The lunch rush at Barsoom had just finished when Mercy came up to my hostess station. “Hey, Pru. Edy wants you,” she said in a flat tone. “In his office.” I sighed and headed back. Edy was the Barsoom’s manager and the nicest jerk you’d ever meet. He never messed with the schedule or swiped your tips or made you work off the clock, but he’d throw you out an airlock in a microsecond to save the restaurant. Still, he’d be nice about it. He was hands on, too, never in his office unless he was running the numbers or