“Don’t take it so hard,” Smudge said.

“I can’t help it,” Bubba despondently replied.

They stopped outside the cafeteria and Bubba inserted his ID card into the cigarette machine, selecting the free pack all workers got daily. Bubba chose his usual Merit Ultima. Smudge did, too, and sold his pack to Bubba at the slightly discounted price of eight dollars and twenty-five cents. Smudge smoked Winstons, which were not made by Philip Morris. For the first time it bothered Bubba that Smudge didn’t offer his daily allotted pack to Bubba for nothing, since it cost Smudge nothing. It bothered Bubba that it just so happened that Smudge and Gig Dan played golf together.

“I guess Gig had a long day,” Bubba commented as he and Smudge headed out of the building.

“He looked pretty tired when he left,” Smudge agreed. “Too bad you were so late.”

“Wouldn’t’ve been if that asshole Tiller wasn’t supposedly sick again.”

Smudge made no comment.

“Funny how he always gets sick on the night the competition ends,” Bubba made another casual remark.

“Maybe losing is something he can’t face,” Smudge suggested.

“Also funny how nothing in my module works worth a shit the last night of the competition. Know how many times the tipping paper broke? Or how many glue bubbles I got? Had a dull knife, too. So I clean up right before shift change, and find dust in the machine and glue balled up on the glue roller,” Bubba said.

Smudge stopped at his gleaming red Suburban. He got out his keys.

“See, I think someone gets to Kennedy on first shift and sucks him into the conspiracy. So Kennedy works the first half of second shift because Tiller’s called in sick, because he’s been told to. Then Kennedy fucks up everything he can so when I’m supposed to come in and work one and a half shifts, I’ve got all this dust, glue balls and shit waiting for me.”

“Sounds rather elaborate, like a spy thriller. Don’t be paranoid, Bubba.” Smudge patted Bubba’s shoulder.

But it wasn’t just paranoia. Bubba wasn’t stupid. He knew Gig Dan was involved in the plot as well or he would have said something to somebody about how dirty the machine was. He had to have known, since he inadvertently had to fill in for Bubba because Bubba was late being early and then ended up late for being on time because Fred held him to a conversation. Bubba kept his conviction to himself as he began to see just what Smudge was really made of. Whatever it was, it was beginning to stink.

“You owe me and everyone else in Bay 5 two cases of beer, good buddy,” Smudge said as he cranked the Suburban.

“Yeah, I know,” Bubba said. “What will it be?”

“Hmmmm. Let me think,” Smudge jerked Bubba around. “I guess Corona.” He added insult to injury.

Corona was not a Philip Morris product, and Smudge knew Bubba would rather eat poison than spend a nickel on anything not Philip Morris.