Options: The Secret Life of Steve Jobs by Daniel Lyons Page B

Then Bono says, “Here, take this,” and hands this guy his own personal iPod, the U2 model, in black. “You keep it,” he says.
    The guy looks at it for a second and he’s like, “No friggin way.” Like he just got a Cadillac from Elvis or something.
    This is why I love Bono. Because down deep this is who Bono really is. This is the private Bono, the person the public doesn’t get to see. He takes a moment that could turn ugly and he makes it into something really beautiful. That’s just how his processor is wired, you know?
    Bono, you are a class act. Totally.
    So I’m getting huge blowback from the engineering department for firing Mike Dinsmore and his wise-ass helper Jeff. Apparently the engineers are all very devoted to the big carrot-top freak and they want him back. They’ve even signed a petition. But you know what? Frig that. I like firing people. I find it invigorating.
    Whenever I’m feeling down, or low, or when I can’t break through some negative energy and get back into a creative groove, one of the first things I’ll do is fire someone. Naturally I try to be creative about it. One example is a game Lars Aki and I have created called Sniper. We do it when we need something to spark some creativity. Sniper is like a video game, only in meat space. Gist is, I’m John Allen Muhammad and Lars is my sidekick, Lee Malvo, and we go around looking for a victim. We make up some random rule. For example, the first person we meet with red hair gets fired. Or the first person wearing one of those stupid Bluetooth earpieces.
    Today we’re stuck trying to create some design ideas for the next-generation iMac computers, and so we head out onto the campus, with the rule for the day being that the first person who dares to speak to me without being spoken to—bam. In the neck. We start out in the headquarters building, then cross through the cafeteria and the iGym, past the climbing wall and the aquarium and the Zen center, then outside to the skateboard halfpipe and the mountain bike trails and the rifle range, back into the wellness center, past the smoothie bar, the transgendered support group meeting, the aromatherapy room and the massage center where a squadron of therapists are rolling out their massage chairs for the afternoon shift.
    Nobody will talk to us. Finally we give up and head back to the headquarters, where Paul Doezen comes rushing up.
    “I’ve been looking all over for you. Your assistant said he didn’t know where you were, and you didn’t have your cell phone.”
    “Bam,” Lars Aki says, shooting an invisible rifle at Paul. “You dead, sucka. You gone.”
    “Lars,” I say, “we can’t fire the CFO.”
    “The rules are the rules, dude.”
    “He’s the CFO.”
    “What are you guys talking about?” Paul says.
    “Nothing.”
    Lars gives me this disgusted look. “Dude, I’m going windsurfing.”
    “What is it,” I say to Paul as we ride up in the elevator.
    “The shorts,” he says.
    “Whose shorts?”
    “The short sellers. I gave you the spreadsheet. Remember?”
    “Vaguely. Not really. What about them?”
    “Short interest has doubled again. I’ve got a lead on who’s doing it.”
    He gives me this look like a dog that’s just fetched a stick and is waiting for praise. He’s practically wagging his tail. But as I’ve explained before: I never give praise. Ever.
    We get to the top floor and head to my office. I sit down. He starts to do the same, but I tell him to remain standing.
    “I don’t have time for a chat,” I say. “Just tell me what you know.”
    “Company’s registered in the Cayman Islands. Here.”
    He slides me a piece of paper. The name of the company is Ianus.
    “Please tell me that’s not some kind of joke about an anus,” I say.
    “Yah-nus,” he says. “The Roman god. Also called Janus. It’s where the word ‘January’ comes from.”
    “I knew that. But thanks for the history lesson. Who’s behind it?”
    “Hard to say.