LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Nine Continued

      Sean Frame looked at the printout as Herb Larkin explained the changes that had been made, nodding at all the right times, asking all the right questions. “So what you’re saying, Herb, is that this new configuration removes two of the steps from our former checklist, yet increases our inventory accuracy by—what was that, twenty-three percent?”

      “Yes, sir,” Herb answered, bobbing his head excitedly. “That’s how Jerry figures it. The more steps you take, the more chances of human error, or something like that. And this kid—this kid—he just looked at the program for about an hour. I had him sitting near me to watch, it being his first day on the job and all, and he’s watching me, watching me, and I’m logging in stuff and logging out stuff and making all the checks, and I’m moaning and groaning over all the different screens I have to pull up, all the different checks and balances before I’m cleared to move on to the next stuff, and he says, hey, that’s dumb! Why don’t you just…well, I guess I already told you that part before, huh, Mr. Frame?”

      “Yes, Herb. Yes, you did.” Sean paged through the printout a third time, still comparing it with the one that had been put on his desk Friday night—he had a printout from the loading dock placed on his desk every night—and shook his head. “It was right there, right in front of me. And I’m the one with the master’s degree in computer science. Damn.”

      “Of course, we didn’t let the kid do any of the actual changes. I mean, hey, he’s a kid, right? But I took him to Jerry, and they talked it all out, and then they did the work between them. I don’t know what they did. These computers are Greek to me, you know. And now Jerry took the kid from me and put him in with him.”

      “Jerry did that, did he?” Sean looked at the two printouts again, then sat back in his desk chair. “And this boy’s name would be?” he asked, somehow already sure of the answer Herb would give him.

      “Jason,” Herb said, still nodding. Herb nodded a lot, as if he was always in agreement with himself. “Jason Taylor.”

      Sean’s smile disappeared. “Taylor?” He sat forward once more, punching a few keys on his own computer, tapping into the personnel files. And there it was: Jason Taylor. His son. He hadn’t used his own name, but his mother’s new married name. The boss’s son, the owner’s son, and he hadn’t used his own name. Herb hadn’t indulged the kid, Jerry hadn’t been trying to score points. The kid had come up with a good idea. A damn good idea. And all on his own.

      Was this the same kid who couldn’t find a clothes hamper if it were the size of a compact car and parked in the middle of his bedroom? The kid who was in trouble for throwing rocks and breaking the school gymnasium windows?

      “Well, thanks, Herb,” Sean said, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “We’ll watch this, see how it goes. There could be a few glitches that haven’t shown up after only one day. You’ll keep me informed?”

      “Yes, sir,” Herb said emphatically, then added, “you know, sir, these kids today are something else. I mean, this Taylor boy shows up this morning, long hair, ripped jeans, T-shirt with some dead rock star on it, a flannel shirt six sizes too big hanging over it—looking like he can’t remember his own name, you know. And then he does something like this!” He pointed to the spreadsheets. “I don’t get it. Why do they do this?”

      “Do what, Herb?” Sean asked, knowing exactly what his son had looked like before leaving the house this morning because he had watched out the window, from behind the bedroom curtains, believing the boy had deliberately dressed like a homeless orphan to embarrass his father.

      “I

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