A part of me wanted to converse with Coil’s men and get to know them. Another part of me, a larger part, told me that I shouldn’t. I had to convey power and confidence.
I suppose so, yeah. Though a friendly boss can be quite effective too, being respected is important either way.
I wasn’t sure I could do that while making small talk. With much the same reasoning, I’d chosen not to help with the loading of the truck.
That’s fair. I don’t think Taylor is all that great at small talk anyway, so doing so confidently could be difficult.
The men Coil had sent me were dressed up in the same outfits worn by the cleanup crews I’d seen around the city, picking up debris, trash and dead things.
Neat. Seems like a fairly solid cover if needed.
They wore heavy plastic one-piece bodysuits, made of a material I compared to those heavy-duty industrial rubber gloves that my dad kept under the sink, each in blue and yellow.
Swedish bees!
The suits were loose-fitting, and only the upper halves of their faces were visible behind the clear plastic goggles they wore.
The goggles do nothing to dissuade me from thinking about bees.
Their mouths were hidden by the filters intended to prevent mold, dust and airborne pathogens from getting into the worker’s lungs.
Seems like a pretty decent getup for the workers.
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