It was silent then, silent once again, Nat looking from Milt to the posters on the wall, to the calendar, and back to Milt. All right then, his boss said at last. What’d you want to talk to me about?
Oh, I wondered if I could maybe get a small advance on my paycheck, he said, his voice faltering, the syllables coming in pieces.
The expression on Milt’s face was immediately one of concern. Jeez, he said, we don’t usually do that. You all right?
Yeah, he said. Yeah, I’m all right. He looked at the bend of his own leg, his knee. There was an oil stain on the fabric there and a smudge of grease on the cuff of his pants. He had been surprised that Milt knew his name, but now he realized that it was emblazoned on the front of his pale blue work shirt: a white oval patch containing dark blue script. It’s my mom, he said. She’s pretty sick.
I’m sorry to hear that, Milt said. He leaned forward and took his glasses off. How much are we talking here?
I don’t know, Nat said. A hundred, maybe. Just to get by.
A hundred? Milt said. I don’t think we can do that. Maybe fifty.
I could use fifty, Nat said.
You sending her money?
Every month, he said.
Shoot, Milt said, that’s gotta be hard.
Usually it’s all right but, I don’t know, I just ended up short this month.
How long you been working here now?
Almost two years.
That right?
Two years next month.
Well, that kind of makes you family. We take care of our family here, Nat. Milt sat watching him as if Nat might, at any moment, get up and sing or dance or do somersaults. Then he said, I’ll call Joanne and you can swing by and pick it up.
Oh man, Nat said, relief flooding through him. I really appreciate it.
Don’t make it a habit, Nat.
I won’t.
Your mom here in town?
She’s back home.
Where’s that?
Battle Mountain, Nat said.
Battle Mountain, Milt repeated. He smiled faintly. I went out there for a rodeo when I was younger. Bull roping.
Rodeo’s big around there.
Yeah, I had a good show there, if I remember correctly. In the fairgrounds.
Nat nodded.
Anything else? Milt said.
No, just that, Nat said, rising now to his feet. Thanks a lot. It really helps.
It’s your money, Milt said. I’m just giving you a little of it early. I’ll call Joanne right now.
He nodded, stepping backward through the door and thanking him once again before turning into the hall. When he reached Joanne in payroll, she was already on the phone and he stood before her, hands in his pockets, until she was done. Then she produced a huge bound book out of which she wrote him a check for fifty dollars. He returned to the shop, the final door opening into a long gray room lined with tires and toolboxes and chattering air wrenches, the air suffused with the smell of deep and penetrating grease and oil and gasoline.
There you are, the shop manager called. That red Fiesta’s in for an oil change. Customer’s waiting.
He looked up at the clock high up on the wall: 4:45. Almost done. He stepped out through the open bay and into the low slanting light. The owner of the Fiesta stood with his arms crossed next to the tiny car, scowling. Behind him, the highway, and yet farther away, an airplane lifted off the runway and rose slowly into the pale blue sky.
HE TOLD himself that he would sit in the car and would wait for Rick there but by the time he actually arrived at the Peppermill parking lot he had convinced himself that he should immediately cash the check from the dealership and that the casino cashier would be the easiest way to do so, even though he also knew that he really should not enter the casino at all, that finding himself within might drain him of all the money he had, a thought that remained with him even as he pushed through the glass doors and stepped inside. The entrance to the café lay ahead of him, the long line of poker slots stretching off to his left, their sounds bursting all at once into clarity and flooding out behind him into the scattered rows of dark cars.