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They begin a road trip.

"Afternoon, Stan," he muttered as he passed the table. He raised the tip of his hat, although he didn't actually look straight at either Stan or Dwayne, and he didn't slow down his walk. There was no hint he was going to ask if they wanted him to sit at their table.

"Same ta yer, Ralph," Stan answered.

Dwayne started to say something, but Stan shushed him, waiting for the rig driver to get to another table and settle. When he looked up, he was looking at the young men up front-and they were looking at him. Another young man, moving slowly and a little bowlegged, a sloppy grin on his face, entered the caf__, looked around, and moved to the table where the other three young guys were already sitting. They put their heads together and were whispering across their table.

"You know him?" Dwayne asked in a lowered voice. "You called him Ralph."

"Yep, we've met in passin'," Stan said. "I'd heard some other truckers snigger and refer to him as the Road Romeo once, and I didn't know what that meant. So I asked him. He said they must have been makin' a joke about his love for truckin', but then he told me his name was Ralph."

"Anything else? Did you find out anything else about him?"

"Not much. Just that he does the Cheyenne to Billings to Rapid City route, but only now and again, when he gets the hankering. He didn't say-others have-but he didn't say either way that it's more of a hobby with him. That he's got a spread of his own down near Denver and does right well out of it. I did ask him why he trucks, and he just said there were some nice perks involved. I don't know what to think."

"The Cheyenne to Billings to Rapid City route?" Dwayne asked. And then he snorted. "That's got to be the most monotonous route on God's brown earth."

"Yeah, but someone's gotta do it," Stan said. "Them folks need things trucked in too. God knows they don't have much of anything worthwhile just lying around to pick off a tree."

"Yeah, but look at the rig out there," Dwayne said. "That's the goddamnest nicest rig I've ever seen. What do you suppose that set him back?"

"More than a dozen roundtrips from Cheyenne to Billings and Rapid City a year, that's for sure," Stan said. "A man could drive that route for a lifetime and not pay for a nice rig like that. Look at the sleeper cab. You ever seen one that big?"

"Nope, I haven't."

Their discussion at that point was arrested by noticing not only that the last young guy to enter the caf__ was now gone, but also that one of the other guys got up and left right after he did. And then one of the two guys who were left was moving toward the back of the caf__, like he was going to the men's room or something. But when he got to Ralph the trucker's table, he abruptly sat down and started whispering to the trucker. The trucker was smiling and nodding his head from time to time and answering in monosyllables.

"Drugs. Gotta be drugs," Dwayne turned to Stan and whispered.

"That's how I got it pegged," Stan whispered back.

The young man was standing up from Ralph the trucker's table now and as he moved back toward the front, the other young guy, smaller than the first, with sandy-blond hair, was walking to the trucker's table and sat down and started whispering, just like the first one had.

"But you say he maybe has a big spread down near Denver of his own? Like maybe he's rollin' in money and just does this as a hobby?" Dwayne sounded more than a little dubious when he was saying this. They both sat there, finishing up their coffee, each already projecting out to where they were going next-Stan to deliver a washer over on Elm and Dwayne to haul ass down to Denver with a load of hogs.

There was movement at Ralph's table again, and Dwayne and Stan looked up.

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