The waiter kept Bill and Clifton’s drinks—Jack Daniel’s with cranberry juice and Vodka martinis—refilled while they talked endlessly about business and politics with whomever listened or even pretended to listen to them. LaToya, Shaw’s wide-eyed young date, accepted another glass of Champagne and nibbled at the shrimp-filled pastry puffs on her plate. The woman seated next to LaToya was named Maggie Dymond, a Legislative Assistant to Senator Monroe on the Hill—big bosomed and middle-aged, she wore a drapery top that only made her huge chest appear larger.
“So what’s this latest venture of yours all about Cliff?”
“Well, Maggie, my new business partner and I,” he patted Bill on the arm, “have been in meetings all week with our attorneys along with a silent partner who put up a hundred grand in seed money to help launch my startup, Techands Inc.”
“Oh?” said Maggie, feigning interest while she sipped a whiskey and tonic.
Without much prodding, Shaw continued. “Our venture capitalist friend recently cashed in some stocks and said he wanted somewhere to park his money as long as he could remain anonymous. I was able to work out the details to his satisfaction. As a matter of fact, he liked my prospectus so much he agreed to make future investments towards my new company’s growth. If any of you want in at the ground level while the price is still cheap, it’s an incredible investment opportunity.”
“Is it legal?” asked Maggie.
“Of course, it’s legit. Shit, Maggie, how can you ask me that? My startup is based on innovative technology and I’ve rounded up the best brains to lead the troops to victory.”
Shaw slapped Bill on the back and grinned, “Yeah, old Bill’s one of my book boys. He’s in charge of the day to day operations on the IT side of the business.”
“Looks like you’re still winning at the races, Shaw,” smiled the elderly, bearded gentleman named George. “Tell me, what makes your idea so damn attractive to this secret investor?”
“A nice, fat guaranteed return. It works for us too,” said Shaw, pointing to himself and Bill, “The key to good business is to use other people’s money. Our primary investor rakes in over eight mil a year from his other investments. You know, stuff like real estate and retail. He’s not hurting for coins and can afford to take a risk on us. Though, there’s virtually no risk of failure involved here. A 100% guaranteed sweet return. Like I said, I’m a pit bull when it comes to business and politics. And with this business plan, I’ll pull in enough cash to fund my ass right into the presidency or damn close to it.” He chuckled.
“What’s your mission statement?” asked Aaron Kaufman, a skeptical accountant-type with piercing blue eyes behind thick, black-rimmed bifocals.
Shaw had a quick answer to give. “Techands Inc is a H1-B sponsor that’ll host and train foreign nationals to work in this country using the hottest new technology. In fact, the name stands for 'technical hands'. Sort of like ranch hands on the farm. But instead of herding cattle our guys are herding software code. We find ‘em, clean ‘em up, train ‘em, and move ‘em out,” grinned Shaw. “They get the job done for our clients in half the time and for half the cost.”
“You’re quite the altruist, Shaw,” said Maggie in a sarcastic tone.
“That’s right,” Bill interjected, “We provide fast, cheap, and accurate software support to American companies. Eventually, we’ll expand into the international market. With this sluggish economy we’re in, the trend is towards outsourcing, where companies farm out their Information Technology services to Third Party Vendors.”
Everyone at the table looked at Bill as he spoke. Renee noticed that Shaw frowned when the spotlight had momentarily shifted away from him. With added confidence, Bill continued to explain their company’s strategy. “Businesses have eliminated entire IT departments so they can focus only on operations, marketing, sales and customer fulfillment. Techands Inc specializes in the design and development of solutions using the hottest languages out there today. Languages like Java, Oracle, DotNet, C and C++, you name it.”
“Listen buddy, I think you’re going a bit over their heads with the techno babble,” smiled Shaw, “these good folks talk politics, my man—not bits and bytes.”
“Speak for yourself, Shaw,” said Maggie, “I can keep up. I design and maintain my own website. So Bill is it? How does Techands Inc use these field hands, as you fellas call them, to turn a profit?”
“It’s pretty simple, Maggie. Companies send us their assignments and specs and we send them back the executable code for a fair price. If they want the source version too then they can buy it for an additional fee,” Bill explained. “Otherwise, they’ll have to come back to us for changes and future enhancements—which means more money for Techands. The concept is nothing new but our approach is different.”
“Got it, but what I meant to say was, where are you getting these folks?” asked Maggie, “By the time you pay the going rate for your Silicon Valley types, you’ll end up losing money. Not to mention how fast the techies dump you nowadays for bigger bucks at Northern Virginia software companies. After you train them, they’re gone in three months.”
Shaw spoke up in response to Maggie’s point. While Bill’s head bobbed up and down in agreement to everything that Shaw said. “That’s the beauty of it, Maggie, we’re using only cheap, foreign labor and training them ourselves through a rigorous, boot-camp program. I’ve leased a training facility out in McLean with some of our investment money. Bill’s already got brand new computers wired, networked, and ready to go. We’re in the last stages of our trainees’ H1-B visa applications. We’re on a roll, aren’t we, buddy?” said Shaw, turning to flash a wide grin at his new business partner.
“That’s not a new concept in the IT world, you know. Anyway Shaw, what’s in it for the worker bees?”
“I’m not saying it’s an original idea, Maggie,” said Shaw in a defensive tone. “Look, if you already got a wheel, roll with it. Why invent a new one? And as far as what my guys get out of it, for starters, they get free technical training and a damn good salary to boot. The contract stipulates they only owe Techands three years of service. Like I said, training and operations are Bill’s responsibility, but Techands was all my idea from soup to nuts,” beamed Shaw, polishing off the last of his drink, “so that makes me the HNIC.”
“The what?” said Aaron Kaufman, squinting as he positioned his glasses up from the tip of his nose.
“The HNIC. That’s like your CEO, Aaron,” laughed Shaw. When Kaufman continued to stare at Shaw with a confused look, Shaw slapped Bill on the back to give him the go ahead to explain. “Go on translate for the white boy, Bill. Some of ya’ll know what I’m talking about.” Shaw laughed loudly, clearly amused with himself. When Bill failed to comment, Shaw offered the translation. “Aaron, that’s what we call the Head Nigga In Charge,” said Shaw, motioning for the waiter to return and re-fill his drink.
After a brief awkward silence, Kaufman spoke up, wearing a look of skepticism. “Your plan may sound okay in theory but I still don’t get how it will actually work.”
LaToya shook Clifton Shaw’s elbow and pouted, “Cliff baby, I’m aging over here like a dried-up prune. Let’s go to the ballroom and dance.”
“Be cool, baby, let me finish my conversation.” Shaw turned his back to LaToya and addressed Kaufman’s doubting glance. “Look Aaron, let me explain it to you like you were a two year old.” Then, he chuckled to himself, “Ya’ll remember that was Denzel’s line in that Philadelphia movie about the gay guy. Anyway, man, it’s like this. Bill here put up a website and we’ve been soliciting our services over the web. Right now we’ve targeted Bangalore, India for the first wave of trainees because that’s the technological center in that subcontinent. So, initially our entire development team will be made up of these guys from Bangalore. They’ll undergo employment screening at the U. S. Embassy next week as part of the
visa application but we don’t expect any problems with their visas being issued. Do we, Bill?” Bill immediately shook his head in agreement and motioned for Shaw to continue.
“The initial pay is $40,000 to $50,000 per year. Believe me, that’s a fortune to these guys and they’ll work without complaining. Unlike American workers. These people are focused on one thing—programming,” said Shaw, “There’s no leaving work early to go run errands or watch a kid’s soccer game or ballet recital. Our U. S. clients get their code written by highly skilled workers at a cheaper price. It’s win-win for everybody.”
“So they won’t be with their families for three years?” asked Maggie.
“That’s right. We explained to them that their families will have to remain in India until they can save enough money to bring them over. I think that’s fair.”
“Well ya know what this sounds like to me?” That was a rhetorical question because Maggie didn’t wait for Shaw’s response before continuing. “Sounds like when African slaves, European immigrants, and Native Americans were used for cheap labor as indentured servants in the 17th century. Granted, nothing was as awful as The Middle Passage when Africans were forcibly brought over here on slave ships then hosed off and 'cleaned up' before being displayed on the auction block and sold away from their families. This plan of yours sounds too much like these foreign workers might be at risk of being taken advantage of. I hope this isn’t a case where History repeats itself in the 21st century.”
“Maggie, you’ve got too much imagination. This isn’t anything like that,” quipped Shaw.
“I’m afraid I have to agree with Maggie, but for different reasons. It sounds to me like you’re taking advantage of cheap foreign labor when our workers here are in desperate need of jobs,” said Kaufman.
“What the hell are you talking about? All businesses these days rely on cheap foreign labor if they want to stay competitive,” said Bill with a sharp edge in his voice.
“Shaw, I’m with you and Bill,” nodded George, “Case in point. When I lived in Atlanta a few years ago, illegal Mexican immigrants dominated construction work down there. If the INS forced all illegal immigrants out of Atlanta, construction work would come to a standstill. These immigrants worked for $7.00 an hour and kept their whole family in one small apartment. And they wouldn’t ask the boss to be off on weekends either. Nobody else was willing to do this work for that price. I get your point.”
“What about the effect on American skilled programmers?” asked Maggie, “Some groups believe that importing foreign labor lowers wages for American employees and makes it more difficult for citizens in this country to be considered for career opportunities in technology. And, you’re planning to train foreigners to do high-paying jobs that American workers could be trained to do.”
Shaw slammed his glass down and scoffed. “I don’t buy that argument, Maggie. Anyway, it’s not my problem. If somebody is highly qualified or willing to learn, they can always find work no matter if they’re black, white, yellow, or brown. In America the opportunity is there for anyone willing to work hard like our foreign recruits at Techands are eager to do. It’s the mediocre folks standing around the water cooler and taking two-hour lunch breaks who have to worry about their goddamn jobs, not the dedicated workers.”
Bill frowned at Shaw’s last statement but he did not challenge him and Shaw continued talking in a boisterous, ‘know-it-all’ tone.
“Why should a company keep dead weight on the payroll if they can’t produce when businesses can come to a company like mine and get their code out the door quicker and for half the price? This is business Maggie, not a popularity contest and certainly not a handout.”
“If I’m not mistaken Shaw, you’re one of those people who’s always out on two-hour lunch breaks whenever I call your secretary to try to setup an appointment,” said Maggie with a wicked grin and raised her glass to him as a truce.
“Hey, I’m no average worker. I’m a goddamn lawyer—pardon me ladies, Maggie excluded—and a partner at that. I conduct better business over a fine meal and a few drinks. Being in a nice restaurant puts my clients at ease.”
“Pay no attention to Maggie. I think it’s a damn brilliant idea, Shaw,” said George, after polishing off the last of his third glass of Merlot, “wish I’d thought of it myself and was young enough to pull it off.”
Even though Bill had given Renee the impression that the business was still in the planning phase, he’d obviously been working on this deal for months without even bothering to consult with her. It wasn’t too difficult for her to figure out why he had kept his plans secret. He knew she would not be supportive of this scheme hatched by Shaw and he would be absolutely correct. Renee didn’t like it at all.
Finally, she excused herself to go to the ladies room. If she had stayed a moment longer she might throw up. Shaw’s date popped out of her seat and announced she wanted to go with her to powder her nose. Renee cringed but couldn’t diplomatically say she preferred to be alone. As she maneuvered around the dinner tables in the dining area to get to the main hall with LaToya in tow, Renee heard LaToya’s girlish voice chirping away without actually listening to a word of the nonsense that the young woman said. The pitch of her voice sounded flighty, but listening to LaToya was less grating on her nerves than remaining at the table and listening to Shaw.
As she worked her way out of the room, a few tables away Renee spotted someone who from a distance looked uncannily like Deek. She ceased walking in mid-step and her heart seemed to suddenly stop as well. She stared at the handsome man who had not yet noticed her. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Deek since August. “What’s the matter,” asked LaToya who had also stopped in her tracks. Without answering, Renee took a deep breath and continued forward. As she got closer she realized it was him—Detective Degas (Deek) Hamilton, D. C. Metropolitan Police, homicide. The man who had intruded on her private thoughts for the past several days and now here he was in the flesh at the very same Boys and Girls Club fundraiser dinner.
Chapter 9
Renee was relieved he didn't see her. Deek appeared to be engaged in a conversation with a lovely, dark-haired, young woman in a red sequined gown and matching satin shoes. Renee turned abruptly to leave before he spotted her. She bumped into a waiter balancing a tray in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. The waiter dropped the tray and some of its contents spilled on her jacket.
“Oh my Gracious!” said the waiter, “I’m terribly sorry, Ma’am. Let me get that.” He dabbed at the stain with a cloth napkin.
“It’s okay, really. I was on my way to the ladies room. I’ll take care of it. Don’t bother.”
At the sound of crashing plates, Deek along with everyone else close enough to hear, had looked up. A broad smile crossed his face when he saw Renee—a smile punctuated by dimpled cheeks and straight, white teeth. Renee wanted to become invisible when she realized he had noticed her. She watched as he excused himself from the table and walked towards her. His athletic, 6’2” physique owned the black tone-on-tone tuxedo with its nearly invisible vertical stripes and vintage tuxedo shirt.
“What a gorgeous hunk,” shrieked LaToya and nudged Renee. She had forgotten that Shaw’s date was still standing beside her, but in her private thoughts she agreed with LaToya on that assessment. She had never seen a more perfect face on a man. Bronze-toned features created from an artist's paintbrush had sought perfection and found it. Nicely arched eyebrows defined his dark, serious eyes and his lips—simply luscious. She knew this firsthand because she had already tasted their warm, sweet, moistness this summer. The black hairs of his well-groomed mustache lay in neatly trimmed layers. Deek had grown a hint of a goatee since she’d last seen him. He wore a stylish haircut that revealed the soft, texture of his jet-black hair. Far from the look of the typical disheveled and overworked cop, Deek could have splashed the covers of Code Magazine, a popular style publicati
on for men of color, any day.
Deek once told Renee that his grandmother, Katia Dessalines had immigrated to New York City from Martinique when his mother, Aurelie, was sixteen, and had named him Degas after the French impressionist painter whose work she admired. Thanks to Grann Katia, as he called her, even his name sounded exotic and romantic. But his friends and coworkers simply called him Deek.
“You know that tasty treat?” asked LaToya, “From the way he’s eyeing you, looks like he’d sop you up like gravy on a biscuit if given half a chance.”
Renee didn’t even want to try to respond to that comment. Despite her hip city pretense, LaToya had just revealed her down-home, Southern roots. Deek gave Renee a brief, friendly embrace, brushing his lips against her cheek as he held her hands.
“It’s good to see you. You look beautiful as always. What are you doing here tonight?”
His soothing baritone voice that she had become addicted to from the moment they met several months ago, held her captive and she couldn’t answer him for a moment. When she could speak her voice betrayed a hint of nervousness.
“I … I mean we … were invited by someone. And you? I see you’re still involved with youth. Are you also a mentor for the Boys and Girls Club in addition to your many other endeavors?” Deek nodded and gave Renee one of his dazzling smiles, “Umhum, I’m a volunteer for the Metropolitan Police Boys and Girls Club.”
“The way you kickin’ it in that tux, my Brother, you must be a mentor with some deep pockets,” gushed LaToya and thrust out her hand for him to shake, “I’m LaToya Perry and my date tonight is Clifton Corbin Shaw, the prominent Washington attorney. You probably heard of him if you live in this city. Cliff told me the tickets to this fancy shindig were $500 a plate. So what else do you do besides mentoring, Mr …?”
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