“There’s a lot more where that came from, but you have to earn it.” Huey shifts his gaze toward Tank. “He’s gonna ask what we talked about. You tell him it was personal stuff about your family, got it?” I nod. “Think you can handle this?” I nod again, totally into the idea of earning easy money.

A crashing sound comes from the back room, like shattering glass—a lot of it.

“Aw, Christ!” Huey shouts. “What’s going on back there, Brandon?”

Brandon Watkins, a tall, thin dude with red hair and white skin peppered with freckles, comes running out of the back room, a pained look on his face. Brandon is Justin’s age, attends Michigan State, and works for Huey during the summer.

“Sorry, Huey. A whole stack of bottles fell. I need some help.”

Huey says, “Well, idiot, if you stack them right, things like that don’t happen.” Poor Brandon disappears into the back room. Huey checks his watch. “Man,” he says, “the noon shift lets out in ten minutes.” I realize he’s talking to himself. “Better clean it now,” he mumbles.

He finishes what’s left of his beer, winks at me, and makes his way out from behind the long front counter that runs the length of the store. He tells us to wait for him at the register if we decide to buy anything, says he’ll be back in a minute or two to get ready for the rush. Then he hustles into the back room.

“You want one of these?” Tank calls, showing me a shiny and colorful can of the latest energy drink.

“Yeah, I’ll try one.” I turn and face the cooler. “Grab me a Slim Jim, too.”

Watching Tank grab the drink and Slim Jim, I tease the fifty halfway out of my pocket and gaze at it for a moment before shoving it back down.

“What was Dawkins whispering about?” he asks, laying our items on the counter.

“Nothing, really, just some stuff about all the layoffs at the plant. He told me not to worry about the gossip, said my parents’ jobs are safe.”

“That guy’s never liked me.” Tank stares at the fully stocked liquor and cigarette shelves behind the counter. “He always gives me dirty looks.”

“Huey likes everybody, Tank.” I turn and gaze out the windows at the assembly plant. The noon shift is letting out, dozens of filthy men in blue exiting.

“He likes everybody except me. He’s a prick when I’m around.”

We hear Huey and Brandon cleaning up the mess in the back room, Huey swearing, Brandon apologizing. Outside, the workers march forward, an army of tired faces and sweaty bodies. Most of them smoke cigarettes. Some talk on their cells. The older ones carry metal lunch pails that gleam in the sunlight.