“Well, Coach, like I told you before, I really like working out at home, so can’t you just give me the stuff that’ll give me the ‘results’?”

A long silence, Horton studying me, cocking his head slightly from left to right, trying to figure me out, I suppose. Behind him, the truck plant hums and hovers like some monolith from another world.

He removes his fat forearms from the hood and walks around the front of his car, stopping when he reaches my cart. Horton is three feet away from me, his face looking like a sweaty, uncooked hot dog.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Ramsey. What ‘stuff’ are you talking about?”

“The same stuff my brother wasn’t a fan of … but I am.”

Silence.

Then, as if sensing a set-up or something, Horton backs off and shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m afraid I don’t understand. Have a good day, Ramsey.”

Damn! I was so close. I guess I went for the kill too soon. Knowing that he’s onto me, I get a little desperate and decide to press him some more.

“So, is it a case of good things coming to those who wait?” I ask.

“This conversation’s over.” He turns and walks toward the entrance.

Frustrated, I say, “I know what you do, Coach. It can’t last forever.”

Over his shoulder he says, “What I do is coach football, Ramsey. That’s what I do. And I know it won’t last forever. I have to retire someday.” He laughs as he passes through the door.

When the door closes, I shove the cart and kick it over onto its side. The sound of the metal smacking and vibrating against the asphalt echoes through the parking lot.

Then I put my hands on my hips and stare at the assembly plant across Michigan Avenue.

Chapter_16

16

After helping Huey through the five o’clock rush, I pull all the red bags down from the top of the cooler and climb up for a look. I hear Huey cashing out in preparation for Brenda’s arrival, and I want to finish this gross job fast.

Standing on the ladder and inspecting the bare cooler top, I realize why Brandon said this was the worst task imaginable: dozens of sticky pools and trails of liquid meander across the top surface. It’s like looking at an oversized map of the local waterways. I press a finger lightly against what I think is a dry spot, but even the “dry” spots are sticky. I have no clue where to begin, so I climb down, grab all the sponges and towels I can find, and toss them onto the cooler. Then I climb back up and basically throw myself onto the towels.