3
“Hey, Ramiro. You still got that girlie deck of cards?”
Ramiro looked up in delight. He hadn’t expected the Americans to come back the very next day. And for dinner, which was even better than lunch. His ploy had worked. He had cooked for them like he’d never cooked before—though he wished he hadn’t given in to the temptation to serve his salty soup. It was the only dish they had neither remarked on nor finished.
“Dickhead forgot them again,” Chad hooked a thumb over his shoulder, but no one was there. Duane must be outside, maybe with more of their friends.
“Sure, here you go, mi amigo.” He tossed the pack over the counter.
“Thanks. I’ll get them back to you.”
Ramiro could only gawk in surprise as Chad strode back out the door. Ramiro hurried past the few diners lingering over des
