Flesh Trade by Cora Buhlert by Cora Buhlert - Read Online

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Flesh Trade - Cora Buhlert

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The Adventures of Two-Fisted Todd

A man with a mysterious past, two-fisted Todd Donovan now works as a freelance troubleshooter for whoever is willing to pay for his services, locating missing persons, rescuing hostages, repossessing stolen goods and tangling with drug lords, dictators, criminals and other lowlives all over the globe.

These high octane action stories are an homage to the men’s adventure magazines of the 1960s with their lurid covers and breathless prose. So buckle up, step back in time and enjoy an adventure with two-fisted Todd Donovan.

Flesh Trade

The first mosquito assaulted freelance troubleshooter Todd Donovan as soon as he stepped onto the dusty airfield of Puerto Aurora on the Caribbean island of San Ezequiel. The mosquito settled on his exposed biceps and Todd swatted it with the flat of his hand. His aim was true, the flying pest reduced to a bloody smear on his hand. Not that it mattered much. Because for every mosquito killed, a dozen more showed up for the funeral, whizzing and buzzing and sucking blood from every inch of exposed skin.

Todd looked around and finally strode purposefully across the tarmac towards the collection of ramshackle huts that made up the airport, mosquitoes buzzing all around him. He sighed. Time to get the job done, so he wouldn’t have to spend any more time on this mosquito infested island than absolutely necessary.

The money. Think of the money. Think of the one grand he already got and of the nine that would follow once he managed to locate Cheryl, the missing daughter of millionaire Alfred T. Whitman. Not to mention an all expenses paid trip to the Caribbean. Though to be perfectly honest, Todd could have done without that. Especially once it turned out that his destination promised mosquito infested jungles and treacherous swamps rather than cocktails on the beach.

Cheryl Whitman was a twenty-one-year-old college senior who had been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth. However, like quite a few people born rich, she was gifted with more money than sense.

In Cheryl’s case, she had discovered her social conscience and sense of humanitarianism in college and decided that it was her mission in life to help the poor. So far, so good, except that Cheryl wasn’t satisfied with helping the local poor in Berkeley or even in Watts. No, Cheryl decided that she had to go to the tiny Caribbean island nation of San Ezequiel to help the poor there. Why the poor of San Ezequiel were more deserving than the poor in Berkeley or even those in Bayview and Hunter’s Point, Todd did not know. However, choosing to help the foreign rather than the local poor had quickly turned out to be a rather costly decision for Cheryl and her equally humanitarian friends. Because soon after their arrival in Puerto Aurora, Cheryl and three of her classmates had vanished without a trace.

Old Man Whitman had spared no expenses to find Cheryl. He’d called in every favour, pulled every string. And then, when the American embassy, the Puerto Aurora police department and several very expensive private detective agencies had failed to find any trace of Cheryl and her friends, Whitman had ventured into shadier realms and hired Todd. Because Todd got results where others failed.

So Todd had pocketed Whitman’s grand as a down payment and hopped onto the next plane down to San Ezequiel.

Alberto, the customs and immigration officer at Puerto Aurora International Airport or rather what passed for it, remembered Cheryl Whitman