Before going to finish off his afternoon pickups, George biked down to the Matrix office to see his dispatcher and de facto employer, Chuck Robinson, although all the couriers were like independents, in a way. They would also pick up other work here and there, but all had their own regular route in the afternoons. Chuck called the pickups from a small storefront setup over on Parliament just north of Queen, a converted house.
“Knock-knock.”
“George, how are ya? C’mon in. What’s up?”
“My time.”
“How’s that?”
“I’ve come to give you my notice.”
“Yeah, right. What is it? A money thing? You want more calls?”
“No, I’m serious. I’ve got no complaints, I appreciate the job you’ve provided me for over three years, but it’s just time to do something new.”
“Well, that’s really classy of you, GG. I never got notice before. Usually a guy doesn’t show up two days in a row, that’s my notice. How long you givin’ me?”
“A week.”
“More than enough. I’m really sorry to lose you, but I have to confess, I was just waiting for this day. You’re too smart for this stuff. A lot of these guys, they’re lucky to have this at all. But you could be doing something better. Got any plans?”
“Yeah, I’m going into business with my brother.”
“Oh, an entrepreneur, are we? Well, all the best to you. Good luck with it. Call me if you need any deliveries.”
“Will do. See you later.”
“See you. And hey, George. You were right, my cholesterol count was up. Results from a recent check-up. I’m eating oat bran, now.”
“Stick with it, Chuck.”
“I will.”
He stuck the toe of his shoe into the pedal clip and kicked his leg over the bike as it was already rolling, and then pedaled away down Parliament to King and then over. Now to make it through the last week alive.
YOU ARE READING
Risk
Mystery / ThrillerMartin is a 38-year-old virgin marked for greatness by the insurance gods. In his professional life, he is paid to assess risk, but in his personal life he plays it safe. Experience has shown him that lonely is better than brokenhearted. George is a...
