Forged in Honor (1995) (13 page)

The chairman of the Waterfront Restaurant Association glanced at his watch and anxiously looked down the sidewalk. He broke into a nervous sweat and mumbled to himself, "Damn Hawkins, damn him, damn him. Why is he always late?" The chairman hurried back up the steps to the covered patio where a young woman was just wrapping up her presentation to new employees on the Waterfront's courtesy policy. The chairman signaled the woman to keep talking and kill time. She understood, having had to do it before.

"Now I think it would be helpful to know more about where you are working. The famous Waterfront of Washington is where tourists and locals come to enjoy the scenic Potomac River, take a pleasure cruise, see a play, eat in a fine restaurant, buy fish at the Maine Avenue fish market, or just sit back and watch the boats glide by in the Washington Channel. Only blocks away from the bureaucratic bastions of Washington, the Waterfront is a place for locals to get away for a while and for tourists to come and be guaranteed a good meal and friendly service. The Waterfront, bordered by the scenic Washington Channel, offers a relaxing atmosphere without the noise and normal city distractions. Once turning off Maine Avenue onto Water Street, the customer is on what we affectionately call the Front. We have the open fish market, the Channel Inn motel, river cruise, small office complex and the wonderful restaurants where all of you are now employed. Where else can customers come and have a panoramic view of the harbor, the Washington Monument, and the beautiful Jefferson Memorial? Yes, you new employees are indeed fortunate we ..."

The chairman had returned to the sidewalk, and he sighed in relief when he saw his tardy next briefer step out of the marina's security gate. "About damn time," he muttered and hurried back up the steps. He gave a sign to the woman to wrap it up before taking his place in front of the small audience.

"Thank you, Miss Evans, for that illuminating presentation. Folks, your next and last orientation speaker is the president and founder of Hawk Security Services, Joshua Hawkins. Mr. Hawkins's company has been employed by the Waterfront Restaurant Association for four years and has been so successful his company has become the model of other associations throughout the United States. Mr. Hawkins, like his company, is unique. He formed his company after retiring from the army as a Special Forces colonel. He served our country for over twenty years. Here, he has eliminated the problems we had with criminal elements and has made our area one of the safest in Washington, D. C. Mr. Hawkins will brief you on his company's responsibilities and what part you play in helping him protect our customers. It is an honor to present Joshua Hawkins, president of Hawk Security Services."

The young men in the audience were disappointed at the man who walked up the steps and came onto the patio. They had envisioned a tough-looking ex--Green Beret type. The short, blond man didn't fit their image at all. Needing a haircut and dressed in faded khaki work pants and shirt, he looked more like a down-on-his-luck construction foreman.

The women employees were not disappointed at all. The broad-shouldered, short but good-looking man who appeared to be in his early forties was a stockier and younger version of Paul Newman. His tanned face, grayish-blond windblown hair, flat stomach, and intriguing light blue eyes made him look like a model for an outdoor-clothing catalogue.

Josh was met by polite applause and leaned over to whisper in the chairman's ear. "What the hell did ya tell 'em, Charlie?"

Charlie whispered back, "I lied. I said you were hot shit.

Go get 'em."

Josh mumbled a sarcastic "thanks a lot," then smiled at his audience of thirty or forty people. As always, they were of all races, colors, and ages, typical summer hires, dressed in the different uniforms of the restaurants. The classy tuxes from the Channel Inn's Pier 7 restaurant and bar, Mexican garb and peasant dresses from the El Torito, sailor-suited Hogate's employees ... Just looking at them made him feel hungry.

He ignored the podium and stepped closer before casually sitting on the edge of a table.

"Congratulations for landing jobs on the Front. You're gonna enjoy it and make good money. Don't worry, I'm not gonna take long. I know you warm get to work and start making the big tips you've all heard about."

He got smiles from the comment and motioned to himself.

"I'm Josh; that's what everybody calls me and what I prefer.

`Mr. Hawkins' makes me feel old, and at my age I don't need the reminder. I run a security service for your employers. Since you now work for them, my service extends to you as well. My service is responsible for keeping the Front free of working girls, scam artists, car thieves, derelicts, drunks, drugs, and gang problems. In short, I ensure that your customers have a safe, enjoyable meal without threat of their cars being broken into or stolen and that they can walk the strip without fear of mugging or being offered a snort of coke. I achieve this by employing off-duty, experienced MPD, Metropolitan Police Department officers to patrol the Front in civilian clothes. My crew is made up of men and women who can be recognized by a small gold hawk lapel pin on their sport jacket or blouse. Posted on the walls in your work areas is the company telephone number. If you ever have problems when you're working, you call that number. All of my staff carry handheld Motorola radios, and we can have someone there within minutes."

Josh scanned the faces of the workers and lowered his voice an octave. "I said I work for you as well. What that means is you could be victims just like our customers. You can be victimized by your fellow employees. The restaurants you work in are successful and profitable because they have a good rep. A few slick employees can ruin that. We've had a few employees who decided to keep the dropped wallet, the forgotten credit card, or the expensive coat in the cloakroom.

Not smart. Some have provided a rear take-out service of food and equipment to waiting buddies, or they've hidden stuff in their cars. That kind of activity hurts business and hurts you. My people have seen it all and know all the tricks.

There is no discussion of a second chance when we catch a slicky. It's jail. I'm saying this because we need your help. If you see this kind of activity or know it's happening, call us.

Those kinds of people are not 'cool.' They are stealing money and business from you as well as your employers.

Okay, that's it. I said I'd keep it short. You'll be seeing me and the officers making the rounds every night, so we'll see each other again. Enjoy your job and help us make the Front a nice, safe place. Good luck."

Minutes later Josh was walking back to his boat to change into his work uniform. Ahead of him he saw a cluster of pigeons and timid sparrows gathered around a seated woman on a park bench. He couldn't help but smile. Megan was at it again. She was in her late fifties but age had been kind to her. She'd been a dancer on Broadway and made the big time for a while, but a bad divorce and a bad knee ended her career. She now ran an uptown dance studio off New Hampshire that kept her bills paid. Her hair, dyed flaming red, was tied back with a blue bandanna that matched her sleeveless denim shirt and shorts. She could have passed for normal if it hadn't been for the black leotard she wore beneath the shorts. Meg always looked as if she had just left a long Broadway rehearsal. She never wore makeup, or normal clothes. She was considered weird by many on the Front, but to Josh she was a gem. Meg had come to the Front three years before and within a few months had adopted him and Stefne as family. She was like a mother hen and had become one of his closest friends. Josh could hear her as he closed the distance.

"Not you, fatty! Let the little one have some. Damn you!

Stop it! Here, cutie, here's some for you. Get back, leave the sparrow alone. You want some? Forget it. Here, you get some instead, sweetie."

"Hiya, Meg."

The woman glanced up. "Hey, I've been lookin' for you, neighbor." She stood, tossed her huge Indian-blanket bag over her shoulder, and kicked at the pigeons, scattering them in a flurry of beating wings. "They're nothing but flying rats--filthy." She took his arm, changing expression. "We gotta talk. First thing I gotta know is, has the marina board already been complaining to you about me?"

Josh sighed. "Don't worry about it. A couple temps mentioned a few things, but it's nothing serious."

Meg snickered as she walked alongside him. "The uppity bastards haven't seen nothin' yet. I'm gonna sunbathe naked soon as it gets a little warmer. That'll make the temps squirm."

Josh tossed his arm over her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Look, you gotta quit declaring war on the temps. We live-ins are outnumbered and can't win. Just accept it. They're only around four months out of the year."

Meg threw her hand in the direction of the moored yachts and cruisers nestled in the Capital Yacht Club's marina. "It's criminal, Josh. The temps write the damn things off on their taxes as second homes. They come prancing down here all dressed in their Land's End yachting clothes once a month just to show off and throw parties to impress their rich, snobby friends. Dammit, we live here! They've got no right complaining that I city my clothes on the boom and shrouds.

And what's it to them that Wind song needs paint? I like her rustic! I don't want to paint her. I love it that she's flaking.

She's like me!"

Josh walked up to the marina's security gate and punched in his code. "Meg, their complaints don't mean anything.

We'll do what we did last year. Every time they have a party or watch television on deck we'll make written complaints about the noise. Tit for tat, remember? They'll back off just like they always do-but hey, if you do decide to get naked, call me, huh? I wanna see ya without those leotards."

Her lips slowly turned up into a smile. "Thanks, Josh. I needed a boost. Come on, I have to talk to you about Stef."

She hurried down the steps to the pier, leaving him two steps behind. He saw why she had dashed ahead, for her lingerie was drying on the boom. He slowed his pace to give her more time to clean up and looked down two slips to Lil'

Darlin'. He knew the temps would soon be complaining about his boat too. She needed paint and a good cleaning.

Both Wind song and Lil' Darlin' were older sailers modified for full-time living. Mostly wood, they were classics-but no modern yachtsman would touch them. They were outdated antiques compared to the slick fiberglass sailers that were made for speed and show. Josh didn't care about speed or show-his forty-two-foot "antique" was bigger and roomier inside than the modern boats. Lil' Darlin' was home.

"Hey, Josh, come on board," Meg called.

Josh stepped down to the aft deck into the cockpit, where Meg motioned to the pilot's seat. She handed him a nonalcoholic beer-knowing he would accept nothing else before work-and wrinkled her brow. 'Tell me about this new assistant of yours. Bob, right?"

"I thought you said you wanted to talk about Stef?"

She gave him a "humor me" look. He shrugged. "Yeah, it's Bob. Bob Stevenson. He started to work part-time a few months ago up in my front office. He graduated from college a couple of years ago with a criminology degree and got a snuffy job with the Drug Enforcement Administration. He found out soon enough he needed a master's degree to get ahead in their organization. He got a release and is going to Georgetown. He works for me around his classes."

Meg raised an eyebrow. "Did you know Bob and Stef have a thing for each other?"

Josh rolled his eyes. "He's too busy to be interested in Stefne. Hell, he's at least five years older than-"

"Three."

"What?"

"He's three years older than Stef. I asked."

"Why are you askin' stuff like that? When did you talk to Stef, anyway?"

"Look, Josh, she came over and borrowed some milk, all right? We talked-girl talk, y'know? The subject came up about this Bob guy. She says she likes him a lot and isn't sure how you'll take it and-"

"She said that? Stefne doesn't say stuff like that."

"Not to you; you're her father. Give her a break, will ya?

She's a grown woman, and a dam good-lookin' one at that ... or haven't you noticed?"

"She said that? I'm gonna have to talk to her and-"

"Don't you dare! What women say during girl talk is privileged. I'm just warning you to take some time and look at your daughter. Heaven forbid, she's like you. She does what she wants and is hardheaded, but don't be surprised when one day she tells you she's in love."

Josh waved the last comment away. "Thanks, but Stef isn't even close to fallin' for Bob. She's going to law school once she graduates this summer, remember? She has her life all planned, and fallin' for Bob or anybody else isn't on the list-at least not until after law school."

Meg frowned and pushed her red bangs from her eyes.

"Josh, you're as stupid as they come, and I've known a lot of stupid men. Listen to me. I'm trying to be subtle here but you're not listening to what I'm saying. Stefne really likes the guy. When you're off playing the great white hunter, those two talk a lot."

Josh looked over the wheel toward Lir Darlin' with a distant stare. "I-I had no idea."

"Because you're stupid," said Meg with a smile. She slapped his back. "Cheer up, it's not the end of the world.

Your daughter is very happy. Be happy for her."

Josh's jaw tightened as he lowered his eyes to the beer bottle. He didn't want to lose her, too. He faked a smile, put down the beer, and got up. "I'd better go get dressed." He took two steps before looking over his shoulder at the redhead. "Thanks, Meg. I'll drop by the milk I owe ya later tonight."