Driving Trucks

Introduction

Rents and I first met on a miserable London day. It was a Thursday afternoon and I was drinking bad pub draught with the other lowly London bastards. He walked in at around four thirty, donning a large reebok hold-all. I bought him a drink and asked him what was in the bag that made it so heavy. He told me it was metal car parts; I didnt belive him, but I didn't linger. It later came to light that there was £16,000 in hard cash lying at the bottom of it. He opened with the conversation with a small nod and a sallow;
"How you doin'"

It has been exactly seven months since that afternoon, alot of it spent watching crappy daytime TV on the sofa, eating salted crisps and talking about redundant shit with my new room mate.
"Ay Grace?"
The familiar Scottish accent comes from the kitchen, where Rents is reading today's newspaper and chewing on toast 'cooked' in a microwave.
"Yes Rents?"
"What you think about this lorry - driving job?"
I walk into the kitchen and look over his shoulder at the mundane, black and white drab that is the newspaper job section.
"What about it? Ya thinking of applying?"
I pick up a piece of microwave toast from his plate and frown at the pale- yellow object. We really need to get the toaster fixed.
"Yeah, why not? I mean, the money's alright, ain't it? 200 for every weekend run"
"Lemme see that"
I grab the paper from him and scan the info.
"I can't just sit on my arse every day... Shit Grace, you could even come with me"
I picture the two of us sleeping in a van with a cargo full of God knows what and I shudder slightly.
"Hard pass on that one" I exclaim.
Rents takes another bite of the not-quite-toast before standing up and brushing the crumbs off his jeans.
"Well do what you like, rot as a lowly Londoner... but I am going to do something with my time"
"What? Sit on your arse all day but in a moving vehicle?" I laugh to myself. "Do you even have a license?" I ask, suddenly aware that I've never been in a car with Rents.
"A minor complication, my friend"
He leaves the apartment with a smile on his face.

As far as people go, Rents is very laid - back about things. It may be because he has a bag full of cash in his closet, or the fact that he's an occasional scag shooter. He thought his past addiction would scare me away, so it took him a while to tell me about it. Rents doesn't shoot up often; he even swore he wasn't gonna spend a penny of the money from the deal on shite to spike his veins. I don't know much about his life before London, he told me about his friends - which in hindsight didn't seem like his friends at all, but who am I to jugde - and he told me about his addiction and I went with him to rehab twice a week for five months. Neither of us has so much as looked at the money since we rented the apartment. We both agreed it was best to wait for the opertune investment.

The letter box screeches open and closed, before up-chucking a feast of -what was most likely - overdue bills.
I pick them up and toss the fast food advertisements. I open them one by one and calculate the cost for this month. The word OVERDUE looms in violent red letters. Rents and I have been job hunting for a few weeks now. I've had four interviews and have been turned down for all of them. Rents had a part - time working at a corner shop before he was fired for right - hooking a middle - aged tosser that insisted the canned beans were inadequate. If things carry on like they are now, then the toaster will have to wait.

"I got the job"
I look up from my soup as Rents chucks the house keys into the bowl and hops onto the sofa next to me.
"Holy shit really?!"
I sit up and put my soup on the floor beside me.
"First drive in two weeks time" He says with his eyes closed and hands behind his head.
"Renton! Yes!" I yell.
He open one eye and smirks at me.
"And you'll never guess what they said" He continues.
"What?"
"They say I need a driving partner... so I told them that I had a friend who'd be willing to join me on the road?"
Did Rents just get me job? A shitty job... but a job?
"I gotta drive trucks and sleep on a motorway?" I ask.
"No, I'll be doing the driving... but as for the sleeping on the motorway, yes"
I contemplate it for a moment.
"And how much did you say it pays?"
"200 for an eleven hour trip"
"Every weekend?"
"Every weekend." He assures me.
I smile and fling my arms around him.
"Alright... but if anything fucks up, I'm holding you personally responsible"