s she’s got voodoo pussy. Ever heard that one? Voodoo pussy?”

“Had a chick in Japan once,” Reno said. “Had wide hips and a snapper so small she squealed when I put my finger in it.”

“What’d she do when you fucked her?” Cash asked.