Precious Cargo

Eric lay on the bed in his boxers with his hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling, ignoring the movie playing on Cinemax.
Kay cheerfully entered the bedroom with a tray loaded with a plate of scrambled eggs, ham, French toast, a warm decanter of syrup, and a large chilled glass of orange juice.
After carefully placing the tray on the bedside table, she playfully flopped onto the bed beside him.
She slipped her little finger in his ear, while affectionately kissing him on the tip of his nose.
"I think you should take the job. Screw what your buddies say. They are just jealous anyway.
Think about it hon. $80,000 per year. Salary! You do know what salary means, don't you?
It means $1700 a week no matter what you do. No matter how many or how few miles, or if you're laying in this bed staring at the ceiling like a big ole goof.
Plus Christmas bonus. It's bound to be generous."
"Yeah, it all sounds good baby. Maybe too good. I just don't know." Eric answered.
"I know exactly what it is. You are embarrassed to be seen in a six wheeler.
I don't understand you men and your stupid toys.
Do I have to remind you that I helped with your tax returns the last three years?
I know what you been making, and it aint that.
Besides, you can park that truck just about anywhere.
Like at the motels he will be paying for every night. Come on, nobody has ever done that for you."
_____________________________
The day before


"Eric, after reviewing your resume, I have concluded that you are the man for the job.
And yes, after some investigation, I did learn of your past indescretions involving the law.
Heck, I aint too worried about all that. I want a truck driver not a preacher.
As a matter of fact, I don't care how you go about doing your job, as long as it gets done.
Only thing I'm concered about is being on time, and Lord whatever you do, don't break anything."
"You see" Clyde said, as he leaned forward and lowered his voice "I never wanted that boy we got driving that truck to begin with.
But he's family and my wife pressured me into it.
But after he did enough damage, she finally came around. Said I could hire whomever I pleased."
"What kind of damage did he do?" Eric asked, really just concerned with how picky they were here.
"Merchandise, son. Antiques, oil paintings and such.
Don't mean much to folks like us, but you couldn't comphrehend how much money rich folks spend on that stuff.
I come from a working class background background like you.
I married into this family ten years ago and still don't feel exactly welcome.
I feel like I won life's lottery when that lady agreed to marry me.
My father-in-law is a gazillionaire and he's the only one in the whole rotten bunch that wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth.
He started from nothing. Might be why he keeps me around.
Anyway, take the weekend to think about it."
"Oh, here" Clyde said, almost as an afterthought, as he handed Eric a plain business envelope.
"Take your girlfriend out somewhere nice."
Eric didn't look into the envelope unti he was seated in his car.
It contained five one hundred dollar bills.

 

"Well, for starters, I've never had anybody just hand me five hundred dollars like that.
Hell, they could be Mafia or something, for all we know." Eric speculated.
"That's because you have been working for a bunch of scumbags.
This aint no trucking company. These are some classy people. They own four private jets. They have offices in London and Tokyo.
Their stock is running over two hundred bucks a share right now.
They worry about five hundred bucks like you worry about that piece of French toast you didn't finish.
And I promise they are not gangsters. You've been watching too much TV." Kay countered.
"How do know so much, anyway?"
"I looked them up on the internet.
And I looked up something else too." she said.
"And what would that be?"
"A motel room on Tybee Island. And if you get your lazy butt dressed, we can be down there with our toes in the sand by three o'clock and have all day Sunday to do whatever we please."
____________________________

Kay was correct about Eric's prospective employer.
They had very deep pockets, and no, they were not mob connected.
The were located in Atlanta's business district.
Symphony Tower was on the corner of Peachtree and 14th Streets and Hornsby Locators occupied the entire ninth floor.
The annual lease was more than the operating budget of a medium size town in south Georgia.
Hornsby had offices in Los Angeles, Seattle, Toronto, Madrid, Frankfurt and Bejing. Nothing special about that, as far as certain multinational companies went.
What made them special was their willingness to not only get in the trenches, but to burrow under them, if necessary.
Not unusual for a man with nothing but a guide and a paddle boat to spend weeks on an unchartered island in the south Pacific, only to discover the booty of a sunken pirate ship from the days of Vasco de Gama.
Or to find a four hundred year old oil painting of a Chinese emperor in a peasant's shack in the highlands.
Risking life and limb to spirit it out of a country where the communist leadership claimed imminent domain.
On the domestic side, they hosted art auctions and provided appraisal services.
They offered shipping and storage of the most valuable items known to man and were insured by Loyds of London.

 

With an unexpected windfall of cash and possibly one of the few remaining warm weekends of the year, they took Eric's '67 Chevelle convertible to the coast.
The big block Chevy engine was long on horsepower and short on fuel mileage.
But she purred like a champ and was as dependable as any car on the road.
Kay was convinced the new job offer was a good move, but decided her best approach was to lay off and let Eric decide for himself.
Directly across the street from the beachfront motel was a fairly nice restaurant.
A little touristy, but they obviously employed an excellent chef, for everything was excellent.
"When you were checking out Hornsby, did you happen to notice their net worth?" Eric inquired during the entree.
"In the billions. With a B. Not a fluke either. The old man started the operation in 1971 when he was thirty years old with a loan from a buddy in the oil business.
He repaid the loan, with interest, in less than a year. He's been in the black every since.
In the last ten years, the price of a share of stock has never fallen below $190, not even during election years.
They are rock solid hon."
"Still seems awful good to be true." Eric said.
"So what? What do have to lose? You don't exactly have people knocking down our door with job offers.
It seems your former boss isn't getting out of prison any time soon, and until the IRS takes the chain off the gate, you're not even getting your stuff out of the truck.
You got a lucky break. You deserve it. You've been driving coast to coast for seventeen years.
It's about time something good came your way. You just can't accept the idea of doing a third of the work you have been doing for twice the pay.
Try it. I think you will come to enjoy it soon enough."
Kay wisely let the subject drop, not dicussing it until he brought it up again.
At two o'clock the following afternoon Eric announced they should start repacking for the trip home.
"Why so early?" Kay teased. "It's not like you have a job or anything."
"I'm calling Clyde first thing in the morning, telling him I accept."
______________________________________________________________________

Hornsby Locators' SRS Facility(Shipping, recieving & storage) was located just west of Atlanta in Lithia Springs, on Thornton Road, which connected I-20 to Fulton Industrial Blvd.
It was located in an unassuming building far removed from the glamour of the downtown office suites.
There was no gate. Nor was there a security guard.
A small hand painted sign hung from the mailbox declaring this to be simply HORNSBY.
A modest block building was painted white and trimmed out with black doors and window shutters.
It appeared to be a single story building from the highway, but actually wasn't.
It was built on a slope with the the basement level being accesible from the rear.
It could pass for any small town bank.
A separate garage served to house the three trucks used for pick ups and deliveries.
The entrance to the main building opened into a tastefully furnished reception area.
A handsome walnut desk sat front and center. No one ever sat at the desk. No business with the public was ever conducted here.
The small staff recieved their orders to move or recieve any items electronicallly from Peachtree.
The most impressive feature of the grounds was the one the outside world never saw.
The basement offered 5000 square feet of climate controlled storage, and was several times larger than the house that sat above it.
The steel reenforced concrete walls were three feet thick.
Backup generators insured a reliable supply of electricity and a years worth of rations let it double as a fallout shelter for Hornsby personell, in the event of some unforseen tragedy.
The truck Eric would be driving was an unassuming(like the building) ten year old GMC box truck.
The white paint was faded, as were the hand lettered graphics declaring the truck to be hauling for HERMES SOUTHERN POULTRY.
Smaller lettering advertised "Farm fresh eggs delivered daily to your hometown grocer"
It was all part of the illusion. Lifting the hood would reveal a state of the art, twin turbo, high horsepower diesel that would compete with any big rig on the road.
The sleeper berth, though not needed by the driver, provided a handy place to stash the twelve guage pump action shotgun out of sight.

It was here that Clyde would meet Eric Monday afternoon for his company orientation.

 

"Good morning, Hornsby Locators, how may I direct your call?" said the operator in a crisp British accent.
"Good morning maam, Clyde Durkins please."
"May I ask whom is calling, please?"
"This is Eric Gordman. He is expecting my call."
"Certainly Mr. Gordman. One moment please."
Eric listened to an instrumental version of the Beatles' Lady Madonna while on hold, presumably a Percy Faith production.
Just as an orchestral rendition of Aerosmith's Walk This Way began, Clyde mercifully picked up.
"Mornin' son." Cyde began. "I sure hope you're calling me with good news."
"Yes, sir. Well I hope so anyway. I talked it over with my girl this weekend, and we, I mean I think it would be a good move."
"Glad to hear it son. Glad to hear it. Now I didn't mention it the other day,"
Uh oh, Eric thought
"But that pay rate I told you about is only temporary. You do a good job, and I'll have you up in six digits in no time.
Now when were you thinking you could start?"
"Just any time, I reckon." Eric answered.
"That's good, because I got two shipments that I can combine to make a nice load.
I got a meeting in about twenty minutes. It's going to tie up my morning.
The good news is, you don't have to come back downtown. I know that's a relief to you.
I know I sure aint crazy about having to come down here either. We can meet out at our Thornton Road facility.
Are you familiar with that area?"
"Yes sir, I live in Douglasville."
"Well, that's a good deal. This will be convenient for you. The address is 4160, and bring Kay along.
Let's say 12:45. We can have lunch afterwards."
"Yes, sir, we will be there." Eric said, wondering how he knew who Kay was.

 

They found the address easy enough. The building sat a hundred yards from the highway and was accessible by a wide asphalt driveway.
The bright green zoysia lawn was impressive.
"Look out Augusta National" Eric said after emitting a low whistle. "That stuff costs more per square foot than a hardwood floor."
"Now tell me how you know that, pray tell." Kay said.
"The Discovery Channel, my love. You're looking at an educated man." Eric replied with a wink.
"Discovery Channel my ...wow, check it out." Kay said, pointing at a yellow Mustang Mach 1, complete with black stripes and the shaker scoop coming up through the black hood.
Eric parked his vintage Chevelle next to it, unable to keep from staring.
Cyde stepped out onto the porch as the couple got out of the car.
"Is that yours , Mr. Clyde?" Eric asked.
"Yeah, it is. I told you I was just a country boy. My wife wouldn't be caught dead in it.
Looks down on American cars. I don't hold that against her. She was brought up that way.
Got a new Mercedes for her sixteenth birthday."
"What model is that 'Stang, a '69?" Eric asked.
" '70" Clyde answered.
"The only two years they made the Boss 302. Rare cars."
"You know alot for a Chevy man."
"Oh, I like 'em all. Got a '70 Hemi 'Cuda at the house I'm building. Had to put it on hold for now, with the job thing."
"Well that's about to change, son. Heard you done some racing too."
Something else that wasn't on the job application, Eric thought.
"Just some dirt track stuff up in Lavonia. Down in Alabama. Nothing big time."
"Don't matter. If you're good, you're good. That's what matters. Let's take a walk over here to the garage."
Clyde pressed a button on the remote device in his pocket as they approached the roll up door.
It raised silently, revealing the old straight truck with a laying hen painted on the driver's door.
Clyde registered Eric's disappointment when he saw the homely looking rig.
"Now don't go judging a book by it's cover. Lookee here." Clyde said as he popped the hood.
Eric couldn't hide his surprise when he saw the bright yellow paint.
"How in the world did you stuff a C15 under here? Is that a 550?"
"Very observant. Had to drop the crossmember eight inches so we could close the hood.
Just watch yourself. Oil pan is kinda low to the ground. Frame rails reenforced to handle the torgue.
Take a peek in the cab."
Eric stuck his head inside and noticed the extra selector on the shifter.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Yes it is. 18 speed, 3:08 gears. Don't have to tell you it will mortally fly.
Not to mention you will hardly ever have any weight on.
I know you are a driver's driver, but I want you to be cool. Don't go crazy in this thing, unless the situation warrants it.
You go hanging out in the hammer lane blowing the doors off of them big chicken trucks, people will notice.
And they will talk. We want low profile above anything else. But we also want you to be equipped.
And I'm talking about more than just the vehicle. I know you don't have a concealed carry permit, but we can handle that.
Have it fast tracked and you can pick it up at the sheriff's office in the morning."
There he goes again, knowing stuff.
"Let's go have some barbeque. I know a good place. I can explain a little of what we do around here."