Order 42!”

I lay the paper tray down on the window and a man quickly reaches up to grab it. As he walks off, I take a second to breathe as the last of the evening rush wander off. Finally. Daniel will be expecting his payout soon but it’s just after six and I haven’t received a delivery yet.

A woman rushes up to the truck and stops just short of the window. The awning above her head blocks the rain but she’s already soaking with it from head to toe. She drops the hood on her jacket and shakes the water off before she realizes she’s being watched.

I lock eyes with her and nod. I’ve seen her around the park before. And she’s definitely seen me.

“Sorry,” she says. “Do you mind if I chill here for a minute?”

I shrug. “Nope.”

She’s young and petite. Fresh meat on campus if she even bothered to go at all. Her tank top is just a bit too small for her chest size but something about her tells me that was intentional. She wipes the moisture off her cheeks and pushes her blonde hair to the side before glancing up at me again.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask.

“Oh, no thanks,” she says. “I already ate but I do love this place. Best food truck in the park.”

“Thank you.”

She bites her lip and nudges closer. “Can I ask you something weird?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Why are your eyes different colors like that?”

I smirk. “Oh, you noticed that, huh?”

“Hard not to.”

She gives me that look, the one that tells me I might not spend the rest of my night alone if I play my cards right.

“Well...” I wipe my hands on a towel and toss it over my shoulder as I lean out the window of my truck. “I’m not supposed to say.”

Her brow furrows. “Why not?”

“They’re cursed,” I whisper.

“Cursed?” She chuckles.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

She bites her lip. “Cursed how?”

I scan the park behind her to check for incoming customers, but also to show off the eyes from different angles. What can I say? They’re my secret weapons.

“I guess I can tell you, but—” I point a finger at her, “you have to promise to never breathe a word of this to anyone.”

She raises an intrigued brow. “Okay, I promise.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

“Okay.” I clear my throat. “A few years ago, I was walking home from a bar late at night when I came across an old woman on the street. She said, ‘hello, young man,’ but I, being drunk and stupid, just stumbled on past without saying a word. The next morning, I woke up with these but it wasn’t the next morning. Two weeks had gone by.” I pause for effect as her mouth sags open a little. “And I knew the old woman laid a curse upon me. Now, I always... always...” I reach down and push a strand of wet hair off her forehead, “have to stop and talk to every beautiful woman I pass by or else she might come back for the rest of me.”

Her lip curls, sensing bullshit. “Is that true?”

“Of course.” I stand up. “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

She laughs, never looking away.

Someone bangs on the back door. “Delivery!” I hear.

I ignore it. “So, what are you—”

“Delivery!”

I flex my jaw. The girl looks behind me and I sway back into her eye-line.

“How about we—”

The slamming continues and I sigh.

“Hold that thought,” I tell her as I spin away and walk to the back exit of the truck.

I throw open the door to find two men standing there in dark blue jumpsuits with two square boxes under each arm. They’re nameless and faceless, for the most part. Every day is a different pair of them. They come back but never in the same week and rarely the same pair twice.

Paranoid much?

“Delivery,” he spits at me around the tip of his half-smoked cigarette.

I take a step back, begrudgingly welcoming them inside.

They barge in, shoving me to the side as they head for the freezer.

I glance at the girl and she squints at me. I flash an awkward grin. “Meat dealers,” I say. “They, uh... they take it real serious.”

She barely smiles.

“Just give me a minute...”

They toss open my freezer and lay the boxes inside. One casts discreet glances over his shoulder while the other grabs the stacks of cash I had hidden within. He fans them out casually and shoves them in a rubber zip-lock bag from inside his jumpsuit.

As they finish, one of them slaps a white envelope in my hand.

I pocket it. “Pleasure doing business, gentlemen,” I say. “The people really enjoy your meat...”

I look for the girl again but she’s gone. I crane my neck out the window and find she’s wandered away from the truck... and onto the lap of some other guy across the street outside The Smoothie Zone.

I sigh at the two bastards stomping toward the back door. “Hey, buddy, what’s the Irish word for cockblock?” I ask.

He stops and takes a long drag of his cigarette before blowing it out in my face. “Cockblock,” he answers.

I wave to clear the air. “Figures…” I cough.

I flip the open sign over and slam the window closed.

* * *

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I roll into the South End Truck Lot. I don’t bother answering it. I already know who it is and I’ll be face-to-face with him in about thirty seconds anyway.

I pass by the long line of food trucks. Coffee. Sandwiches. Churros. You name it, they house their precious trucks here at night. Most of them are legit and honestly have no idea that their rent money is going into the pockets of the Irish mob family who owns the lot, The Quinns. The rest of us know all about it.

It’s a simple system. The drug kingpins have their product. The mob buys it and distributes it. Tale as old as time, but that’s where things get tricky.

The Boston cops have gotten a little too savvy to the tricks of the trade. The family had to get clever. They needed to move around the city undetected and make deals in plain sight. Dirty backrooms in laundromats and Italian food joints are a thing of the past.

Food trucks are the future.

I park my truck in their lot. The mob fills it with cash overnight. I drive out to a specified location and wait for the pick-up, all the while running my totally legitimate taco truck business. The dealers come in, trade out the money for completely discrete boxes full of whatever is hot in the streets nowadays, and hand me an envelope with tomorrow’s pick-up location written inside. I take home a slice of drug sale profit pie for being such a cool dude about it.

Easy money.

I’m not saying I condone it. But I ain’t snitchin’ either.

I pull into my spot and park the truck. My phone vibrates again and I take the chance to look at it. As expected, it’s just a few simple texts from an unknown number.

Dinner’s getting cold. I miss you.

Translation: Get your ass over here or I’ll kill you.

I hop out and walk across the lot to the main office hub.

A few other drivers hang out inside on the couch in the corner with coffee, enjoying a little evening quiet before heading home. Some I recognize as being “in” on the whole deal, the others are just honest folk making a decent living. It’s hard to tell sometimes. Generally, I keep to myself in here.

I head down the hall to the office in the back, hearing Daniel Quinn’s voice shouting louder and louder with each step I take.

“You tell that punk son-of-a-bitch I said no tattoos!”

I stall in the doorway to listen in, settling in next to Doogan in the frame beside me. I nudge him on the arm and fire a questionable glance at Daniel. He gives me a nod. You’ve seen it all before, it says. No worries.

“I don’t care what he said his mother said, he’s only thirteen!” Daniel shouts into his phone. “Don’t scream at me like that, you little bitch, I’m just trying to be a decent fucking father figure.”

I stifle a chuckle as Doogan’s lips twitch.

Daniel looks up at us and waves me in. “Look, Ma, I gotta run. I’ll see you at church on Sunday.” He drops the phone onto its cradle and leans back to stare at me. “And just where the fuck have you been?”

I step inside with my hands raised. “I came as soon as the pick-up happened. They were late today, not me.”

He holds out his hand. “Gimme it.”

I reach into my pocket for the envelope. “So, I can’t help but notice you’re a little tense today...”

Daniel snatches the envelope from me. “You haven’t heard?” he asks.

“Heard what?”

He gestures at Doogan to step out. Doogan nods and leaves, closing the door behind him.

Daniel rips open the envelope and reads the slip inside. “Aw, shit,” he mutters.

“What is it?” I ask, though I don’t really care.

He holds up the paper with two fingers and I take it back.

“TBD?” I read.

“Canon McGregor was killed last night,” he says. “Six shots to the back. Found face down in an alleyway — on one of my streets.”

I drop the paper onto his desk. I honestly couldn’t give two shits about any of this. It’s got nothing to do with me. “You guys kill him?”

“Fuck, no! Of course not!”

I raise my hands. “Sorry.”

He yanks at his already loose tie. “Everyone thinks we did,” he says. “The dealers have put our business on hiatus. Nine out of fifteen trucks so far tonight. All to be determined for tomorrow’s pick-up.”

I feign concern. “Well, that... sucks.”

“They don’t want to deal with me if I’m starting a mob war — but I didn’t have Canon killed. I can’t believe this day I’m having. First, there’s—”

I tune out for a moment. Mob bullshit. Mob bullshit. Blah blah blah. I have one of those trusting faces. It makes it infinitely easier for me to pick up women but, at the same time, it makes everyone want to just spill all their beans on my shoes.

“Sounds awful,” I say as soon as his voice drops.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He spins around and pops open his safe. “Anyway, here’s your cut from last month.”

I perk up and take the envelope from him. A quick peek inside shows a thick stack of old money. I don’t bother counting it. I stuff it in my jacket. “Thanks, Daniel,” I say.

“See you tomorrow, kid.”

He waves me out and I exit into the hallway.

“Hey, Milo,” Doogan greets.

I close the door behind me. “How’s it going, Doog?”

He sighs. “Busy.”

I nod but I still don’t care. “Yeah, I don’t envy the big guy tonight. Anyway, take care.”

“You, too, Milo.”

I head back to the main lobby where the same drivers are still working on their coffees. I give them a noncommittal wave and continue on through the front doors. It’s not that I hate them or this place.

It just makes it a hell of a lot easier to leave when you don’t give a shit.