But, if they were anything like Richard, a former New York ad guy himself, I knew they’d have little to offer. He was convinced that since they were New York advertising guys, they were better. A couple of freelancers-one writer and one art director-he brought on board to help with a new business pitch. “I’m briefing the New York guys on the project. No one said much, sleep and boredom weighing us down, until the creative director, Richard, asked us, “Guys, how do you spell capiche?” Running late this early morning, and apparently lost, we were on our way to a TV shoot at a location somewhere far down an eternal highway. There were five of us in a minivan-the creative director, an account executive, the agency producer, the art director I was partnered with, and me, the copywriter. Mine came at the ragged edge of the Florida Everglades. He covered his mouth with both hands and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” then snorted helplessly through his fingers and said, “Capiche-oh, God, capiche,” and at that the man with the pistol raised the pistol and shot Anders right in the head. As the narrator in Tobias Wolff’s short story “Bullet in the Brain” explained: Moments before the bullet that tore through his brain was fired, Anders was lost in a fit of laughter brought on by the surly bank robber’s use of the word capiche.
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