“Well, my thoughts are this: if you can get by with the extra weight, then by goodness have them put on the extra weight; I just don’t see it.” Said Jim’s voice over the CB Radio.
Esteban chuckled as he went to squeeze the CB microphone and speak, but suddenly, John ‘The Road Warrior’ was heard, his gravelly, rough, southern voice having a heavy reverb and slight echo to it as he spoke.
“There’s nothing magic about it, Jim, and if you do it right then it’s easy to get by with.”
“I know, you’re talking about cheating the system.” Jim replied.
“No,” said Esteban. “It’s not cheating the system; what I did was go in while the truck was sitting on a full tank; if I do stop at any weigh station, at this point, I’m already down to a quarter of a tank of Diesel, so I’m bound to be lighter.”
“Yeah, I’m just not seeing the math; will it make a difference? Yes; will it actually make enough of a difference to make you light enough? I just don’t see a path where that’s possible.” Jim answered.
Esteban laughed and shrugged as he reached for the CB microphone again, but suddenly, a new, smooth and middle-aged voice came onto the radio.
“Hey, Caslow, do you remember me?”
Esteban frowned slightly and keyed the CB mic.
“Not that I can think of, mysterious stranger but I can see your fancy red and blue lights in my mirror. Were those expensive? How did you afford something so fancy and where can I get some?” Esteban taunted and teased.
“You think you’re funny, boy, but I’ve got you this time.” Said the man’s voice.
“Sheriff John Michaels is that you?” asked Jim in an amused tone.
“Oh, that’s definitely him, I can hear the smug expression in his voice.” John added.
“You two are on my list too.” Michaels assured. “I’m going to get you two for aiding a felon…”
“Hey Sheriff…” said Esteban.
“… conspiracy…” the Sheriff continued.
“John…” Esteban spoke, a bit of urgency in his voice.
“… I’ll take the three of you down for everything I can make stick and then…” the Sheriff looked up from his CB only in time to slam, nose first, into a concrete barrier that had been set up for road work, the car folding up like a used, empty soda can.
“Tried to warn you.” Said Esteban with a chuckle.
Michaels fought with his airbag before squeezing the CB microphone in his car, issuing one final threat.
“You just made this personal boy, and mark my words: I’m gonna, personally, teach you a lesson in respect when I do catch you.”
Later, Esteban stood in the parking lot of his delivery location, conversing with an old, bearded, rather fat, and long-haired Company Man named ‘Terrance Cobb.’
“Terrance, good to see you again; someone told me you retired a couple of months ago: I’m glad to see that they were wrong.” Said Esteban with a smile.
Cobb laughed. “Sometimes I wish I had, son, sometimes I wish I had retired and that I didn’t have to do this anymore. But it seems like you understand a little bit about this life that I’m a part of now.”
Esteban shook his head, a bewildered look on his face. “Not sure I know what you mean.”
Cobb laughed, the fat company man scratching the exposed part of his crown just in front of his receding hairline.
“You know exactly what I mean, boy; you don’t have to admit to it, but I know that you’re being recruited by the other side and let me warn you right here and now, son.” The company man lowered his head for a moment then looked back up, pain in his eyes, mouth trembling, as if he’d been hurt or betrayed. “This isn’t an easy life to live; there’s a lot of hard and difficult times ahead of you if you continue down the path that you’re currently on.”
“What path would we be talking about, Cobb?”
“Oh, save it, Caslow.” Cobb snapped, chuckling after. “We’ve been friends for a long time now, even before you started your business and moved it all out here. I’m the one who told you that Vegas was the place to be if you wanted to make a living in trucking in this country, remember?”
Esteban laughed and shook his head.
“I do, Terry, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at right now.”
Cobb shook his head. “What I’m getting at is simple; I said that because I was also recruiting you, all those years ago: I was recruiting you to come and drive for us, The Company Men, the good guys. Not those mobster fat-cats that are sitting in their casino high towers and living off of the backs of good, hard-working men like you. Son, you deserve to be on the winning team and that’s our team.”
Cobb coughed and then continued, shaking his head as he spoke. “We can’t pay you what the bosses can, I’ll give them that. There’s less of them and more of us, that’s how we can all afford to keep playing their game and how they can afford to pay you what they’ve been paying you, but we have protection on our side.”
“Protection?” asked Esteban.
“You think that the government doesn’t have their eyes on this? They’ve known about this gambling ring and the Trucking underworld of Vegas since it began, but they’ve never been able to take it down or work their way in. But when they do take it down, it’s us, the Company Men, who won’t go down with the bosses, their brokers, and their drivers. Like it or not, son, we’re the billionaires, and the companies that keep the country going, and we have the backing of several senators, congressmen and federal agencies backing us: we’re too big to fail.”
Esteban nodded. “I got yuh, Terry… how about this: you’re my friend and no matter what side you’re on, you’ll always be my friend.”
“And you’ll always be my friend too, son, you just go on and think about it.” Said Cobb.
“Sure.” Said Esteban as he stuck his burgundy, long-billed fedora back on his head and adjusted his glasses. “See you around, old man.”
Esteban walked across the lot to his semi-truck, climbing up in the Peterbilt, his phone ringing before he could make it into the cab and shut the door.
When he answered it, it was Broker Adams on the other side.
“Kid, I have good news for you…”
Appalachian Post 
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