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Mark reached Halifax without further incident. He'd had some trouble with a road-raging driver behind the wheel of a lowboy along the way, but he'd taken care of that maniac at a weigh scale back in Ontario.
What Mark wouldn't have given to see the lowboy driver's face when the inspectors called him out of his truck and started looking for a gun. That was classic, thought Mark, and probably one of the few times the guys who manned the coops had actually been a help to him. If only all his memories of his trips past the scalehouses had been so happy.
After unloading the plastic pool toys at a warehouse just outside Halifax, Mark had lunch at a Tim Horton's while he read through a copy of The Halifax Chronicle-Herald. After lunch, Mark pulled out his cell phone and called Bud about his next load. He'd actually called the dispatcher the day before, but true to his nature, Bud didn't have anything nailed down for the next day and he'd asked Mark to call back after he'd delivered his load.
"Yeah?" Bud's voice was as gravel-throated as ever.
"It's Mark, Mark Dalton."
"The Mark Dalton?"
"The one and only."
"What can I do for you?"
Mark just shook his head. In all his years driving for Bud, Mark had never called him socially. The only reason Mark ever had for calling was to get his next load, but Bud always treated his calls as if they could be about anything.
"What's the weather like in Toronto?" Mark asked, just to see what sort of response it would garner.
"What do you care, it'll have changed by the time you get here."
"You got a load for me, then?"
"It's what I do, isn't it?"
"Just tell me where it is."
"Well, it's in Montreal."
"But I'm in Halifax right now."
"I know that, but the load is in Montreal, it's being unloaded as we speak."
"From a ship?"
"That's right."
"And it couldn't be unloaded in Halifax?"
"You deliver your loads to the right warehouse, or is any one that's got a loading dock just as good as another?"
Even though Bud couldn't see it, Mark gave the man a strained and...