answer, he noticed Allen's eyes had clouded over. C.J. had lost his
interest. Without even an acknowledgment or reply, Allen had floated
away, drawn into another conversation, that's it, done with you, bye.
And yet he had returned later on, because he had heard the story behind
the scar on C.J.'s arm, and with a wolfish grin he had wrapped his
arm around the young man's shoulders and said, I understand you've
had some trouble lately and can't get a work visa. Want to help me
C.J. knows it is about to happen again. He will be prompted for
an opinion, a burst of brilliance, but his version of brilliance will
be found lacking. Allen must have read in some cockamamie book about
how to be a better corporate leader that a happy employee is an employee
that is allowed to hang himself with his own rope. Thus, an employee
must be encouraged to have opinions, set forth plans and hypotheses,
enjoy the impression that he is in
charge of his own destiny. And it is the boss's duty to listen to
all this with kind visage before trashing it in favor of his own thinking,
for that is the boss's awesome and lonely responsibility.
Hell, C.J. thinks. This is no different than working
in an office.
Out loud, he says: Unless the records turn up, I guess we'll need
to keep investigating the Chens …
No good~already Allen is looking at some distant point over C.J.'s
left shoulder. You're forgetting that we have to wrap this up quick,
he says. If we can't figure this out by the weekend, they'll have
to pay out the insurance. And we get nothing.
Nothing? No one said …