There's Only One Quantum Read Free Page A

Joseph Campbell? I’m sure you had one in Philadelphia.”
    “Several, actually,” Coe said, trying to be chummy.
    “Funny how that works. Names, faces change; but there are roles to fill, I guess. I wonder if our resident asshole might be completely fine in another office?” He looked at his watch. “Too late in the day for deep thoughts.” He slid the form on the clipboard toward Coe to sign. “Put your John Wayne down there at the bottom.”
    While Coe signed it, Diorenzo produced a revolver, sheathed in a holster. Coe felt a jolt at the sight.
    “Barnes handles firearms,” Diorenzo said. “But he’s out this week. In fucking Disney World with his family. He’s got a separate form you need to fill out.”
    “I’ll carry a weapon?”
    Diorenzo shrugged. “You’ve been with this company long enough to know the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand does, and vice versa. I only have the vaguest idea what you auditors do. I don’t want to know. Not my business. I get paid to keep the equipment humming, and that’s what I do.”
    Coe reluctantly took the gun. He was shocked by how heavy it felt in his hand.
    “Oh. Barnes apologizes for the ankle holster. The shoulder holsters are on back order.”
    “That’s where it goes?”
    “You’ve seen detective shows, right?”
    Coe nodded. “Do I wear it now?”
    “I’m not the guy to be asking.”
    Coe completed the form. It included a five-page psychological exam similar to the psych test during the application process. It was composed of such true and false questions as “I am generally not an angry person”, “I sometimes am sexually excited by the evening news”, and “It is sometimes okay to lie if it serves the best interest of the company.”
    Diorenzo looked it over briefly when Coe had finished. “Weird questions,” he said.
    After the Operations meeting had let out, Mitchell came looking for Coe. He found him wrestling with the ankle holster outside of Diorenzo’s cubicle.
    “An ankle holster?” he said. “Really?”
    “The shoulder holsters are on back order—”
    “Hasn’t anyone shown you to your desk yet?”
    Coe said, “No, I—”
    “Come with me.”
    Coe followed Mitchell through the maze of cubicles. As they passed other employees working at their desks, Coe heard snatches of conversation.
    “This is my third call. When do you expect him...”
    “I’m phoning regarding the series of unanswered mailings...”
    “You’re receiving this call because you scored remarkably well on a recent aptitude test...”
    “Here we are,” Mitchell said. “Your desk. Your cubicle.”
    Coe gazed into the gray-walled enclosure. There was a desk. A chair. A calendar that had not been changed for two months. A dust square was visible on the desktop where a CRT had once set. The nameplate on the wall read Collin Revis: Auditing Specialist .
    “We’ll have maintenance get that removed ASAP,” Mitchell said. “Sorry about the window—as you can see, you have none.”
    Coe nodded.
    “If it’s any consolation, it’s all rooftops from this height. Rooftops and rain clouds.”
    “It’s fine,” Coe said. “It’s more than I need.”
    Mitchell opened a drawer. He found a thick book. He blew the dust from it and dropped it onto the desk. It made a heavy thud when it struck. The Auditor’s Manual: A Guide to Corporate Investigation .
    “It’s Revis’s copy. Like brand-new. Doesn’t look like he’d ever even opened it,” Mitchell said. “Start working your way through it until we can get some files for you.” He looked at his watch. “4:15 you can call it a day.”
    He left.
    Coe cracked the book. It was dry. It was written in colorless, humorless language; there were nearly no breaks in the paragraphs. Coe struggled to read it. He heard footsteps outside of his cubicle, heard the rustling of papers. Somewhere, a copier spit out copies. Coe’s eyelids grew heavy.
    “Mr. Coe?”
    He was startled by the sudden voice. He