Truck (Restless Demons MC #2)

Chapter 1

TRUCK

I’m not sure I’m the best person for this manager position at the gas station, but now I am, I’ll do what I have to do. Opening the office door in the convenience store area of the station, I sigh.

It’s a freaking mess and looking around, I’m not sure where to even start clearing all the paperwork left on the floor and desk. It has obviously been left for someone else to clean out.

Walking over to the desk, I pick up a pile of papers and flicking through them find they are invoices, paid thankfully, for gas and other convenience store products. These may come in handy, because I have no idea where to buy all the shit this place will need.

Turning when I hear footsteps, I give a raised eyebrow at Winger as he steps into the office.

“Bull sent me to give you a hand. Nothing waiting for me on recovery, but I’ve the truck if I need to rescue a damsel in distress.” Winger bends down and picks up a pile of papers, drops them onto the desk before picking up more.

“This place is a fucking mess,” I snarl.

Winger chuckles, “Well, you’re right on the mark with that. Thing is, Truck, it can only get better.”

Grunting as a response, I pick up more paperwork and sort into piles of gas invoices/receipts and convenience store invoices/receipts. This is going to take a long time.

We worked for about an hour before Winger perched his butt on the edge of the desk. “You know we need to employ some workers, and they could help with all this cleaning. Oh, and why don’t you speak to Mr. Tillman? You know he ran this place for five years, don’t you?”

“No, I didn’t know that. But he’s a regular at the bar, so I could speak to him, see if he would guide me in the right direction for supplies.

” I rub my chin while thinking on this because I know Mr. Tillman is getting on in years, and he may not want to come out of his home to help here.

“I’ll pay a visit to the bar and speak with him later today.

He is usually around about eight-thirty every evening. ”

“Yeah, since he lost his wife, he’s been looking for company, I think. Must be lonely living on your own and no family,” Winger shakes his head sadly.

“They didn’t have family?” I ask because honestly, I’ve never known much about the man or his family.

Winger shakes his head. “No, his son deployed and never came back. It was tragic and saw Mrs. Tillman decline fast. She was fighting early dementia, and it was as if she didn’t want to continue in the real world.

But you know Mr. Tillman stood by her until she died, and he was a rock that anyone would be proud to have beside them.

I knew his son. He was a great man, a chip off his dad, and a son they were proud of.

Anyway, enough of the past. Ask him and I’m betting he’ll be happy to help. ”

Once we have all the paperwork on the desk in piles, which hopefully are now organized. We step into the convenience store area. “When is Bull coming to start on the recovery behind the store?”

Winger frowns. “Not sure, he said nothing to me when I left.”

“Okay, but we are not cleaning out all that crap around the back. Let’s give Judge a call to get us two dumpsters for all the junk in the store area.

We can’t use any of the stuff in here. It all needs to be discarded.

” I rub the back of my neck as the tension builds, and I can feel my head starting to ache.

Winger’s phone rings, and taking the call, he grins like a fool. “Okay, on it.” Putting his cell away, he gives me a wink, “Sorry, Truck, but I’ve a call to rescue a damsel. I have Mr. Tillman’s digits. Do you want me to give him a call and see if he’ll come and speak with you?”

“Why not? He’ll be able to see what a shit state this place is in if he does,” I snarl, then grunt as I drag a box from under shelving.

When a mouse jumps out, I kick that fucker.

Well, I tried but missed much to Winger’s amusement.

“Fuck off, I’ve got shit to do,” I snarl as I continue pulling out boxes, much more carefully I might add.

As Winger walks away, he calls over his shoulder. “Truck, I’ll speak to Judge about dumpsters, and I’ll speak to Mr. Tillman.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I respond as I dodge another fucking mouse. Christ, the place is infested and we’re going to have to get the extermination people in at this rate.

Two hours later, covered in dust and getting more and more agitated, I dragged another box of shit out of the store and threw it with the others that are waiting for the dumpsters to arrive.

A small vehicle pulls into the front of the station, and an elderly man who I recognize as Mr. Tillman steps out. Slamming that car door as if it’s not going to close otherwise.

Mr. Tillman lifts his hand to give me a small wave, and I return it with a nod of my head. I hope he’s here to help because I need all the help I can get.

“Hi, Truck. Winger spoke with me about you needing some advice, and I reckon sitting waiting for the bar to open was less important than coming over to see what it is you need.” Mr. Tillman spoke slowly but clearly.

“I need more than advice because I’ll be honest with you. I have no fuckin’ idea of what I’m doing.”

Chuckling, Mr. Tillman slaps my shoulder. “Well, the last owner was a piece of shit. I left when he started cutting everyone’s pay so he could pay for his wife to go on vacations.”

“He didn’t?” I splutter because I’ve never heard such bullshit.

Mr. Tillman shakes his head in disgust. “Yeah, he did. So, I threw in the towel and went home. Enough, as they say, is enough. I went home and never came back. Now, what can I do to help?”

“If you would take a look at the paperwork in the office with me, it would be a great help. I am trying to formulate a list of who to contact for filling the gas tanks, and where to purchase what the convenience store will need,” I mumble to myself which Mr. Tillman hears.

“Maybe what I need to purchase equipment-wise for the damn store, too.”

“Come on, Truck. Let’s look, shall we?”

I follow Mr. Tillman inside, and as he stops, I nearly walk into the back of him. I watch as his eyes scan the place, right before he shakes his head in disgust.

After we take in the convenience store area, we head to the office, where again Mr. Tillman shakes his head in disgust. “The asshole literally closed the door and walked away. He’s left all this shit for someone else to clear out.

That is typical of him, but you know we just need to get a burner going and burn all this paperwork.

We’ll find suppliers and make our own contacts.

Now, come on, Truck, let's get moving because, as the cowboys say, we are burning daylight. Now, grab hold of that box, Truck, and let’s throw all this into it.

Then we’ll find a place to burn it all without blowing ourselves up. ”

We worked for a good hour, taking boxes of paperwork out to the back of the property. I found an old trash can, nice, deep, and metal. With some holes made in the sides, it will be a great incinerator for all this paperwork.

“What can I call you? Because saying Mr. Tillman all the time is, yeah, respectful, but a bit of a mouthful,” I ask with all respect in my tone.

“Hm, my name is Bertrum, but my wife and friends used to call me Rum, or Rummy, so I would answer to either of those.”

“Okay, Rum, let’s set this on fire and discuss your salary,” I say firmly, which tells him I’m not messing around.

Rum gives me a serious look and must see I’m not going to back down. “Okay, Truck. Let’s get this done.”

Time is getting on now and we’ve emptied all the paperwork from the office. We burned it all, so no issue can come from it. We even found quite a bit more under the counter in the store area. Which, of course, we discarded too.

“I’ve had enough, Rum. How about you?” I ask.

Rum grins. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stop in at the bar and have a beer before I go home. It’s a frozen meal tonight.”

“Why the fuck are you eating that crap?” I ask astonished.

Rum looks at me with a serious face. “When you are on your own, you don’t always want to cook. It just seems pointless. I cook twice a week, but the rest of the time I have a frozen meal.”

“Come on. You come with me. You can get your vehicle tomorrow. I’ll pick you up in the morning. Now, we are going to the diner to eat actual food,” I state it again as fact and not as a question.

That is how I end up at the diner with Rum, eating chicken pot pie, smashed potatoes and roasted vegetables.

Talking about life in general until Cilla and Finger, who are carrying Ayla, walk into the diner.

Making a beeline for my table, I look at Rum, who is smiling at Ayla.

Ayla is nine months old already and she is the prettiest little girl I’ve ever seen.

She is always smiling, even when nobody is in the room.

We have proof of that on Keys' system. Tracker thinks it is her ghostly godfathers playing with her.

“Hi, Truck,” Cilla greets as she takes a seat.

Finger is smirking at the fact that Cilla has planted herself at my table without asking if that is okay.

“Hi, Rummykins.” Cilla looks right at Mr. Tillman as she says it, and he stops with his fork halfway to his mouth before lowering it and looking at her with shock written all over his face.

“What did you say?” Rum asks, and I look from Cilla to Rum and back again. Finger chuckles and walks away with Ayla to order their meal.

Cilla looks fully at Rum now and gives him a warm smile. “Your wife said to call you Rummykins, then you’d know I wasn’t telling you lies. She’s standing beside you, and I will tell you this, she is smiling at you with a look full of love.”

I quickly intervene. “Cilla sees the dead. Don’t mind her. She is harmless, but she is telling you the truth. She really sees them and talks to them.”

Rum looks at me again, then Cilla. “Is she okay?” Rum asks with worry in his voice.

Cilla gives him a bright smile. “Oh, yes, she is fine. She said she’ll not see you for a long time as it’s not your turn yet. But she said you must eat better and stop with those frozen meals. Help Truck and get back to work, stop sitting around waiting.”

Rum’s eyes water, and he rubs his sternum. I can hardly imagine what he is feeling. To know your wife, who you love deeply, is watching over you, and still ordering you around has to be mind-bending shit.

Finger returns, and Ayla is waving her arms around and giggling at something. Cilla smiles before taking her from Finger. “Ayla is smiling at your wife. Oh, your son is with her, and he said hello. He’s all healed now, and when it’s his time, he’ll come back again to have another life.”

Ayla is jumping up and down while Cilla hangs onto her.

She’s laughing and spluttering something, but she’s not spoken yet although Cilla and Finger have had a competition going whether she’ll say Momma or Popa first. What none of us expected was this moment.

Ayla throws her arms in the air as though she wants someone to pick her up, and splutters clear as can be, “Bobo…”

Finger turns his head to look at Ayla in slow motion, as does Cilla. I cover my mouth with a hand to stop the laugh that is ready to burst forth. Rum is still in shock that his wife and son are here so is missing what is going on.

“Bobo? Fuckin’ Bobo? You wait you total fucking asshole until I’m dead. I’m going to rip your dick off and shove it up your ass,” Finger snarls.

Now, I don’t think anyone has noticed, but Tracker and Cap have walked into the diner. Hearing the commotion, Tracker walks up, takes Ayla from Cilla and walks out of the diner with her.

Everyone in the diner at this point is sitting, watching our table and probably waiting for what is going to happen next.