"How often does that happen?"
"Not as often as you'd expect," Castellanos said. "The Army might overpay for this stuff, but it's usually tough as hell."
They got started, going slowly as Castellanos showed him how to go through the military's PMCS system.
"So what's this truck for, anyway? It looks too lightweight for anything, you know, pew pew."
"It's meant to get us close to the action," Castellanos explained, "but it's not exactly armored. First sign of trouble, we bail."
She gave a grim smile.
"It looks like a mega dune buggy." Brutus looked at the clipboard, seeing what was next on the list. "Shit. Tire gauge?"
Castellanos pulled one out and handed it to him. "Orkin put you on the ISV because it is our newest vehicle. If you miss something, it won't be as big a problem as if you were on some of the older, more beat up equipment."
"That makes sense," Brutus admitted. "I don't exactly take care of my truck. I have a house manager who handles all that for me... and cleans the place."
Brutus waited for Castellanos to criticize him, but she didn't. Instead she just checked the box on the tire pressure. "Okay, now we do the same for the other three tires," she said, and he tilted his head. "What?"
"You're not going to talk down on me for having a housekeeper who goes to get my oil changed?" Brutus asked.
Castellanos chuckled.
"What?"
"You're making assumptions, Brutus," Castellanos said, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Not everyone's out to get you here."
After a pause, she continued.
“So what if you have someone help you out? Football's practically a full-time job. If you can afford it, why not?"
"Huh... pretty much how I think about it," Brutus admitted. "So... okay. Reset. I came into this with a lot of assumptions. My therapist keeps telling me that I need to let go of those and take the world for what it is. You're obviously not matching up to those assumptions anyway. So how about I audible this thing and figure some shit out."
"Now you're with the program there, Brutus. Therapist?"
"Part of my deal with the league, but I've found it helpful anyway." He didn't want to say more about it, but Castellanos just nodded, accepting the fact.
"How's that tire?"
Brutus put a finger in the tire treads, measuring the depth and said, "Three quarters of an inch."
"Good enough."
Looking for something else to discuss, Brutus focused on Castellanos. "So what's your story?" he asked as he checked the tire pressure. "How'd you end up in the Army anyhow?"
"Wanted to get off the island," Castellanos said, causing Brutus to look at her questioningly. "Guayama, Puerto Rico."
"Really?" Brutus asked, and Castellanos nodded. "So you traded in a life on a tropical island in the Caribbean for the Army? No offense, but why?"
"Because all that tropical island stuff? There's about as much bullshit as there is truth to it," Castellanos said. "We were poor. My father washed cars and my mom worked in retail."
"That's not the stereotype for sure."
"It isn't. And despite what the singers and writers say, there's not a goddamn thing romantic about growing up poor in the tropics," Castellanos added. "My older sister thought she could make a better life by going to San Juan. What happened when I visited her... I got off lucky."
"Got off lucky?" Brutus asked.
Castellanos nodded, her eyes haunted as she thought about her past.
