Tucker closed the door quietly, afraid to be caught, then tapped and called again louder. “Almost done?”
“I’m coming,” Chad said.
“If we had time, I’d let ya,” Tucker said under his breath.
The door opened. Sweatpants without underwear was a good look on Chad, especially when his glans was fat with blood. He had put the poncho back on over himself. If he hoped clear plastic was going to detract from the protrusion and the silhouette, he was wrong. “Let me…um, make a call,” Tucker stammered. “I want to let the owner know what’s happening.”
“Sure. Should I wait outside?”
“Naw. I’ll just be a sec.” Tucker dialed the rotary phone atop the old desk with his hook.
“We have push-buttons at the paper now.”
“Modern technology,” Tucker commented. “I wonder what’s next.”
“The eighties will surely bring picture phones,” Chad said, smiling.