explain all that later.
3 . Put one in large print on the ceiling of my parents’ bedroom.
4 . For brief dossiers on family members and a few other relevant parties, see appendix.
5 . Why not?
6 . Her math gets iffy when she’s angry.
7 . Demetrius, at that point, walked over to the chalkboard and wrote, I will not get involved .
8 . All available in paperback!
9 . “Crime and No Punishment: Misdemeanor Rates Skyrocket as Criminals Realize Prison
Time Is Shorter for Nonfelonies” (2011). See appendix.
10 . Or they really needed money. But I prefer my first theory.
RUNNING ON EMPTY
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
At 10:00 on Tuesday morning, Mr. Slayter will be joining us for a meeting about a
potential assignment. Please dress appropriately for the occasion. 1
Signed,
The Management
E dward Slayter arrived at 10:00 A.M. sharp, which meant that he arrived five minutes early and waited in his car. I learned
in the young days of my serfdom that when Slayter said 8:15, he didn’t mean 8:10 or
8:20 or 8:16. He meant 8:15. So, you’d allow for traffic, often arrive early and loiter
outside his office, and occasionally argue with a security guard over the NO LOITERING sign.
As I traversed the twelve-foot expanse of the office to meet Mr. Slayterat the door, I caught a half-clad woman on my father’s computer screen. I clicked
off the monitor just as Slayter’s eyes clocked the image. Since I haven’t yet gone
into great length about my father, let me briefly defend his honor. The Playboy.com
website was my father’s way of illustrating to Slayter that I had no control over
my employees. For the record, Dad doesn’t make a habit of ogling naked women or perusing
porn sites. 2
“Missing-persons investigation,” I said, explaining away the naked woman.
Edward raised his eyebrow and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. Let me be clear: Everything
was strictly professional between me and my new boss, but Spellman Investigations
was kind of his pet project and, as far as I could tell, so was I.
Professor Merriweather got to his feet when Slayter entered the room.
I made introductions.
“Edward, this is Demetrius, our best employee.”
“From the looks of it,” Edward said, “he’s your only employee.”
“We had a last-minute surveillance job. Couldn’t find anyone else. I’m afraid I had
to send the unit into the field.”
Just then the theme from Sanford and Son blasted from the television in the upstairs bedroom.
Slayter turned to me and squinted with his right eye, his nonverbal manner of communicating
that he doesn’t believe me. I was rather familiar with that look.
“Neighbors,” I said, completing the lie.
“I see,” Slayter said. He turned to Demetrius. “Nice to see you again, um—oh, I’m
terrible with names.”
“Demetrius,” I repeated.
“Nice to see you again, sir,” Demetrius said, playing along.
They had never met. Slayter compensated by always assuming he’d met a person and always
claiming to be bad with names. He had Alzheimer’s. Maybe I should have led with that.
It wasn’t that advanced, but names andnouns and locations could be a problem. The disease was early onset and the diagnosis
was grim, but for now the symptoms were minimal and Slayter insisted on business as
usual. The only people who knew so far were me, Mr. Slayter, his doctors, and Charlie
Black, his navigational consultant. I’ll get to him later. The web of secrecy was
to protect a business that my boss had slaved over for twenty-five years. He had been
the CEO of Slayter Industries since the beginning and owned 25 percent of the company.
He was the only shareholder on the board of directors and there’d never been a vote
that hadn’t fallen on his side. He was the boss, is my point. Kinda like what I had
going on at Spellman Investigations. Slayter had made it clear that he would continue
to run his company, a venture capital firm, until he
3 . Put one in large print on the ceiling of my parents’ bedroom.
4 . For brief dossiers on family members and a few other relevant parties, see appendix.
5 . Why not?
6 . Her math gets iffy when she’s angry.
7 . Demetrius, at that point, walked over to the chalkboard and wrote, I will not get involved .
8 . All available in paperback!
9 . “Crime and No Punishment: Misdemeanor Rates Skyrocket as Criminals Realize Prison
Time Is Shorter for Nonfelonies” (2011). See appendix.
10 . Or they really needed money. But I prefer my first theory.
RUNNING ON EMPTY
MEMO
To All Spellman Employees:
At 10:00 on Tuesday morning, Mr. Slayter will be joining us for a meeting about a
potential assignment. Please dress appropriately for the occasion. 1
Signed,
The Management
E dward Slayter arrived at 10:00 A.M. sharp, which meant that he arrived five minutes early and waited in his car. I learned
in the young days of my serfdom that when Slayter said 8:15, he didn’t mean 8:10 or
8:20 or 8:16. He meant 8:15. So, you’d allow for traffic, often arrive early and loiter
outside his office, and occasionally argue with a security guard over the NO LOITERING sign.
As I traversed the twelve-foot expanse of the office to meet Mr. Slayterat the door, I caught a half-clad woman on my father’s computer screen. I clicked
off the monitor just as Slayter’s eyes clocked the image. Since I haven’t yet gone
into great length about my father, let me briefly defend his honor. The Playboy.com
website was my father’s way of illustrating to Slayter that I had no control over
my employees. For the record, Dad doesn’t make a habit of ogling naked women or perusing
porn sites. 2
“Missing-persons investigation,” I said, explaining away the naked woman.
Edward raised his eyebrow and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. Let me be clear: Everything
was strictly professional between me and my new boss, but Spellman Investigations
was kind of his pet project and, as far as I could tell, so was I.
Professor Merriweather got to his feet when Slayter entered the room.
I made introductions.
“Edward, this is Demetrius, our best employee.”
“From the looks of it,” Edward said, “he’s your only employee.”
“We had a last-minute surveillance job. Couldn’t find anyone else. I’m afraid I had
to send the unit into the field.”
Just then the theme from Sanford and Son blasted from the television in the upstairs bedroom.
Slayter turned to me and squinted with his right eye, his nonverbal manner of communicating
that he doesn’t believe me. I was rather familiar with that look.
“Neighbors,” I said, completing the lie.
“I see,” Slayter said. He turned to Demetrius. “Nice to see you again, um—oh, I’m
terrible with names.”
“Demetrius,” I repeated.
“Nice to see you again, sir,” Demetrius said, playing along.
They had never met. Slayter compensated by always assuming he’d met a person and always
claiming to be bad with names. He had Alzheimer’s. Maybe I should have led with that.
It wasn’t that advanced, but names andnouns and locations could be a problem. The disease was early onset and the diagnosis
was grim, but for now the symptoms were minimal and Slayter insisted on business as
usual. The only people who knew so far were me, Mr. Slayter, his doctors, and Charlie
Black, his navigational consultant. I’ll get to him later. The web of secrecy was
to protect a business that my boss had slaved over for twenty-five years. He had been
the CEO of Slayter Industries since the beginning and owned 25 percent of the company.
He was the only shareholder on the board of directors and there’d never been a vote
that hadn’t fallen on his side. He was the boss, is my point. Kinda like what I had
going on at Spellman Investigations. Slayter had made it clear that he would continue
to run his company, a venture capital firm, until he
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