Cruises Depart Daily at 1:00, 3:00, 5:00, and 7:00
“Roger!” Joe called out, tentatively stepping onto the gunwale of the ship and looking naturally at home in his khaki Navy uniform. “Yo, Rog!” he bellowed again, this time producing a short, rotund man from the ship’s interior.
“Son of a bitch!” the bald man cried, breaking into a huge grin. Joe hopped down onto the deck and they grabbed each other in a bear hug, slapping each other’s backs fondly.
“Christ, Rog,” Joe laughed, glancing at the man’s sizable belly. “You been eating deep dish pizza every day or what?”
“I’m missing your goddamn PT every morning, you asshole. You’re a commander now, huh? A fucking XO? The big cheese is here! So, what in the hell you doing in Chicago, sir?”
Still chuckling, Joe glanced up to find Grant carefully watching them from the pier. “I’m here to visit my nephew. Hey, Grant, come down here. I want to introduce you to a friend.”
Grant hopped onto the deck with one smooth motion, clearly at ease on the watercraft as well.
Joe nodded toward the shorter man. “This is Roger Eaton, former ensign serving with me at Great Lakes.” He then draped his arm protectively across Grant’s shoulders. “And this is my nephew Grant, former lieutenant at Great Lakes.”
“Oh fuck, you both outrank me then.” Roger grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. “At least you were smart enough to get out of the Navy, unlike the commander here,” he added, looking up at Grant.
Grant gave a plastic smile. His exit from the Navy had hardly been voluntary.
“So,” Joe began, feeling his nephew bristle beside him. “Grant needs a job. I was wondering if you could use a capable assistant on board?”
“Hmm …” Roger scratched his chin. “Well, I just hired a few guys, but I’m sure I’ll need more help with the season about to start. Anything for you, Joe.”
Joe removed his arm from his nephew’s shoulders and reached out to shake Roger’s hand, pumping vigorously. “I knew I could count on you. I have to return to Norfolk tomorrow. Is there any way Grant could sack out at your place until he finds an apartment of his own?”
Grant watched the interaction with amazement. His uncle was shamelessly persuading this stranger to take care of him.
“No problem, sir. We Navy boys got to stay together.” Roger turned to Grant. “How long you been out, kid?”
Grant blushed. “Just a day.”
“You got out of the Navy yesterday?” Roger asked incredulously.
“Oh, no, um, I, um, left the Navy over two years ago.”
Watching his nephew squirm, Joe stepped in. “Rog? I should probably tell you that Grant was just released from prison. He’s had a rough go of it, but he won’t cause you any problems, I promise. He just needs to stay away from his family and he’ll be fine.”
Roger squinted warily at Grant, while Grant peered at the spotless white deck of the ship. “Prison, huh? Convenient you told me that after I agreed to hire him, Joe.”
“Sorry about that. That was wrong of me. But Grant is a good man, and he’ll be your best employee. Just wait and you’ll see.”
Scowling, Roger reluctantly nodded. When Grant slowly raised his head to meet his gaze, his new boss told him, “You pull any of that prison shit on me and getting fired will be the least of your problems, you got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Roger’s glower abruptly turned into a grin. “I got a lieutenant calling me ‘sir.’ I love it. Okay, kid, you go up there,” he pointed to the door of the administration building nearby, “fill out some paperwork, and you can start work tomorrow. Eleven hundred hours, sharp.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Joe broke in, “Hey, Rog, when are you done tonight? Let’s go out and get a drink.”
“If you want to meet me here around twenty-thirty, I’ll take you to the place with the best pizza in the city.”
Joe grinned. “You look like you’ve tried a few pizza joints in your day.”
“Can you believe this guy?” Roger asked Grant. “He insults me at the same time he asks me for a favor. Unbelievable.”
Grant began to feel a sliver of relief wash over him. Maybe he wouldn’t have to be so solitary anymore. He returned Roger’s smile. “Yep, that’s my Uncle Joe.”
“Ah, you guys love me, you know it,” Joe said. “Let’s get that paperwork started, Grant.”
Grant nodded. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Eaton.”
“See you then, kid.”
Roger disappeared below deck, muttering grumpily. His business wasn’t no halfway house, damn it. Joe’s nephew had better perform like the fucking Employee of the Month or there would be hell to pay.
5. The Jacket
Sophie leaned back in the metal chair outside her PO’s office, nervously glancing at her watch. It was five past nine, and although she didn’t know Officer Stone all that well, he didn’t seem the type to run late. Should she knock again? She didn’t want to be a pest, but she also didn’t want to get in trouble for being late if he was somehow in his office yet hadn’t heard her first knock.
Glancing down at her form-fitting white sleeveless tank, layered with a flowing white silk blouse and navy-blue walking shorts, she hoped she was dressed all right. What exactly was the protocol for parolee fashion?
Anxiously twisting the silver ring on her right forefinger, she weighed her options and was just standing to rap on the door again when Jerry rounded the corner, flustered as he swiftly made his way down the hallway. Sliding the key into the doorknob lock without looking at Sophie, he muttered, “Sorry I’m late. C’mon in.”
Despite keeping his head down as Sophie followed him inside the office, she detected redness around his eyes and a sad, defeated body posture. She also heard a heavy sigh as they both sat down. She did not even need her keen powers of observation to detect that something was wrong.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Stone?”
He glanced up at her and held her concerned gaze for a moment before peering down at her file again. She noticed a white nametag on his shirt, and immediately recognized the Northwestern Hospital logo.
Biting her lower lip she inquired, “You were just visiting someone in the hospital, sir?”
He looked up again, startled. Scrunching his forehead, he asked, “How did you …” He then gazed down at his shirt and ripped the nametag off, angrily crumpling it in his hands before tossing the sticky wad into the garbage can.
“So, Ms. Taylor, how is your roommate’s dissertation coming along?”
Sophie was disappointed that he’d evaded her questions, but touched that he remembered this tidbit from their first meeting. “I made her write five pages!” she beamed.
“I see,” he gruffly replied. “And do you have a job yet?”
Her smile faded. “Um, no sir.”
“Time is running out, Taylor. How many jobs have you applied for?”
Sophie looked up and to the right, visibly performing mental calculations. “About twenty-four jobs, I think?”
Jerry raised his eyebrows and leaned in. “Twenty-four?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How many interviews have you had?”