Steve cursed as he looked at his watch. It was 9:15 a.m., and he could see the line of men waiting outside Simmons Freight. There must have been 30 of them there already. Jobs were hard to come by on the riverfront these days and word obviously had gotten out that Simmons was hiring.
If not for Bo, Steve would not have even made it there by 9:30 a.m. After finally being released by the ISA and going to the Fish Market to smooth things over with Caroline, Steve had gone home. He had hoped to shower, change, and maybe even take a short nap.
Arriving home, he had listened to the messages on the machine. He cringed as he heard several from Kayla. He could tell she was worried and a little angry. He could only hope that she had received his message at her hotel.
Mixed in with the messages from Kayla was one from Bo left the previous evening. Apparently, Bo's buddy had let him know that Simmons Freight had changed the time for the interviews for the temporary positions to 9:00 a.m. - exactly five minutes before Steve received Bo's message.
Cursing Shane and the ISA for keeping him out all night, Steve had hastily grabbed his things and headed out the door. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before and, thanks to the ISA, was sporting a couple of nice tears in his shirt and jeans. He could only hope that Simmons Freight did not care if the guys throwing freight looked good.
Steve walked past the line of men and found the Simmons Freight employee who was taking down names and handing out the employment applications. Ignoring the employee's pointed comment about the time, Steve took his application and found a spot at the end of the line.
Feeling like it was futile, Steve nevertheless began working on the employment application. He filled in the personal information, then stopped when he reached the section titled "employment history."
Please provide all employment in the last 5 years starting with the most recent employment first.
Steve provided the employer - Salem Police Department - and the dates of employment. Then he stopped again.
Reason for leaving employment.
How the hell was he supposed to answer that question? He did not quit and he was not fired. Being presumed dead did not seem like an appropriate answer either. And claiming he was injured or on "medical leave" would be a lie. Skipping that question for the time being, he listed Abe and Roman as references and moved on to the questions about the next job.
It took Steve a minute to remember his last employment prior to joining the Salem PD. So much time had been spent dealing with Marina, then dealing with Victor, Kayla's trial and imprisonment, and Stephanie's kidnapping. But, prior to all that, he had been employed by the ISA.
Steve chuckled a bit at the thought. Given all that had happened, it was hard to believe he had once carried ISA credentials. Nonetheless, he filled out the information requested and even listed Shane as a reference. It was not like they were likely to contact him anyway. Under "reason for leaving employment" Steve wrote down "laid off." What the hell, he thought to himself. The job had ended after all.
Moving on, Steve listed his job as Saxton's clothing store. He doubted the old fuddy duddy who had managed the place would give him a good reference if contacted, but considering he was looking for a freight job, that might not be such a bad thing.
For the next section, Steve listed "Self-employed." He figured that pretty much covered his days working at the community center, hustling pool, and even his less savory days working for Victor. If Simmons Freight wanted more information he would just deal with it in the interview.
Lastly, Steve listed his employment with Allied Freight. He debated whether that company's seedy reputation would outweigh the fact that Steve actually had experience in the industry, but ultimately decided to list it anyway.
Having completed his application, Steve waited impatiently as the line moved slowly towards the front of the building. The longer Steve stood, the more he felt the exhaustion from the prior day and night set in. He was tempted to just leave. After all, as he had told Kayla the day before, it was just a temporary warehouse job. But it was still a job, and Steve needed to start providing for his family again.
After more than an hour, Steve was finally led into a small interview room. Inside, seated behind a desk, was a young man who looked barely old enough to shave. He was wearing a suit, tie and smug smile.
Taking Steve's application, the man motioned for Steve to sit in a chair opposite the desk. "Good afternoon, Mr. . . . Johnson," the man said, looking down at Steve's application. He had a slight southern accent. "I'm Allen Simmons. I'll be the manager of the temporary crew that we are putting together."
Steve nodded, but remained silent as the Simmons kid reviewed the application. It was not hard to figure out what was going on. Somebody's daddy had decided the kid needed to start getting involved in the family business and had shipped him up to Salem from wherever the family lived down south.
After several minutes, the kid looked up. "So . . . I see from your application that you used to be with the Salem PD." The kid's tone was clearly doubtful. "But you failed to explain why you left. Do you have something to hide?"
Steve did his best not to roll his eye. The last thing he needed today was a grilling from a snot-nosed rich boy. Taking a deep breath, he said, "It's kind of a complicated story. I was caught in an explosion during an investigation and was presumed dead. I only returned home a few weeks ago."
The kid scoffed. "Really, Mr. Johnson. You expect me to believe that story? Just like I'm supposed to believe that you are a former ISA agent? Someone who-" He paused, staring at Steve's patch. "Someone like you?"
"Yeah, you should believe it," Steve said, trying to keep his temper in check. "It's true. Call Abe Carver or Roman Brady at the Salem PD if you don't believe me."
"I don't believe that will be necessary," the kid replied smugly. "I think it's clear that you don't meet the qualifications for this job."
"Don't meet the qualifications?" Steve nearly yelled. "It's a job throwing freight. I've done it before and I can do it again."
"Yes . . . I see that you worked for Allied Freight several years ago. I'm also very aware of what most of that freight involved." The kid sneered. "I assure you this company does thing very differently."
It was all Steve could do not to reach across the desk and shut the kid up with his own tie. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Steve tried to start again. "Look Mr. Simmons. I've thrown freight before and was even the foreman of a crew. I'm reliable and responsible, and you can verify that with the Salem PD. Just give me a chance and I'll prove that you made the right decision."
"Reliable and responsible?" The kid sneered again, obviously enjoying the newfound power he held. "According to the intake sheet you showed up 15 minutes late for the sign-up. And it looks like you were out all night before you showed up. That's hardly my idea of a reliable and responsible employee."
This time Steve did not bother to stop his laughter. "Hell, half your crew is going to show up looking like me on any given day."
"Not on my crew, Mr. Johnson." The kid's tone remained haughty. "My crew will be professional, responsible, and fully able to perform its duties."
"Right," Steve said, standing up and leaning across the desk. "Let me know how that works for you. And when you run out of guys in a week, give me a call. Maybe I'll still be interested in the job."
"I wouldn't wait for that call, Mr. Johnson." A cruel smile passed across the kid's face. "I want only able-bodied men on my crew. I'm afraid your . . . disability would be detrimental to the safety of our warehouse."
A slow smile spread across Steve's face. Before the kid could move, Steve had grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him to his feet. Steve's smile broadened as he saw fear cross the young man's face. Leaning in closer, Steve said quietly, "The only person who's safety is at issue right now is you."
Steve watched as the kid struggled to maintain his superior demeanor. Finally the kid squeaked, "If you don't let me go immediately, I'll have you arrested for assault."
Steve laughed harshly and shoved the man back down into his chair. "Good luck with that, Mister Simmons. I'll be at home if the cops need to find me." He grabbed his application off the desk and crumpled it in his hand before turning and storming out the door.
Outside, Steve marched angrily towards his car. He had not thought it was possible for the day to get any worse after he left ISA headquarters, but clearly he had been wrong. And it was not even half-over yet.