The King Tides

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Jon Lancaster sat slumped in a chair, fighting exhaustion. Dressed like a street person, he wore ratty jeans with holes in the knees and a stained Jimmy Buffett T-shirt. He did not have an athletic appearance, and his most prominent physical feature was his stomach, which was as round as a beach ball. He also smelled like low tide.

“No offense, Jon, but I really don’t think you’re suited for this job,” Dr. Nolan Pearl said. “You’re a little rougher than I’m used to.”

Lancaster blinked awake. “You want me to leave?”

“If you don’t mind. You need to go sleep it off.”

“I’m not drunk. I’ve been up seventy-two hours straight on a job, and I hit the wall. I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Think I could bum a cup of coffee?”

“There’s a Starbucks down the street.” Pearl rose from his desk. “I’ll show you out.”

Lancaster remained seated. “You said you were desperate.”

“I am. I just don’t think—”

“That I’m right for the job? Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

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