Darkstone Code
Chapter 118 - 0117 Cook, truck, logistics

Chapter 118: 0117 Cook, truck, logistics

"Cook..."

Lying on the stinky bed, the big man yelled "Shit," then paused for a moment and tossed the dirty magazine onto the table by the bed.

He tidied up a bit and walked out of the stinky room, grumbling as he asked, "What do you want?"

Cook was already thirty-one, but he wasn’t married. In the Bail Federal, living with your parents after twenty is considered a "disability." It’s normal for people to leave their parents’ homes and start their own families once they’re independent adults with their first jobs.

But Cook hasn’t done that; he’s thirty-one and still hasn’t left his comfort zone. This might also be why he hasn’t gotten married yet since no one would like his current situation.

The old lady, unfazed by her son’s loud complaints, pointed impatiently at the phone in the corner, "Damn, someone called for you. I can’t imagine why anyone would call you. Is it because you don’t bathe, or because you stink?"

Cook swore and headed to the corner. This wasn’t a wealthy family, or at least wealthy families wouldn’t have a stinky bedroom.

But previously, the situation wasn’t too bad. Before Cook lost his job, he used to bring in a decent salary for the family every month.

Maybe it’s because he was a truck driver and had no time for romance. All his relationships with girls ended in failure.

When he finally had time, the girls disliked him for being an unemployed man stuck in his comfort zone.

Maybe in a few more years, marriage will come his way. By then, there will be a girl forced out by her parents, with no place to stay and no future, seeking a stable life, and she might become Cook’s wife.

This happens quite often. Women often present themselves as vulnerable and hope for a man who can support them to take them away. As for making their own efforts, that’s only a minority’s idea.

Most women are like Cook; if they can stay in their comfort zone, why adapt to the outside world?

Scratching his furry belly sticking out of his old clothes, Cook picked up the phone. His voice was loud; truck drivers never have small voices.

The noise in the cab means they have to become loudmouths to chat with the convoy. Sometimes, being loud is also a way to avoid trouble; in some highway motels, a loud voice is an advantage.

But soon, his voice lowered, becoming gentle like a little lamb. He even bent forward awkwardly, his face showing a trace of excitement and flattery, repeatedly saying a few simple words.

Alright, no problem, I got it...

In the kitchen, preparing lunch for the big Cook, old Marra had a slight smile on her face. She had guessed that, six months after Cook lost his job, a new job had come.

This relieved old Marra. At least that damned big guy wouldn’t leech off her anymore. It was good news.

Cook quickly started making calls, first calling his good friend James.

James was also a truck driver. Before the company went bankrupt, they were in the same convoy. James was an interesting guy, always full of wild fantasies he loved to share with others.

Cook was often astonished by James’ outlandish ideas, which made them become good friends.

As soon as James heard about the job opportunity, he agreed. Times were tough for everyone, with big companies in Sabin City collapsing one after another, and it was the same elsewhere.

The stagnation of the physical economy reduced the demand for logistics. Even in the more remote small cities, it’s been a long time since a big truck left town.

After making many calls, Cook uncharacteristically took a bath. To save time, he used a boar-bristle brush, screaming in agony with each stroke.

At 2 PM, Cook, James, and some of their former colleagues appeared outside the largest used car dealership in Sabin City. Besides looking at cars, they were also there to meet the boss who summoned them.

If all goes well, they’ll have a new job.

Carrying a mix of anxiety and anticipation, the group arrived early at the dealership. Six months without a job had drained their savings. Seven or eight people came, though Cook called more. Some couldn’t come.

They had found jobs scraping by, their truck driver build giving them an edge for certain roles. They didn’t think a company could hire so many truck drivers at once.

If they didn’t get hired here and lost their security guard jobs, it would be a terrible blow to their lives and families.

While waiting, they naturally chatted about their recent lives; frankly, nothing was cheerful, everyone’s lives were a mess. James even talked about considering going elsewhere if not for Cook’s call.

He said he had written some short stories and scripts during this period, which surprisingly were bought by magazines and writing guilds, easing his life pressure.

He was ready to leave, but Cook’s call stopped him in time.

They all sighed, and at this moment, Cook’s gaze was suddenly attracted by a brand new silver luxury car outside the showroom. He couldn’t help but whistle.

Truck drivers might love trucks, but they also love these cars that show status. They immediately recognized it as House Industries’ latest luxury sedan model, priced at around 100,000.

Next, to the envy of these truck drivers, a young man stepped out of the car, wearing a smile as bright as the sun hanging in the sky, walking into the showroom and approaching them.

Frankly, the young man was very handsome, but among these big trucker middle-aged men, looks didn’t matter much.

The staff in the showroom silently watched the scene from a distance, making no sound—a group of behemoth-like civilized beasts facing a young, handsome yet seemingly powerless young man. On one side was a stormy sea, on the other only a sapling, seemingly ready to be torn apart!

The intense conflict and disparity made everyone hold their breath, even contemplating calling the police.

Truck drivers always have the worst tempers, and there was a fear that this likable young man might be torn to pieces by these brute beasts.

But surprisingly, the beasts seemed tamed, behaving so gently that it was hard to associate them with truck drivers and their current image.

Lynch stood about seven or eight steps away, with a slight smile, looking at the truck drivers whose muscles or fat were about to burst out of their clothes. He then extended a hand, "Who’s Cook?"

After two or three seconds of calm, Cook regained his senses and promptly stepped forward to Lynch, even hunching over to avoid appearing intimidating and to leave a good impression on the new boss.

His rough hands tightly gripped Lynch’s hand, his face slightly showing a flattering tone, "I am, I am Cook. Are you Mr. Lynch?"

Lynch nodded, his little finger gently snapped against the bottom of Cook’s palm, a subtle cue to release the handshake.

In many formal and elite social occasions, some people exhibit enthusiastic behavior like Cook, forgetting to maintain composure and etiquette, so when someone wants to end an overly warm handshake, they flick their little finger, and the other party immediately understands, apologizes, and releases their grip, keeping things dignified.

However, Lynch misjudged Cook’s comprehension; Cook showed no sign of letting go, still uttering awkward flattery.

In truth, it was all driven by desperation—pressured by life, by poverty, by harsh reality.

Nobody wants to seem inferior. If they didn’t have to, they wouldn’t bow down even to the President, but life doesn’t allow them their dignity and pride, because they have to live.

"You can let go..." Lynch reminded, and Cook quickly released his grip. Lynch just felt his palm was a bit clammy.

He shook his head with a smile, overlooking Cook’s actions, and looked at the truck drivers, asking, "Is this everyone?"

Cook’s face instantly showed a hint of excitement; this question meant Mr. Lynch needed more truck drivers, which also meant he could continue joyfully traversing the endless, deserted highways with his friends.

"How many do you need? I can find you as many as you want!" Cook exclaimed, excitement overflowing, and he even used formal language.

Lynch nodded and asked another question, "Shall we look at the cars first?"

This was why he gathered these people at the dealership. Most truck drivers are excellent truck mechanics; if a truck breaks down on the interstate or transnational highway, not handling the situation is disastrous.

They need to know cars and repair them. With them, the used car dealership couldn’t fool Lynch.

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