The B took a deep breath. "What they fucking ARE, Peterson, is inFUCKINGvisible. This conversation is over. Get out of my office right now, you have ten minutes to get me a schedule that means something. And Peterson, the first time you miss a benchmark on that schedule, I will personally inject your ass with then thousand cubic yards of your precious helium-di-hydrogite complex, tie you to the front bumper of my Lincoln and drive down Broadway at the front of the next Macy's fucking Parade. And Mr. Peterson, I am looking forward to that very, very much."

Peterson twitched out of the room and the B punched his phone. "I need to talk to you," he was still breathing fast.

She came in, balanced on the balls of her feet, steady, a thin blue folder in her hand. They looked at each other, both understanding, what was to come, like prizefighters after the first bell in their tenth fight. Or fiftieth. She led with a left, he touch light, just a feeler, "We don't have much time, do we?" He shook his head, his eyes closing and then opening slowly.

"What does it fucking take?" he really wanted to know, she could tell, he was genuinely puzzled. Stuff that seemed so elementary to him, so obvious, just common sense; and it eluded them, almost as though they were immune to it. Clueless subordinates pissed him off like nothing else.

"You gotta have a piece of yourself on the line," she said, "otherwise it's just a game."

"Yeah, I guess so." he reached into his drawer, looking at her quizzically. She shook her head.

"It's going to cost you," she said, not because he didn't know it would, but because she knew he'd appreciate the way she'd learned from him, the way she would lead with the bad news so she could finish with the good news. "We need somebody to take over some of my stuff so I can handle it. Actually we need three people. Well, four, including Peterson's replacement."

The B straightened in his chair, put the bottle on the desk and reached back for two paper cups. He was smiling to himself. They called me the B, he thought that was delicious. "Siddown."

While he poured, she lay four pieces of paper on his desk. "Look," she said, "here's what we're going to do."



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