The Rule of Nine

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Jimmie Snyder was twenty-three, tall and lanky. He had been in his current job less than two months and he was scared. He knew he had screwed up. He lay awake at nights worrying about it, as if under Chinese water torture, waiting for the next drip to hit him on the forehead. It was all about expectations, mostly his father’s.

Snyder’s dad was the managing partner in a large law firm in Chicago. Jimmie had graduated pre-law from Stanford a year earlier and his father wanted him to go to law school. But Jimmie wanted to go into film production. His father would have none of it. As far as the old man was concerned, Jimmie needed credentials to round out his law school application and beef up his less-than-stellar undergraduate grades and middling LSAT score.

Toward that end, his father pulled every string within reach to land the boy a job in Washington. The best he could do on short notice was a temporary position as a part-time guide. The job was a holding pattern until his dad could yank more levers and land something better.

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