A steel-beam ascended, hoisted by a crane, nearing the fifteenth floor of the construction site for the future Basra Financial Institution. A project that embarked after the new democratic government took place in Iraq.
It has been under construction for eight months. Set backs were often, the Iraq desert produced massive sand storms that frequent the area, material delays, shipment delays, insurgent uprise and inefficient labor of both quality as well as quantity.
Joe Bronson stood perfectly balanced on a beam while waving to the crane operator with his hand, covered by his worn leather work glove. His absorbent white tank top shirt, an appropriate attire for working in the devastating heat, was almost completely soaked in sweat.
Motioning with slow and precise hand signals for the crane to continue, Joe orchestrated the metal monstrosity that was the size of a dinosaur to lift steel-beams in place. His white hard hat was placard with stickers from various outfits, affiliate corporations, and company logos of suppliers that he had worked with over the years.
Joe's tan muscles glimmered of sweat and sand from excessive exposure to the blistering sun, in the 'land of the ancient". Honed with time and forged with knowledge, Joe ate, slept and dreams of building sky scrapers. He builds them as a supervisor by day while he studies to complete his degree as an engineer at night.
"Hold up!" Joe relayed into his walkie talkie with one hand and his other became frozen in a clinched fist. The steel-beam hung, slightly swaying, mere inches from its placement as the crane stopped. Several men reached out and grasped the beam as Joe signaled the operator and the crane swung slightly to move the beam closer. Workers scrambled to secure it.
Joe closed his fist and keyed his mic, "Hold it!" The crane stopped and the men began working to fasten it as others unbuckled the crane's cable.
"Hey Joe!" The walkie talkie blared in Joe's hand.
"Yeah!" Joe replied.
"You might want to look toward the front gate!" The walkie talkie 'squelched' then went silent. Joe turned slightly and looked behind him. A group of men were loafing, gathered along the adjacent portion of this floor's structure.
Curiously, Joe walked and hopped several steel-beam planks till he could see what the men were viewing. Several shirtless iron workers whistled like they were at a strip club on pay day, engrossed in looking below them.
"Go baby, go!" Others yelled into cupped hands in hopes of casting their words a little farther.
Joe looked out into the city from the building's elevated perch. The battle scarred buildings surrounding this site were encircled with scaffolding. Various buildings were under repair from the shelling bombardments during the war.
As far as his eyes could see, Joe observed an ocean of rooftops, repelling heat. His vision became drawn to a large crowd that gathered at the front gate of the construction site. The chain link fence was closed and guarded by an Army vehicle with a couple of armed military soldiers that leaned on the fender well smoking cigarettes. The outside of the gate swarmed with excited natives, waving their arms and hands.
There was always a small group of men awaiting job placement outside the gate. Truth be told, Joe would put every man in town to work if he could but he needed electricians, welders, plumbers, equipment operators and any other craftsmen.
The gathering at the gate this day was ten fold larger than usual and three-times as noisy. A semicircle of excited Iraqi's formed around two people that stood directly in front of the site gate. Security men and workers alike began gathering at the inside of the gate as well.
Two women stood outside the gate's junction dancing and yelling something but Joe was too far to hear exactly what that was. The roar of the men watching sounded like a convoy of trucks rolling through, drowning out any chance of understanding what these ladies were saying. One woman held a sign up but it was too far to read.
"What's going on down there?" Joe bellowed into his walkie talkie.
"Boss! You 'might' want to come and take a look at this!" Joe's talkie relayed.
"I'll be right there!" Joe replied and headed for the temp-lift (temporary elevator). "Get to work!" He snarled at the workers standing around watching the show as he stepped from one beam to another.
A luscious lady stood holding a sign; Celebrate Nude Day. The other teased the crowd by slowly removing her clothes, pulling her shirt strap down then bending over slightly and pulling her short dress upward. Taunting the workers, spectators, soldiers, and infuriating the locals that gathered in obvious protest.
"Oh my god! Stormy?" Joe muttered in disbelief as he wedged himself through the crowd at the front gate.
"There you are! Mister... you're in big trouble." The teasing blonde said as she looked at Joe and smiled. She ran to the fence, reached through the links, grasped Joe by the tank-top shirt and pulled him till she could kiss him through a small hole in the fence's mesh. "I missed you!"
The crowd rallied 'ooohs and aaahs' while Joe and Stacey kissed several times. Stacey Bronson, known as Stormy by her friends, was an enticing blonde built with added sensuality in her soft eyes, luscious lips and vibrant curves.
"What are you doing here?" Joe said as their lips separated. Stormy still had a firm hold on Joe's shirt.
