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“I see you got a bad hand. Work must be hard to get.”
Toussaint folded his paper and put it on the bench.
“If you’re looking for a job maybe I can fix it up,” the hustler said.
“You run an employment agency?”
“I got a friend that needs a guy to drive a truck.”
“You drive it for him.”
“I make my bread in other ways.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“That’s him by the horse board.”
“I don’t know him,” Toussaint said.
“He don’t know you either.”
“Say what you got on your mind or go back to your friend.”
“He needs a driver and he figured you might want the job.”
“That ain’t telling me nothing. What’s he want to hire me for?”
“This is a special kind of trucking service. He don’t take on union drivers.”
“What’s he hauling?”
“That’s what the union asks,” the hustler said.
“And his drivers don’t ask nothing.”
“You got it.”
“I want to ask him some questions.”
“He ain’t used to it.”
“Get off it, boy. He wouldn’t have sent you over here to hire a one-arm man unless he needed a driver pretty bad.”
“You’re cool, daddy.”
They went over to the man by the horse board. He was a well-dressed, light tan Negro with thick, rimless glasses. He looked like a Negro preacher, except for the glass ring on his little finger.
“This guy might want to be a truck driver,” the hustler said.
“Did Erwin explain it to you?”
“What are you hauling?” Toussaint said.
“You make an out-of-state delivery. I take care of the rest.”
“What’s the pay?”
“A hundred dollars.”
