‘In 1988, when you were running the Des Moines office.’ He beamed and held out his hand. ‘Why, darn it, so we did! I remember now, Odin.’ ‘I don’t like to be called Odin.’ ‘No? All right. Mr Gunnarsen—’ ‘Not “Mr Gunnarsen” either. Just “Gunner”.’ ‘That’s right, Gunner; I’d almost forgotten.’ I said, ‘No, you hadn’t forgotten. You never knew my name in Des Moines. You didn’t even know I was alive, because you were too busy losing the state for our client. I pulled you out of that one, just like I’m going to pull you out now.’ The smile was a little cracked, but Haber had been with the company a long time and he wasn’t going to let me throw him. ‘What do you want me to say, Gunner? I’m grateful. Believe me, boy, I know I need help—’ ‘And I’m not your boy. Haber, you were a fat cat then, and you’re a fat cat now. All I want from you is, first, a quick look around the shop here and, second, a conference of all department heads, including you, in thirty minutes.
