“Furniture.” I wiped my brow. “You?”
“Same. I’m hauling a whole bunch of tables from a workshop in North Dakota to a showroom in Nashville.”
I nodded in a way that implied that was the sort of jobs I was used to.
“Do you make that run often?”
“About twice a month they get me to haul it. It’s expensive stuff too, each table’s worth over ten grand. Can you believe that? Who spends ten grand on a table?” He smiled. “I would much rather spend that money on beer.”
“Ten grand on beer? That would last at least the weekend at my place.”
We laughed. That was good. The bond was building.
He was a big guy, broad shouldered, with thick arms. His black hair was cropped short and his beard was two-day old stubble. His skin was weathered, and his eyes looked like they had seen death too many times.
“When did you start the run?” I asked.
“This morning. I’ve been on the road ten hours. Was in Chicago before that.”
“Yeah, not far off that myself today.”
The timeline fit for the escape from the warehouse.
“Running by yourself?” I continued.
“This time, yeah.”
“I brought my kid with me last time,” I lied. I was pushing for information, and building a bond. “It was a shorter run. He’s only six but he enjoyed the hours on the road. He loves sleeping in the cabin, thinks it’s camping or something, sort of an oversized cubby house, doesn’t realize that after a while the novelty wears off good and proper and there is nothing better than leaving it all behind and sleeping in your own bed. You got kids?”
“I’ve got a twenty-year old son in Detroit from my first marriage, and a five-year-old stepdaughter in Chicago from my second marriage.”
“Going around twice? That must be expensive.” I laughed but he flinched. That hit a nerve.
“The stepdaughter’s father is mega rich, the type of guy that would buy a ten grand table and never use it. In fact, he’d probably buy a couple.”
We both shook our heads at that.
“Still, must make bringing up the kid easier.”
“But that’s the thing,” He wiped his brow with his gym towel. “The guy doesn’t pay a cent. My wife signed a prenup with him, so he pays nothing. We’re almost broke, trying to survive paycheck to paycheck, and that prick lives in a fancy penthouse, drives several fancy cars, and vacations all around the world.”
“What about child support? He’s gotta pay something towards you bringing up his little brat.”
Kyle gave me a sharp look.
“Nah, his fancy lawyers got it all worked out for him, he has no clue how much it really costs to bring up a kid, especially with him insisting she wears designer clothes when she stays with him.”
He took a swig from his water bottle before continuing.
“Still, she’s a sweet kid, you know. I’d do anything for her and her mom. They deserve a lot better.” Kyle trailed off as if thinking about something more.
“Doesn’t seem fair.”
That brought him back.
“You want to talk about fair? How about the fact that I risked my life for this country, the blessed United States of America, and leave with nothing, and all that guy does is rip people off and he gets to live the fancy life. That’s not fair.”
I’d definitely hit a nerve.
“Those politicians have something to answer for.” I quipped.
“Nah, not them. I have great respect for my country and its leaders. The greatest country on the planet, no question about it—not that I’ve been to any others, but then why in God’s name would you want to?” He chuckled to himself. “This country was founded on ideals of hard work and rewards, where anyone could be successful if you just work at it.”
I moved towards his bag. I could see his keys sitting inside the zipper of the bag. He was distracted as he continued to talk about his life, the world, and everything in between so I decided to take the risk.
“But they forgot to factor in the snakes. Snakes like Chase Martin.” Kyle spat out the last words with total disgust, like it hurt him to even utter them.
Pretending to stretch my hamstring, I leaned forward, and with one quick motion, I reached inside his bag and deftly swiped his keys, pocketing them inside my shorts.
“That man is a con artist, he conned his way to money and power, he conned my Tanya and even cons his own little girl. Just another scumbag who’d do anything to get to the top.”
“That’s the world,” I said, as I moved the keys from my pocket into my gym bag. “It’d be hard to change it.”
“We just need to go back to the way things were. Back to the American way.”
“Well, you’re right about that,” I replied, trying to get back on the same wavelength.
He was proud of his country, an honorable guy, I could tell that right away. I changed the subject quickly before he got any more off track.
“Which truck you hauling with?”
“A red 2015 Kenworth. Recently, I had flames painted down the side.”
“Nice. Big cabin?”
“You bet. It’s parked out back.”
Good. I had the truck. If he had the girl, then it would be easy to find out if she was holed up inside there.
“I’m going to hit the showers, but it was good to meet you.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kyle.”
“Jack.” He held out his hand to shake. I grasped a palm which was rough like sandpaper. He had big, coarse, working hands, not like the prissy manicured hands of Chase Martin, but the real thing, a real man’s hand. We shook and his grip felt like it could crush a watermelon.
He stepped out to the showers and I
