The delivery truck lurched from the centerline to the shoulder and back again, the result of Alan Bonner trying to free a cigarette by bouncing the pack against his thigh while simultaneously trying not to spill the cup of coffee he had wedged between his legs. On the radio, a country song was blaring, something about a man who’d lost his dog or wanted a dog or liked eating dogs or whatever, but lyrics had never been as important as rhythm, and this tune had serious rhythm. Add in the fact that it was Friday, which meant he had only seven more hours of work time left before the long, glorious weekend ahead, and he was already in a good mood.
“Shouldn’t you turn that down?” Buster asked.
Buster Tibson was a new trainee with the company, which was the only reason he was even in the truck, and all week long he’d been complaining about this or asking questions about that. It was enough to drive anyone crazy.
“What? You don’t like this song?”
“It says in the manual that playing the radio loud causes distractions. Ron mentioned that specifically when he hired me.”
That was another annoying thing about Buster. He was a stickler for the rules. It was probably why Ron had hired him.
Alan finished tapping out the cigarette and stuck it between his teeth while he searched for his lighter. Thing was wedged deep into his pocket and it took a bit of concentration to keep the coffee from spilling as he began to dig it out.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s Friday, remember?”
Buster seemed dissatisfied with his answer, and when Alan glanced over he noticed that Buster had ironed his shirt this morning. No doubt he’d made sure that Ron had noticed. Probably went into the office with a notepad and pen, too, so that he could write down everything Ron said while simultaneously complimenting Ron on his wisdom.
And what about the guy’s name? That was another thing. What kind of a parent named their kid Buster?
The delivery van lurched onto the shoulder again as Alan finally freed his lighter.
“Hey, where the hell did you get the name Buster, anyway?” he asked.
“It’s a family name. On my mom’s side.” Buster frowned. “How many deliveries today?”
All week long, Buster had been asking that question, and Alan had yet to figure out why the specific number was so important. They delivered nabs and nuts and chips and trail mix and beef jerky to gas stations and convenience stores, but the key was not to speed through the route, or Ron would just add more stops. Alan learned that last year and he wasn’t about to make that mistake again. His territory already covered all of Pamlico County, which meant driving endlessly along the most boring roads in the history of mankind. Even so, this was far and away the best job he’d ever had. Way better than construction or landscaping or washing cars or anything else he’d done since he graduated from high school. Here, there was fresh air blowing through the window, music as loud as he wanted, and no boss constantly breathing down his neck. The pay wasn’t half bad, either.
Alan cupped his hands, steering with his elbows while he lit his cigarette. He blew the smoke through the open window. “Enough. We’ll be lucky if we finish.”
Buster turned toward the passenger window, speaking under his breath. “Then maybe we shouldn’t take such long lunches.”
The kid was seriously irritating. And that’s what he was—a kid, even if, technically, Buster was older than him. Still, the last thing he wanted was for Buster to report back to Ron that he was slacking off.
“It’s not about the lunches,” Alan said, trying to sound serious. “It’s about customer service. You can’t just run in and run out. You have to talk to people. Our job is about making sure our customers are happy. That’s why I always make sure that I do things by the book.”
“Like smoking? You know you’re not supposed to smoke in the van.”
“Every man’s got a vice.”
“And blasting the radio?”
Uh-oh. The kid had obviously been compiling a list, and Alan had to think fast.
“I just did that for you. Kind of a celebration, you know? It’s the end of your first week and you’ve done a great job. And when we finish up today, I’ll make sure Ron knows that.”
Mentioning Ron like that was enough to make Buster quiet down for a few minutes, which didn’t seem like much, but after a week in the car with the guy, any silence was a good thing. The day couldn’t end soon enough, and next week he’d have the van to himself again. Thank God.
And tonight? That was all about getting the weekend started right, which meant doing his best to forget all about Buster. Tonight he’d end up at the Tidewater, a hole-in-the-wall just outside town that was almost the only place nearby that offered any kind of nightlife. He’d drink some beer, play some pool, and if he was lucky, that cute bartender might even be there. She wore tight jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and she leaned forward in her skimpy top whenever she handed him a beer, which made it taste that much better. Same thing Saturday night and Sunday night, too, for that matter, assuming his mom had plans with her longtime boyfriend, Leo, and didn’t drop by his double-wide like she had last night.