CHAPTER 7Merv had a much easier time sliding into the booth across from Prado now that he had the trim frame of the bearded mechanic. Prado’s gaze followed him as Merv settled in, picked up the latex gloves and slipped them over his hands. Neither man spoke. The only sound was the snap of the rubber against Merv’s newly calloused palms. Once gloved, he placed them on the table in front of him. In an unfamiliar deep voice, Merv said, “See what I mean? Morphing like a baby.”
Prado rubbed his chin, appeared to be considering a response, when Linda, the bartender, came over and delivered a mug of beer. “Your buddy take off?” She looked at Prado.
“I’m not sure if he’ll be back.” Prado turned to her, noticed she seemed concerned. “I’ve got the tab.”
“You need another pitcher?” she asked.
“No
