disregard for other people, me and my fambly included. You might screw up and run somebody over.” He looked past Neal, as if imagining some grisly accident, and then shuddered. “You hit a pedestrian, I might lose everything.” Glancing towards his open door, he lowered his voice. “You know how these nigras are now. They all got lawyers and an axe to grind, and the damn goven’ment backs ‘em up.”
Neal nodded politely, but shuddered on the inside. Snell was the type of ignorant redneck with whom Neal could never have imagined having an extended conversation, much less having for an employer. But what troubled Neal even more at this particular moment was how the old man had found out about his foot. He was almost certain no one at the shop had noticed anything wrong when he had loaded up the truck in the morning. Grammy and Mildred had been gorging themselves on coffee and donuts and hadn’t paid him any attention.
“I got a call this afternoon from a security guard on your delivery route,” the old man said, as if he had read Neal’s thoughts. “Said you didn’t look fit to walk, let alone drive a van.”
“Oh,” was all Neal could manage.
“He also said he thought you were on drugs.”
Neal sat up even straighter. “I’m not on drugs.”
Snell gave another slow nod, then glanced down at Neal’s foot again.
“What exactly happened to it, anyway?”
“Nothing—I just sprained it last night.”
“Doing what?”
Neal shrugged. “Fell when I got up to go to the bathroom.”
“That’s mighty interestin,’” the old man said.
Neal became even more tense. “Why do you say that?” Surely Annie hadn’t called and told him about—
“Security guard said you did it playin’ tennis.”
“Oh.” Neal felt his face turning red, partly from embarrassment, but partly from anger. What kind of conversation had the two assholes had, anyway? Had they discussed the color of his socks, too? Neal wondered if the old man knew the guard was black. He doubted it. They wouldn’t have been so chummy, otherwise.
“So which is it?” Snell said, with a sneer.
“I don’t see what business it is of yours.”
“The physical condition of my drivers is my bidness.” He paused, clasping his hands behind his head. “Besides, bein’ an ex-athlete an all, I might even be able to hep out.”
Neal sighed, fighting the effects of all the pain killers he had taken. It was difficult to think clearly. “Look, I hurt it a little bit after work, playing tennis. Then when I got up last night to use the bathroom, I turned my ankle, and really messed it up. Okay?”
Snell looked Neal over as if he were trying to decide whether to believe him or not. “Go to the doctor?”
“Yes sir,” Neal said.
“Which one?”
“I don’t know—my wife took me to the emergency room last night.”
“Get it x-rayed?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Nothin’ broken?”
“No sir.”
“Good man,” Snell said, smiling. It appeared to Neal that he believed the story.
“Doctor give you any pain killers?”
