Chapter Thirteen
Callan
I sat in a bar where I hoped no one would ever find me. Plus, I’d parked in the back to keep Sage from driving by and recognizing the car. The place was a dive. Three old men sat at one end of the bar, which was being tended by two old women. The five of them hurled insults at each other in Spanish, but their spirits were lighthearted.
“Usted vieja vaca, usted es tan tacaño con la cerveza,” one of the old men shouted at one of the bartenders.
Although he’d called her a cow and told her that she was stingy with the beer, she merely laughed as she filled a mug for me. “Callete tonto.”
And even though she told him to shut up and called him a fool, he laughed and raised his mug to her.
It seemed to me that some good-natured sparring was not only normal in most cul
