Several minutes later, a shiny new Packard pulled up. Frank rose quickly and rushed to the driver-side window.
“Help you, sir?”
The driver was very well dressed – but flashy – maybe thirty years old or so. Sitting next to him was an attractive younger woman dressed to the nines. They were laughing and flirting.
“Fill ’er up.” The driver ended the directive by taking out a cigarette and lighting it.” Frank filled up the tank and returned to the car window.
That’ll be a buck fifty, please.”
The man looked Frank over and then glanced at Frank’s truck, where Cae stood guard in the driver’s seat.
“That your truck?”
“Aye, it is.”
“Are you Irish?”
“Your truck in good working order?”
“Aye, I keep it up.”
The man reached over and shook Frank’s hand. “Peter.”
Peter Caravaggio pulled a business card out of his vest pocket. “If you ever get tired of standing in the cold, pumping gas, give me a call. We can always use men with trucks. The pay is good, I promise. Probably a lot more than you’re making now.” He gave the card and two dollars to Frank. “Keep the change.” He wheeled out quickly onto Warren
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