Ryan. “Still got me stumped why the boss lady wants you workin’ with me. Barely enough for one to do, let alone two.”
“It’s just for the experience.”
“So you’re doin’ it for free then?” Now he did turn around and face Ryan, a hard look in his hazel eyes. “Are you makin’ a play for my job?”
“No, not at all, Gordon. If Selena gives me a job, I’ll most likely be working upstairs. She just wants me to know how it all works.”
Wells raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she wants you to manage the place?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Have you done this sort of work before?”
He shook his head.
Wells just grunted and returned his attention to the computer, where he was mindlessly passing the time playing some online slots game. Ryan would really like to get a look at that computer and see what he could find. If the man was up to something, then maybe he’d left some clues on the hard drive somewhere? Possibly he would get an opportunity when the truck arrived to unload the beer.
“I’m goin’ outside for a smoke,” Wells announced and got out of the chair. “Come and join me.” Ryan glanced at the computer, then followed Gordon Wells outside, where Wells removed a pack of Winfield from a pocket of his shorts and lit one up. “You smoke?”
Ryan shrugged. He almost refused the cigarette offered to him, despite his lungs crying out for the fix, but in the end he accepted. Sometimes doing something simple like sharing a smoke or a drink or a conversation about the football can create a bit of a rapport with someone. Or was he just using that as an excuse to let his willpower crumble? Either way, he took the smoke and lit it with the cellarman’s lighter.
After a few drags Ryan had a mixed reaction about it. On one hand the carbon dioxide and nicotine hit was divine, because that’s what his addicted body was craving. Mentally, though, he felt really guilty about it and that severely marred his overall enjoyment of it.
He decided that was a good thing.
“Do you like working here?” he asked Wells casually.
Wells thought about it and nodded. Ryan detected a bit of a glint in his eyes, but wasn’t sure what it meant. “It’s pretty cruisy. I hardly ever see the boss lady, so that’s a positive. Not that I don’t like her or anything, but who wants the boss hangin’ around all the time? Not me. I don’t want anyone hangin’ around all the time. That’s why I took this job, because I get to work alone.” He glanced sideways at Ryan. “Until now.”
“It’s only for a few days.”
When Ryan’s cigarette was two thirds through, he stabbed it out on the ground and dumped the remains in a nearby bin.
“What a waste,” Wells complained. “With the price of cigarettes these days, I smoke mine right to the butt.”
“I’m trying to quit.”
“Now ya tell me.”
Once Wells had smoked his until he was sucking on nothing but smoldering cellulose acetate, he put it out and they went back inside.
Ryan was bored already. Without access to the computer and no deliveries coming in yet, there wasn’t really anything for him to do; investigative or otherwise. He didn’t want to pepper Wells with a bunch of questions and make the guy suspicious of him.
At a quarter past eleven the truck with the beer arrived. Wells opened the roller door and climbed aboard the forklift. He fired it up and expertly maneuvered it out to the truck , where he had the pallet unloaded and inside the storage room in no time flat. After loading some empty pallets back onto the truck, Wells signed the driver’s delivery book and closed the roller door again.
“We need to clear some floor space,” he told Ryan. “We’ll stack this beer onto that pallet over there.” He pointed to a pallet that was down to its last five cartons. “We’ll take those off and stack the new ones on, then put the older ones on top. That’s called stock rotation.”
“Right. Got it,” Ryan said.
While he
“It’s just for the experience.”
“So you’re doin’ it for free then?” Now he did turn around and face Ryan, a hard look in his hazel eyes. “Are you makin’ a play for my job?”
“No, not at all, Gordon. If Selena gives me a job, I’ll most likely be working upstairs. She just wants me to know how it all works.”
Wells raised an eyebrow. “Maybe she wants you to manage the place?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Have you done this sort of work before?”
He shook his head.
Wells just grunted and returned his attention to the computer, where he was mindlessly passing the time playing some online slots game. Ryan would really like to get a look at that computer and see what he could find. If the man was up to something, then maybe he’d left some clues on the hard drive somewhere? Possibly he would get an opportunity when the truck arrived to unload the beer.
“I’m goin’ outside for a smoke,” Wells announced and got out of the chair. “Come and join me.” Ryan glanced at the computer, then followed Gordon Wells outside, where Wells removed a pack of Winfield from a pocket of his shorts and lit one up. “You smoke?”
Ryan shrugged. He almost refused the cigarette offered to him, despite his lungs crying out for the fix, but in the end he accepted. Sometimes doing something simple like sharing a smoke or a drink or a conversation about the football can create a bit of a rapport with someone. Or was he just using that as an excuse to let his willpower crumble? Either way, he took the smoke and lit it with the cellarman’s lighter.
After a few drags Ryan had a mixed reaction about it. On one hand the carbon dioxide and nicotine hit was divine, because that’s what his addicted body was craving. Mentally, though, he felt really guilty about it and that severely marred his overall enjoyment of it.
He decided that was a good thing.
“Do you like working here?” he asked Wells casually.
Wells thought about it and nodded. Ryan detected a bit of a glint in his eyes, but wasn’t sure what it meant. “It’s pretty cruisy. I hardly ever see the boss lady, so that’s a positive. Not that I don’t like her or anything, but who wants the boss hangin’ around all the time? Not me. I don’t want anyone hangin’ around all the time. That’s why I took this job, because I get to work alone.” He glanced sideways at Ryan. “Until now.”
“It’s only for a few days.”
When Ryan’s cigarette was two thirds through, he stabbed it out on the ground and dumped the remains in a nearby bin.
“What a waste,” Wells complained. “With the price of cigarettes these days, I smoke mine right to the butt.”
“I’m trying to quit.”
“Now ya tell me.”
Once Wells had smoked his until he was sucking on nothing but smoldering cellulose acetate, he put it out and they went back inside.
Ryan was bored already. Without access to the computer and no deliveries coming in yet, there wasn’t really anything for him to do; investigative or otherwise. He didn’t want to pepper Wells with a bunch of questions and make the guy suspicious of him.
At a quarter past eleven the truck with the beer arrived. Wells opened the roller door and climbed aboard the forklift. He fired it up and expertly maneuvered it out to the truck , where he had the pallet unloaded and inside the storage room in no time flat. After loading some empty pallets back onto the truck, Wells signed the driver’s delivery book and closed the roller door again.
“We need to clear some floor space,” he told Ryan. “We’ll stack this beer onto that pallet over there.” He pointed to a pallet that was down to its last five cartons. “We’ll take those off and stack the new ones on, then put the older ones on top. That’s called stock rotation.”
“Right. Got it,” Ryan said.
While he
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