Book Reviews
|
|||
|
Go to Executive Times
Archives |
|||
|
Bad
Business by Robert B. Parker Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
|
||
|
Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
|
||
|
|
|||
|
Only Human Robert B. Parker on his worst writing day can
still produce stories that reveal human nature with poignant clarity. In the
latest (31st) Spenser novel, Bad
Business, Parker uses the corporate malfeasance stories in the media to
create an Enron-like company (Kinergy) and brings
readers into Parker’s view of the real people who make that business work,
and the marital cheating that’s part of their corporate culture. Here’s an excerpt,
all of Chapter 4, pp. 16-19: At 6 A.M., drinking a large coffee to help
my heart get started, I drove out the Mass Pike and south on 128 to Near the front entrance were parking
spots labeled CEO, COO,
CFO. I parked in the visitors slot and waited to see
if I could get a live look at Trent Rowley when he came to work. I was there
in place, on the alert, at 6:10. I was just in time. At 6:15 a silver BMW
sports car pulled into the CFO parking space and Rowley got out. He looked just like his picture: strong
jaw, dark wavy hair worn longish. He had on small round glasses with thin
gold frames. He was crisp and clean and pressed and tailored in a tan summer
suit, a blue shirt with a pin collar, and a pale blue tie. He almost
certainly smelled of expensive cologne. He walked very briskly into the still
empty building, proud of being the earliest bird. What kind of affair can a guy have when
he shows up for work at 6:15 in the morning? I hung around until everyone else came
to work, without seeing anyone who looked like they might be having an
affair with Rowley. Though it was, admittedly, hard to be sure. Then I wrote
down the plate number on the BMW. That done, I still had some energy left
over, so I drove back to At four in the afternoon, sound of
muscle and pure of mind, with a tall can of Budweiser to replenish my electrolytes, I drove back to Kinergy
and waited for Rowley to come out. By the time he did it was nearly eight
o’clock. I was thinking deeply about a sub sandwich and another beer. I
followed him north on Route 128, to Route 2, and in Route 2 to I left my car and twenty bucks with the
doorman, and was in the lobby hanging around near the elevators when Rowley
came in. He was carrying a small overnight bag, and paying me no attention as
he headed to the elevator. The Hyatt has one of those twenty-story Portman
lobbies, where you reach your floor by a glass-enclosed elevator, and each
room door opens out onto an interior balcony overlooking the lobby. He went
to the seventh floor and got out and walked to his left, halfway down the
balcony, and knocked on a door. The door opened and in he went. I looked at
my watch. It was ten minutes of nine, and Rowley’s evening was just starting.
It made me feel old. I took the elevator to the seventh
floor, and walked down to the twelfth door to the left, which was where
Rowley had knocked. It was room number 717. I wrote it down and went back
downstairs and took a seat in the lobby near the elevators, across from a
little guy with a big nose. He was wearing a tan windbreaker and reading the
paper. He was seriously engaged with his newspaper. Now and then as he read
he’d smile or frown or shake his head. I on the other hand was seriously engaged
in looking at the people who came and went into and out of the elevator. In
my first hour I saw three women who passed muster, one of whom was a rare
sighting. She earned nine on a scale where Susan was ten. I could hear the
piano in the cocktail lounge. By 11:15 the foot traffic had thinned at the
elevator. I had turned to thinking about my all-fathers-and-sons baseball
team. The little guy with the big nose had finally given up on the newspaper
and appeared to be whistling silently. Songs unheard are sweeter far. I
had gotten as far as Dick Sisler at first when the
door to room 717 opened and Trent Rowley came out with a woman. The woman was
carrying a large purse with a shoulder strap. They walked to the elevator and
came down. She looked good getting off the elevator. Short blond hair brushed
back. Good body, maybe a little heavy in the legs, but nothing to disqualify
her. Her eyes were made up and her lipstick looked fresh. Despite that, I
thought there was some sort of postcoital blur in
her expression. It might not stand up in court, but it was an expression I’d
seen elsewhere. I wasn’t wrong. They walked past us toward the corridor that
led to the parking garage. I got up as soon as they passed and hot-footed it
down to get my car from the doorman. The little guy with the nose was right
behind me. We looked at each other while the doorman got our car keys. “You’re following her,” I said. He
grinned. “And you’re following him.” I grinned. “And now we’ll switch,” I said. He nodded. “You’ll follow her home, and I’ll
follow him home. And then we’ll know who’s who.” “Might be easier,” I said, “to pool
information.” ‘Nope,” the little guy said, “got to be
done right.” The little guy took a business card out
of his shirt pocket. “But maybe we can talk later.” He
handed me the card. “Save you from chasing down my registration.” I took his card and gave him one of
mine and we both got in our cars as Rowley pulled out of the parking garage.
The little guy gave me a thumbs-up gesture and pulled out behind Rowley and
drove off after him. I did the same with the woman. As usual,
Parker’s talent for dialogue remains well-honed, and Bad Business
provides fine entertainment. Readers come away with a deepened understanding of
why people do what they do. Steve
Hopkins, April 23, 2004 |
|||
|
|
|||
|
ã 2004 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the May 2004
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Bad
Business.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
|||
