Modifications

"You remember what today is?" Atta asked, flipping through the mail and pushing the door shut with her heel.
"Yeah, for once," I said, trying to separate the unbleached coffee filters.
"I'll do that," Atta said, her personal space bubble pushing me out of the way.
Today was the day Atta and I would meet "Slim", the man who had very recently bought Weapon Mods and all of its posts, past and present. Not so much as a word from Mr. Haranthal and alluva sudden Atta's storming in telling me we've been sold. Not a damn word from the sonuvabitch who woke me up at three in the morning to tell me I misspelled "Beleaguered". I don't know what I was expecting, but something. It's not like Haranthal owned Mods or anything, but I had taken his lack of communication as evidence he was not a part of the deal. I suppose we'd find out for sure soon enough.
I sat through the morning wondering what this transition would be like, if there even was one. Maybe he had absolutely no interest in the going-ons here and only saw some post on the rise with its fifteen followers. Ok, maybe not. I was hoping he'd see fit to sink some money into this place, some new paint on the walls would go a long way, so would a few working lights, and maybe a window-unit that didn't sound like a weed-eater having a stroke.
I imagined the horrors, too. What if he hadn't read any of the posts and thought this was some rag devoted to the NRA...oh god. Oh god. I started to look around the room as if it were the last time I'd ever be in there as the correlation between a name like "Slim" and the NRA came dangerously close to intersecting on the graph I was projecting in catatonic fear.
I was broken out of my sudden paralysis by a soft knocking at the door. When Atta opened it, a man, a giant of a man, lowered his head in with a defense-defying grin and reached down and took my hand, "You must be Dorge," he said, "It's nice to meet you."
If he noticed me stammering he didn't let on, "Slim? Slim. Ahh, this is Atta," I got out, god, did he cast Imposing 2 on me or something? If that were so, what spell was he working on my assistant?
I had to check myself from rolling my eyes as she gushed out her life story for the benefit of our new owner, he finally raised his hand for her to stop when she offered him coffee, and whatever else the Tall-and-Dark might be in immediate need of, "No, thank you, so much," he said, "But I was hoping we could get something to eat? I'm famished," and then he was out the door again without waiting for a response.
"Why don't you like him? You just met him!" Atta said, getting her keys. I suppose I'm not as hard to read as I thought I was, "He's not wearing an undershirt. You know that drives me crazy," it's all I had.

Slim was waiting for us outside, looking up and down the street like he was going to buy that, too. As soon as he saw us he flashed another smile and took off, Atta and me left to follow someone who, if someone were to ask me, had no idea where he was going. I was in the middle of shooting Atta a sideways glance when he suddenly turned around and started walking backwards, looking down at us from all his nine feet of height.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he said, "and I'm really excited, too. You probably don't know this, but I've been reading your blog for a while now."
It took my mind a second to hear what he was saying. I was still busy taking this guy in, goatee, polo, jeans, and young. I guess with a name like "Slim" I thought he'd had a ten-gallon hat and six-shooters, but this guy? This guy looked like he only took public transportation.
"Is pizza ok, it's just quick, and this place is great," he said, holding a door open suddenly, bell ringing.

"Ok," he said, "I'm sorry things have been a little hush-hush. That's all me. I'm a very private person. Not like, dont' think...The Aviator, private, but close enough. First thing's first: Haranthal's out. It's best we just leave it at that. You two are still in, you're not going anywhere unless you want to? Right. Now, don't be worried, I'm not moving in or anything and I have no experience editing, whatsoever. My thoughts? You don't need an editor. That is, unless you need someone to tell you to post at least once a week. Unless you need someone to remind you, as of now, that if you don't post once a week, you're gone. And I don't think I need to pay someone like Mr. Haranthal to remind you of that, do I? There, that was the the roughest part, right there."
Atta looked worried. Surely she had enough faith in me that I could get at least one post out a week? Maybe not. But, putting that aside, who did this guy think he was?
"I'm the new owner of Weapon Mods," he said, and winked.
Wow.
"You say you have no experience editing, well, what do you have experience in? Who are you?" I said. It took him a while to answer. The long pause before hand, and then the answer that could have filled the time-slot for a sitcom. His response sounded like something Ian Fleming made up. Which led to my next question.
"I was tired of the game," he said. "I wanted out. I have a family now, and all that? Doesn't matter. It's just...," and he made some inscrutable hand gesture.
"Then why Mods?" I asked.
"I liked it. And it was cheap," he said, matter-of-fact. Listen, I've got to get going. Just a few things I want to go over, fist. We're cancelling "Segmented" for the time being, and I want "Someone's Watching" taken down, it's offensive. I'm sending someone over at the end of the week to see what you might need in the office. Also, leave out the part when I ordered pizza for everyone. Atta, again, I'm very sorry, I had no idea you were vegetarian. Ok, that should do it. I'll be in touch.
"Oh, one more thing. Put something in there that makes it look like I was reading your mind, or something. It'll be hilarious!"

What does he know?