Jackknife 2
Chapter 2 The Job
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Cray’s commutes to work were warm-ups. Road conditions, general driver mood, news of the day. Traffic was a living organism, made up of thousands of parts, some mobile, some stationary. It had moods and phases, feeds and drains. A news scandal or local sporting event could have half the drivers distracted, resulting in less predictable motion and flow. It was important because he would engage the conditions of the moment in several passes through local traffic each day.
His current schedule was heavy with mid-range deliveries, which would him bring through town a number of times, the routes the veterans didn’t want and the newcomers couldn’t have yet. Daryl’s Delivery Service wasn’t run on merit. It was an old school shop, going by time in the company. Cray was not inclined to schmooze to advance, so he was biding his time with the youngsters.
He pulled into the company parking lot with the other early birds. No one bothered saying good morning to him as he was known for being surly and uninterested in niceties. He made it clear he was there to work and get paid, not to make friends.
Nicknames for him included Caustic Cray, not that anyone ever tried it out on him. Cray had a good lean build, no potbelly or extra weight most drivers put on. In short, he looked dangerous to mess with too much.
He waited alone on a couch in the office lounge when one of the early birds approached him.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” the old timer exclaimed with a playful smile.
Cray just scowled in return.
“How’d you do it Cray?” asked the old timer.
“Do what?” Cray asked, voice dripping with belligerence.
“He doesn’t know,” said one of the other early birds in amazement.
Cray fired off looks all around. He didn’t like being the center of attention in normal circumstances. Now, everyone seemed to know something about him he didn’t.
“Just check the bulletin board,” another chipped in, “You hit the lottery.”
When Cray approached, the small crowd in front of the bulletin board dissipated. Cray eyed the board suspiciously. This had the feel of a practical joke in the making.
The letter-sized notice wasn’t hard to find, right up front and center. “Silver Label Logistics Congratulates Cray Scott of Daryl’s Delivery Services on being this year’s nominee.” It was scant on other details. He might have won a microwave for all he could tell.
“The boss will fill you in all the details when he gets in,” said the old timer, “Basically it’s a long haul dream job with benefits.”
Cray mumbled disparagingly about not having time for this and returned to his seat.
The boss still hadn’t arrived when the early birds started signing out their keys for the day and Cray had no intention of waiting. But when he went for his keys he was told he had to wait. It didn’t do much for his mood.
Fortunately, when the boss did arrive Cray was at the top of his list. He invited Cray into his office immediately.
The boss, Mr. Daryl “Big O” O’Donnell, large in both height and girth, seemed in a hurry but moving at a measured pace at the same time. The big man was juggling what appeared to be postal mail including some small packages, an overstuffed briefcase and a box Cray was sure contained doughnuts.
“First off Cray, congratulations on your selection. Silver Label picked you from a list of our drivers that could handle a long run. I know you are newer but you’re experienced and skilled, so I think this was a good choice. Don’t let the guy’s get to you if they are a little jealous.”
“I’m not worried about the other drivers,” said Cray, “But I am worried I’m falling behind on my schedule today.”
“Oh no, you’re on immediate stand down to reset your driving hours. Your deliveries will be reassigned. With your input if you have concerns. You have to go through the Silver Label paperwork this morning.”
It was all Cray could do to remain expressionless and not wince at the news. Paperwork was high on his list of dislikes, rivaling spending time with other people.
“There will be a couple guys arriving this afternoon to brief you and finalize the choice. These people move fast and they’re very serious, so try to be cooperative.
“Grab a seat at the table there and we’ll get started. I’ll need your signature on this nondisclosure agreement before I give you the rest of the paperwork.”
“Why is an NDA needed?”
“First Rule of Fight Club. Confidentiality is high on their list of values. All the info they let out, like that notice letter, are just teasers. Keeps them on all the drivers’ minds. The rest is black box.
“Maintains an air of mystery,” Daryl added, gesturing in the air with one hand for effect.
Cray started reading the NDA but had to stop. The words were reaching his eyes but not registering in his brain. It was a bad habit he developed in his youth. He had to go back to the beginning and force himself to read fully. He almost regretted it. The page of explanations could have been summed up in one sentence. “Don’t talk to anyone about the job.”
The contract was an easier read because it started with something of Cray’s interest. How much he was going to be paid. Easily three times as much as he was pulling down now. And that was before the completion bonus. Cray was sold. Money can’t buy happiness but it can solve problems. This would cover Marie’s and the kids’ expenses, and more.
The rest of the contract was just about all the ways Cray could screw himself out of getting paid, and that wasn’t going to happen.
By the time Cray finished reading all the documentation, two men in dark suits arrived. They looked like a pair of Ken dolls, unreal and out of place. They exuded enough confidence to make the room seem crowded. Cray could smell their corporate aroma, a cologne of office supplies and stale air.
The Ken dolls greeted Daryl briefly and then turned to Cray with their fake smiles.
“Good afternoon Cray. I trust you have had a chance to read over the paperwork. Do you have any questions?”
“Yeah, just one. I won’t be able to call my wife and let her know I’m O.K.?”
“Sorry, no calls, no exceptions. Is this a deal-breaker?”
“No, just hoping for an exception.”
“Any other issues? If not, I’ll cover the assignment basics.”
Cray shook his head.
“Alright then. You will be tasked with delivering a cargo from Massachusetts to Washington state. The route will be straight along the I-90 corridor. You’ll be driving our best truck, all accommodations arranged in advance. We have special crews for the truck and cargo checks. All you need to do is show up and drive.
Cray just nodded his understanding, masking his suspicions. He knew it was pointless and more was coming. The “just show up and drive” comment set off warning lights in his mind. He had hauled all kinds of loads but never something he wasn’t allowed to see.
“Driving hours will be strictly limited. Any inclement weather will be waited out. Safety is paramount. And as I’m sure you noticed in the contract there are certain behavioral limits as well, although in your case none should be a problem.”
Cray sensed the man was referring to drinking, drugs, and smoking. It was creepy he seemed to know Cray was straight edge, clean and sober. Cray hadn’t shared that information specifically with anyone present. These guys must do their homework with the NSA, he thought.
“If there are no further questions or objections let’s get that contract signed and send you home to rest. All transportation has been arranged to our facility in Massachusetts. Try to keep your luggage to one bag and a carry on.”
Cray signed the contract in silence, his name in ink weighed heavily in commitment on the paper, but his thoughts were elsewhere. His mind was on what he needed to get accomplished in the thirty-some hours of downtime. The top two items were explaining the situation to Marie and making a call to his one friend Ian.
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