The Cranial Tyro Chronicles

The scenery along US Highway 27 flowed past the truck window in a swirl of bright autumn colors. Cranial stared out the window, passing the minutes as Rico Suave drove them past the southern outskirts of Nicholasville. The drive through town had been occupied with the typical getting-to-know-you banter, the most notable moments surrounding the events of Rico’s romantic life. True to the Afro-Rican template, it ended with an angry girlfriend, a jilted wife, and a sledgehammer pounding into his car while he watched from inside the store.

“Fucking psycho-drama,” Rico had said, as though he weren’t continuing to see both women.

Both women, and another three. Cranial shook his head, attempting to dispell the thoughts about Rico’s several houses. He’d set them up throughout Nicholasville like a spy sets up a network of safe-houses, then moved a different woman into every one like a moron. “At least keep onefor yourself and nobody else,” Cranial had suggested. It just seemed like common sense, given the circumstances; but common sense seems as prevalent in Afro-Rican love geometry as the colors of bright autumn leaves in Florida.

And so the Cranial Tyro’s thoughts returned to the view passing by outside the truck’s window, his attention jumping from one fiery tree to the next.

“So you’re all done with training?” Rico asked.

Cranial shrugged at a blood-red tree. He’d spent his first few days as a new Customer Account Representative holed up in a computer room going through hours and hours of training videos and tests. On the fourth day, when he was finally qualified to leave the hole, he’d leapt at the opportunity to jump on the truck and repossess an old freezer. “All but the module on bloodborne pathogens,” he finally answered.

“You want to get on that,” Rico  said, nodding like a man who’d been to the clinic more than once about the issue. “Last thing you need is to die for this job. Know what I’m sayin’?”

Cranial shrugged again. It all seemed like common sense again. “I’ll make sure not to step on any needles or anything.”

“It’s cool,” Rico assured him. “It’s not like we’re picking up a bed or mattress.”

Cranial turned from the window finally, avoiding the new image that had merged with the reds among the trees. “Yeah,” he said. He turned the radio up a few notches and began to stare at the road ahead of them, wondering what he’d gotten himself into with this job.