Blackstone Code

"Cook!"

Upon hearing the call, a burly man lying on the musty bed cursed in disgruntlement, pausing momentarily before tossing the lowbrow magazine onto the table beside him.

He roughly tidied up a bit and then stepped out of the musty room, grumbling, "What do you want?"

Everyone would be annoyed when they were interrupted at such a moment. So Cook's disgruntlement was understandable.

Cook was thirty-one years old, unmarried. In Baylor Federation, staying with parents after twenty was considered a kind of "disability". Normal people would typically move out and start to build their own families after becoming independent adults with their first jobs.

But not Cook. At thirty-one, he hadn't left this comfort zone. Maybe that was why he hadn't gotten married yet; nobody would like his current situation.

Watching her robust son complain loudly, the old woman, instead of being afraid, pointed impatiently at the phone in the corner, "someone's calling you, you useless piece of shit. I can't imagine why anyone would call you. Is it because you don't bathe, or because you stink?"

Cook grumbled as he walked towards the corner. This wasn't an affluent family; at least, affluent families wouldn't have a musty bedroom like this.

But before Cook lost his job, the family situation wasn't too bad because he was able to bring home a decent paycheck every month.

Perhaps it was due to his previous occupation as a long-haul truck driver, leaving him with little time for romance, that his relationships with girls always ended in failure.

However, when he finally had the time, girls would once again criticize him for being an unemployed man who hadn't ventured beyond his comfort zone.

In a few more years, his marriage might come. At that time, there might be a girl kicked out of her home by her parents, with nowhere to go, no future. In order to secure a stable life, that girl might become Cook's wife.

This situation was common in the federation. Women often portrayed themselves as vulnerable individuals in front of others, and then they would demand a man who could financially support them to take them away. As for working hard themselves, that was only the mindset of a minority of women.

Most women were like Cook at this moment. If they could stay in their comfort zones, why bother adapting to the outside world?

As he scratched his belly, which protruded from beneath his old shirt and was covered in body hair, Cook answered the phone. He had a typical loud voice of a truck driver; after all, truck drivers weren't known for having soft voices.

The noise in the cab often made them resort to raising their voices if they wanted to chat with others in the convoy. Sometimes, having a loud voice was also a way to avoid trouble. Additionally, at certain motels along the highway, having a booming voice gave them a natural advantage.

But soon, his voice lowered. It became as meek as a lamb. He even awkwardly bent over, with an excited and pleasing look on his face, repeating a few simple phrases.

"Okay, got it..."

In the kitchen, the old woman preparing lunch for Cook now wore a smile on her face. She had figured out who was calling. Six months after Cook lost his job, a new opportunity had finally arrived.

This also relieved the old woman. At least this damned big guy wouldn't be leeching off them anymore. That was good news.

Cook quickly made some phone calls. First, he called his good friend, James.

James was also a truck driver. Before the company went bankrupt, they were part of the same convoy. James was an interesting guy who liked to fantasize. He always enjoyed sharing his bizarre fantasies with others.

Cook was often taken aback by James's imaginative whimsy, leading to a strong bond between the two as great friends.

James immediately agreed when he heard about the job opportunity. Times had been tough for everyone lately. Companies in Sabin City were collapsing one after another, and it was similar elsewhere.

The decline in the development of the real economy resulted in a reduced demand for logistics by businesses. In fact, even in some more remote small cities, it had been a long time since large trucks had left the city.

After making a series of phone calls, Cook took a shower, an uncommon act for him. To save time, he resorted to using a wild boar hairbrush, each stroke causing him to wince.

At two in the afternoon, Cook, James, and some other former colleagues appeared outside Sabin City's largest used car dealership. This time, they weren't just here to look at cars; they were here to meet the boss who had called them.

If everything went well, they would have a new job.

Arriving early at the used car dealership, the group felt anxious, their emotions swirling within them. Six months of unemployment had nearly depleted their already meager savings. Though Cook had called even more people, only around seven or eight could make it; the rest had secured jobs to barely make ends meet.

With their sheer size and strength, truck drivers had an advantage in specific roles, but the group doubted any company would hire an excessive number of them simultaneously. If they didn't get hired here and lost their previous security job, it would be a terrible blow to their lives and families.

While waiting, everyone involuntarily talked about their recent lives. To be honest, there wasn't much to be happy about. Everyone's life was a mess, especially James. He mentioned that if Cook hadn't made that phone call, he was planning to go elsewhere.

He said he had written some short stories and scripts during this time, which unexpectedly were all bought by magazines and the Screenwriters' Union, relieving some of his financial pressure.

He had been prepared to leave, but Cook's call stopped him in time.

Everyone sighed with a hint of lament, and it was at this moment that Cook's gaze was suddenly drawn to a gleaming silver luxury car outside the showroom. He couldn't help but let out a whistle.

Perhaps truck drivers liked big trucks, but they also liked flashy cars that showed off their status. They recognized it immediately as the latest luxury sedan from House Industrial, priced at around a hundred thousand.

Then amidst the envious glances of the truck drivers, a young man stepped out of the car, his face adorned with a radiant smile akin to the sun hanging in the sky. He walked into the showroom and approached them.

Honestly, the young man was handsome, but in front of these middle-aged truck drivers, being handsome didn't matter much.

The showroom staff silently watched the scene unfolding not far away. There was no sound—whether sitting or standing, they resembled wild beasts wearing the garments of civilization facing a young man who was handsome but seemed powerless, like a small sapling against raging waves, seemingly about to be torn apart!

The stark conflict and disparity held everyone's breath. Some even entertained the idea of calling the police.

Truck drivers always had the worst temper among all drivers. They feared this likable young man would be torn to shreds by these rough beasts.

Unexpectedly, these beasts seemed tamed at this moment, their demeanor so docile that it was hard to associate them with the truck drivers and their current appearance.

Lin Qi stood about seven or eight steps away from them, with a smile on his face, looking at these truck drivers whose muscles or fat were bulging out of their clothes, then reached out his hand, "Who's Cook?"

After a brief moment of silence lasting two or three seconds, Cook returned to his senses. He hurriedly took the initiative and approached Lin Qi, even bending over slightly to avoid appearing too imposing, and to leave a good impression on the new boss.

His rough hands tightly shook Lin Qi's hand, with a slightly flattering look on his face, "I'm, I'm Cook. Are you Mr. Lin Qi?"

Lin Qi nodded, and his pinky finger moved slightly, tapping the bottom of Cook's palm—a very subtle hint, indicating that the other person could let go of his hands now.

In many formal and upscale social settings, some people would sometimes overlook the need for restraint and proper etiquette like Cook. In such situations, when someone wanted to gracefully end an overly intimate handshake, they might subtly flick their pinky as a discreet signal. The other person would quickly catch on, apologize, and release the handshake, ensuring that everyone maintains their dignity.

However, Lin Qi misjudged Cook's understanding. He showed no intention of letting go of his hand, still saying some embarrassing flattery.

In fact, all of this was forced, forced by life, forced by impoverished embarrassment, forced by cruel reality.

No one wanted to appear inferior. If they could avoid it, they wouldn't even bow to the president. But life didn't allow them to have their own dignity and pride, because they still had to live.

"You can let go now..." Lin Qi reminded, and Cook finally released his hand, leaving Lin Qi feeling his palm was a little damp.

He smiled and shook his head, not pursuing Cook's actions. After glancing around at the truck drivers present, he asked, "Is this all the drivers you know?"

There was a look of pleasant surprise on Cook's face. This sentence meant that Mr. Lin Qi needed more truck drivers, which also meant that he and his good friends could continue happily traversing the vast, deserted highways.

"How many do you need, I can find them all for you, sir!" Excitement overwhelmed Cook, and he used an even more respectful tone.

Lin Qi nodded, changing the subject, "Let's go see the trucks first."

This was the reason he had called these people to the dealership. Most of these truck drivers were also excellent truck mechanics. If a truck broke down on the interstate or intercity highway, and they couldn't fix it themselves, it would be a disaster.Please vote for this novel at https://www.novelupdates.com/series/blackstone-code/There are advance chapters available nowAccess will be granted 24 hours after the donationTier 1: 7 Advance chapters Link

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