like the remainder of the offensive line at a standee table, but stupidly hadn’t clocked them as friends of the pair that was giving Chad the bum’s rush. A pool cue shot to the back of his head could’ve really ruined his evening. Behr looked to Decker, who just shrugged.
Behr turned to Chad, who was wide-eyed and shrinking back against the bar. “Maybe you should call it a night.”
Chad just nodded.
They stood in the dark, in the cool evening air, and were about ready to head for their cars. Decker had badged the lone happy hour bouncer, who had finally trundled up to the fracas, and the guy was plenty happy to let the three of them leave. Chad had at last gone on his way after an uncomfortable profusion of thanks. His mien—equal parts rattled, humiliated, and beholden—was almost more off-putting than his usual self-satisfied buoyancy.
“Well, that was interesting,” Behr said, feeling like a high schooler on a date, when he and Decker were finally standing there alone.
“At least the music picked up there at the end,” Decker added. Only the sound of passing cars filled the silence.
“Look, I don’t know if I accomplished what I was supposed to here, so if you’re up for it, and want to do it again …”
“Yeah, sure,” Decker said, “you’re lots of fun.”
They went their separate ways, and Behr returned home to find Susan on the living room floor, organizing little blankets and clothing and other baby gear.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Fine. That Decker’s a real handy guy,” Behr said.
“Thanks for doing it, Frank. I know it was a big favor.”
“Favors are my business,” he said, heading off to take a shower.
21
Behr walked into the Caro offices at 8:25 to find a problem waiting for him, and it was one he recognized from the Payroll Place Web site. Karl Potempa was in the coffee area, pouring for a tall, gray-haired man Behr knew was John Lutz, the company president and client he was supposed to have met. Cups filled, they turned and saw him crossing to his desk.
“Mr. Behr,” Potempa called out, warm yet stentorian, using a thumb to invite him toward a conference room. The “Mr.” was something that was attached when clients were around, to impress them with the professional and civilized nature of the Caro Group. Behr grabbed his laptop and headed for the impromptu meeting, wishing he had more work product to show.
“Uh-huh, I see, uh-huh, hmm,” Lutz said, his eyes raking back and forth over the lines of printed text that held the personal and financial information of his employees.
“We look for obvious flags—large deposits or purchases. Tax trouble or debt that could drive someone to cross the line. But as of yet, we don’t see any of that here.”
Behr had managed to get through most of the conference without looking like a complete fraud to the client. Lutz was merelya conscientious business owner eager to stop the thefts affecting his company, and it wasn’t a problem for Behr to pepper him with preliminary factoids and generalized scenarios of worker malfeasance. To any casual observer it would seem that Behr had done much more on the case than he actually had. Potempa had sat in for the first ten minutes and his eyes, flat and knowing, made it clear
he
wasn’t buying. What Behr saw there wasn’t anger over a failure, however. It more closely resembled annoyance at the fact that Behr hadn’t coddled the customer well enough on his own, he supposed, and that the complaint had climbed the ladder to the boss.
Then Potempa left and it got easier. Behr spent another forty minutes creating a blizzard of bullshit to distract Lutz. The nature of it brought a slightly sick feeling to his gut. There was no time over the past ten years when Behr would have bothered with a meeting like this, and if he lost business, so be it. But over the past months he’d led or at least been a part of several similar sits. File them under “client relations.” In his
Behr turned to Chad, who was wide-eyed and shrinking back against the bar. “Maybe you should call it a night.”
Chad just nodded.
They stood in the dark, in the cool evening air, and were about ready to head for their cars. Decker had badged the lone happy hour bouncer, who had finally trundled up to the fracas, and the guy was plenty happy to let the three of them leave. Chad had at last gone on his way after an uncomfortable profusion of thanks. His mien—equal parts rattled, humiliated, and beholden—was almost more off-putting than his usual self-satisfied buoyancy.
“Well, that was interesting,” Behr said, feeling like a high schooler on a date, when he and Decker were finally standing there alone.
“At least the music picked up there at the end,” Decker added. Only the sound of passing cars filled the silence.
“Look, I don’t know if I accomplished what I was supposed to here, so if you’re up for it, and want to do it again …”
“Yeah, sure,” Decker said, “you’re lots of fun.”
They went their separate ways, and Behr returned home to find Susan on the living room floor, organizing little blankets and clothing and other baby gear.
“How was it?” she asked.
“Fine. That Decker’s a real handy guy,” Behr said.
“Thanks for doing it, Frank. I know it was a big favor.”
“Favors are my business,” he said, heading off to take a shower.
21
Behr walked into the Caro offices at 8:25 to find a problem waiting for him, and it was one he recognized from the Payroll Place Web site. Karl Potempa was in the coffee area, pouring for a tall, gray-haired man Behr knew was John Lutz, the company president and client he was supposed to have met. Cups filled, they turned and saw him crossing to his desk.
“Mr. Behr,” Potempa called out, warm yet stentorian, using a thumb to invite him toward a conference room. The “Mr.” was something that was attached when clients were around, to impress them with the professional and civilized nature of the Caro Group. Behr grabbed his laptop and headed for the impromptu meeting, wishing he had more work product to show.
“Uh-huh, I see, uh-huh, hmm,” Lutz said, his eyes raking back and forth over the lines of printed text that held the personal and financial information of his employees.
“We look for obvious flags—large deposits or purchases. Tax trouble or debt that could drive someone to cross the line. But as of yet, we don’t see any of that here.”
Behr had managed to get through most of the conference without looking like a complete fraud to the client. Lutz was merelya conscientious business owner eager to stop the thefts affecting his company, and it wasn’t a problem for Behr to pepper him with preliminary factoids and generalized scenarios of worker malfeasance. To any casual observer it would seem that Behr had done much more on the case than he actually had. Potempa had sat in for the first ten minutes and his eyes, flat and knowing, made it clear
he
wasn’t buying. What Behr saw there wasn’t anger over a failure, however. It more closely resembled annoyance at the fact that Behr hadn’t coddled the customer well enough on his own, he supposed, and that the complaint had climbed the ladder to the boss.
Then Potempa left and it got easier. Behr spent another forty minutes creating a blizzard of bullshit to distract Lutz. The nature of it brought a slightly sick feeling to his gut. There was no time over the past ten years when Behr would have bothered with a meeting like this, and if he lost business, so be it. But over the past months he’d led or at least been a part of several similar sits. File them under “client relations.” In his
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