The men were alert, fresh — waiting, obviously, for trucks to be loaded and their runs to begin. By morning they wouldn’t be so tidy, so cleanly shaven, and they’d look tired.
“Miami-Dade a good company to work for?”
They looked at Duff closely. “Why?” one asked.
“Going to apply for a job.”
The men shrugged. “Good as any.”
“Where do they truck to, mainly?”
“All over,” one man said, “this side of the Mississippi River.”
“Some guy,” Duff said, “that I ran across in an eating joint told me Miami-Dade was a place where a guy could settle down to a life job. Good management.”
“It’s all right,” one of the drivers answered. “This guy,” Duff went on, “didn’t give me his name, but you might know him.” He looked at them and they waited. “Because he was the biggest guy I ever saw. Maybe near seven feet tall, and broad. A powerhouse.”
Heads shook. “Never saw no giants around the joint… You, Bizzmo?”