He said: ‘Tom watched Rice as errand boy for Scray, pushing a case on castors for the bulk. What we have here is a kind of massive theft. They’re stealing our best customers, that is, who would of been our best customers, but who got intercepted, who got hijacked, by that gifted turd, Scray. It’s a prime disgrace.’
Tom reckoned indignation seemed to suit extremely well someone in such excellent three-piece, dark worsted tailoring, and the fine black lace-ups. Tom had noticed before that fury from a man in a buttoned-up waistcoat had exceptional edge, even someone short.
‘Nine hours!’ Abidan said. ‘That’s some tour of duty!’
‘This is the beauty of the van,’ Leo said, a smile back, but more or less authentic now. ‘It can stand there, like, in total innocence, its harmless identity, or alleged identity, present in pretty lettering for all to read – its connection with healthy, familiar settings, such as back gardens, obvious. And, inside, the operative is utterly comfortable, nourished, untroubled by lower bodily pressures, and capable of multi-scrutinizing via the A-windows.’
‘Great,’ Abidan said.
And Tom could more or less hear their minds whirring – Abidan’s and Wolsey’s – asking themselves, could a van wait there that long, unbothered by wardens or the police; unnoticed from his window by someone super-alert and nervous because he’s about to do an illegal, highly murky deal with a courier who’s perilously deep into a conspiracy against that baron of barons, Leo Percival Young? And they might think, too, that the courier himself would be very aware of risk and looking out for suspect vehicles doing crafty surveillance. The pretty lettering was pretty and very professionally done, but that didn’t mean it got swallowed.
Leo said: ‘This kind of meeting – a planning meeting – well, obviously I’d usually invite Justin Scray. But you won’t be surprised by his absence. Although he’s number three in our company and, in some ways, a valued high-flier with several undoubted flairs, it’s impossible for him to be one of us today in this unusual van venue. Why? Because he’s the very object of this meeting, isn’t he? He is our topic. If he was here, he wouldn’t be present to discuss but to be discussed, and not in a friendly style, either. All right, this time it was Norm who actually done the transacting re new supplies of the commodities, but who’s behind Norm? Who sent dear, two-timing Norm? I’ve already give you the answer to that one, though I’m sure you could of seen it for yourselves. This kind of filthy behaviour by Scray is not so very new news, is it? We’ve all known about it. Or, we all had an idea it was happening. The accounts showed something rotten going on. But proof? That we was short of, until this brill expedition by Tom and the van. I don’t act without proof.’
‘You’re well known for such carefulness, Leo, for such thoroughness. Ivor will confirm that, I’m sure,’ Abidan said. He was giving him a chance to get back into harmony with Leo. Empathy Abidan liked relationships to be peaceful and healthy. He could have been a Foreign Office diplomat, even an ambassador, if his career hadn’t happened to turn in this different direction owing to an acute, businesslike interest in the substances.
Ivor rushed to accept the help. ‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘Talking to people from other outfits, I often hear them say how strict and uncompromising Leo is about the need for good evidence before, say, a full removal or punishment slapping. It’s not always like that in their own firms, and they feel some shame.’
‘Which people from other outfits do you talk to?’ Leo said. ‘What you talking to them for, Ivor? What you discussing me for? I don’t think I want the company’s name or my name discussed by all sorts.’
‘Not all sorts, Leo,’ Ivor said. ‘One or two.’
‘Even so,’ Leo replied.
‘Ivor would be very discreet, I’m sure of that,’ Abidan said.
‘What do you think, Tom?’ Leo said.
‘It’s the kind of informal, possibly useful contact that needs a lot of caution,’ Tom said. ‘Things can be learned from such conversations, quite possibly valuable insights into other firms, but there’s also the danger of revealing too much about our firm.’ He gave the ‘our firm’ hefty emphasis, so as to stress his membership and constancy.
‘Exactly,’ Leo said. ‘Caution. What I’d like to know is how my name came into things at all.’
‘It was in a very favourable way,’ Ivor replied. ‘Positive, absolutely.’
‘In commerce, this kind of commerce, there isn’t no favourable way of talking about another firm’s chief. No positive way. If his name is mentioned it’s because some sod is thinking: how do I push, kick and elbow that one off of his top spot and grab his rich domain?’
‘Favourable and positive because they admire how you get a true case together before someone is made the subject of extreme treatment,’ Ivor said. ‘It’s considered sort of rare and therefore refreshing.’
‘There’s no admiring, either, in this trade. They’re feeding you them little bits of praise to smooth and lull, so you’ll go on talking about me and the firm, and they’ll be listening for things you won’t even know you’re saying, but they’ll be filleting your words for info, quite often words you’d imagine were totally OK and even dull, but they’ll sniff at them, for their own reasons. It’s how questioning works – known as interrogation, of course. They’ll let you chatter away, like a woman on a bus, and they’ll fix on some tiny point you might not of noticed at all speaking, but they will tie it to other tiny points and this will help them get the entire picture. And you’ll be wondering how they done it, even though it was you who gave them the stuff.’
‘I know Ivor will be more cautious from now on,’ Empathy said.
‘“Cautious” – that’s Tom’s word, and it’s a good one,’ Leo replied. ‘There’s a saying about “throwing caution to the wind”. At school, I remember we had to read a story where “he threw caution to the wind” on account of an adventure. Well, the wind don’t need that caution, so it shouldn’t be thrown to it. I’d like you both to discuss with Tom later the many aspects of cautiousness that might be required. He’ll show you how these work, how to get the best out of them.’
Ivor Wolsey said: ‘It will be a privilege to accept advice from—’
‘You’ll notice there’s someone else, beside Justin Scray, not present at this conference, who would normally be here,’ Leo replied. ‘No, I don’t mean Norm Rice. He’s always only been a dogsbody, a lackey. He don’t come in on policy discussions. Policy decisions tell him what he got to do. That’s his only connection with policy. So, not Norm Rice, but Jamie Meldon-Luce. Nobody could call Jamie a dogsbody or a lackey. Skills. Ample skills, a bucketful. He supplies them, e.g., he sees what’s what in an accounts sheet; second e.g., he has sources who bring quality insights; and third e.g., he’s a wonderful Wheels, delicate in his touch, yet also familiar with the flat-on-the-floor-almost-through-to-the-road accelerator. And it’s in that respect, the Wheels respect, that he would usually of been at a meeting such as this, because, obviously, something’s got to be done about Norm Rice and Scray, which will need high-grade driving. The place where this action is to happen I haven’t completely decided yet, but it’s definitely going to require proper transport to carry the scold team and bring them away, possibly stained or even injured.
‘However, the point about Jamie is at present he’s got a daughter doing Mary Magdalene in a church play and he’s going to be there to see it, got to be there to see it. Naturally. She’s eight. This is support for her from Dad and Mum. What are people going to think of them if they don’t turn up to watch and join in the final clapping, if clapping is allowed in a church? For reasons I might explain later, the correction we have in mind for, say, Claud Norman Rice, first, the poxy louse, has to be done on a certain, specific day – the day of the church play with Carol Jane Letitia doing Mary Magdalene, as a matter of fact. But even if that was not so, I wouldn’t want Jamie driving on this one. Forgive me, but I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s a weakness. How I see it is, I couldn’t
really ask someone whose daughter’s going to be, or has been, taking a top level role in a church play – no, I can’t ask him to carry out an operation where someone is going to get beaten half to death, at least half, owing to foul behaviour in a business context.
‘All right, what we’ll be at is absolutely deserved by Norm in the court of natural justice, and it’s all backed up with facts supplied to us by Tom and the van, what could be referred to with total accuracies as an indictment. I could still not feel right about it, though. In them circumstances – a religious event via Jamie’s daughter – it wouldn’t seem appropriate to ask him to do this necessary ferrying at a date so close to the church event. Finger irons might be in use and other metal. Do you see what I mean when I say inappropriate? This is a taste matter. It would be wrong. It would be crude. It would be disrespecting a family occasion – his family, and also a holy occasion. I would not feel correct if I demanded Jamie get this Wheels job done, regardless of his little girl acting a whore who gives it up when inspired. And this being so, I’m going to ask Tom here to take that role.’
Leo had another smile. It contained wryness. Tom had noticed a while ago that Leo possessed several types of smile and certainly knew when to use each of them. It amounted to an outright flair with him, a sort of RADA – trained aptitude. He said: ‘That sounds as if I’m asking Tom to take the Mary Magdalene role. No.’
Tom had a chuckle at this, and after a moment Empathy and Ivor did, too.
‘But do the Wheels role for me, Tom, would you?’ Leo said. ‘This has a certain tidiness about it, because, of course, it’s on account of your terrific work in this very van that we are on to Rice and Scray in a confirmed and clear way, though work at a different location, obviously – watching the dealer’s property, noting the arrival and departure of Norm.’
‘Iconic,’ Ivor said, sucking up late, but possibly not too late.
‘What? Leo said.
‘The van,’ Ivor said.
‘Well, yes, it could be referred to with such a word, I suppose,’ Leo replied. ‘It’s not for me to describe it like that, because I had a part in the design.’
‘Definitely iconic,’ Ivor said.
Tom considered that a shag within the marriage bonds, although unusually situated, in no way damaged the vehicle’s iconic status.
Leo said: ‘When this meeting’s over, I’ll take you to have a look at Norm’s place, Tom, so you’ll be familiar with the route and the surroundings, and especially the best leave-the-scene roads.’
‘Fine,’ Tom said. ‘But perhaps now is the occasion for a little van-based refreshment – to clinch the all round impression we have of its magnificent character – yes, its pure, iconic nature?’ He stood and stepped towards the flask rack.
‘The Thermoses?’ Leo said in an excited whisper, vivid anticipation aglow in his economical face.
‘What else?’ Tom replied.
‘This is wonderful,’ Leo said.
Tom took the flasks down and set them on the van floor, more or less where he’d lain when getting interim on-topped by Iris. He set one of the extra beakers alongside them as well as the teaspoon and sweeteners. ‘So, what will it be?’ he asked them.
‘Brilliant,’ Leo said. ‘This gives a striking glimpse of the van’s capabilities.’
‘I think you should have first choice, Leo, as host,’ Abidan said.
‘The soup is oxtail,’ Tom said.
‘Soup, then,’ Leo replied.
Tom put some into a spare beaker for him.
‘Tea for me,’ Empathy said. ‘One sweetener.’
Tom poured, stirred and handed him the cup-lid. There was a community character to the occasion now, and Tom felt pleased to seem part of it.
‘If there’s soup left I’ll have that, please,’ Ivor said. This would be another move to restore good vibes with Leo – the shared taste for oxtail, possibly showing a genes similarity.
Tom poured again and gave him the soup. Tom himself took coffee with two sweeteners.
‘This is ideal,’ Leo said. ‘It’s hardly like work at all, more a happy, relaxed, social get-together.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Tom replied.
Leo said: ‘There is work, of course – arranging plans for possible removal of that shite, Scray, and, in any case, for smashing some badly delayed regret into Norm. But the joy of the situation and circumstances takes away the drudgery of it.’ A kind of intimate cosiness existed inside the van and phrases like ‘poxy louse’, ‘that shite, Scray’, and ‘smashing some badly delayed regret into Norm’ seemed to float for several moments around them, affectionately cosseting Tom’s ears, and, presumably, the ears of the others.
He said: ‘If anyone wants to switch for a refill, there’s the other spare beaker.’
‘This soup will be enough for me,’ Leo said.
‘Ditto,’ Ivor said.
Leo said: ‘I like to think of Tom, secure and patient in the van, constantly checking the outer scene via the A-holes, possibly sipping a soup or coffee, even while deep into vigilance. And then, suddenly, after nine hours, to his grand satisfaction, here comes that fucking swindler, Norm Rice, pulling or pushing a case trolley, like someone at the airport off to Ibiza. Tom’s wait has been so justified. I’d like you to recall what I said in my second e.g. about Jamie – if he gets a tip it’s going to be a tip you can bet your castle on. Jamie gave us the dealer’s particulars, name, address, specialities. And so Tom, in the van, can place himself at the right point, unobserved but observing. Did you ever think during this trip to and from that you might have a tail, Tom?’
There’d been the Astra. But that was on a route Tom shouldn’t have been using at all – the road home: to remain unmentioned. And, in any case, it definitely disappeared after the stop at the bike shop. The Astra had gone its own way, unconcerned with the van, only on the same road for a while by fluke. ‘Nothing, Leo,’ Tom said.
‘You were keeping an eye?’ Leo replied.
‘Constantly,’ Tom said.
‘I knew you would,’ Leo said. ‘Basic. Elementary. This van has a wonderful ordinariness about it, and yet it isn’t ordinary at all.’
‘Right,’ Tom said.
‘Maybe Norman’s case on wheels held cash funds when he went in, to make a purchase; then the materials on the way out,’ Empathy said. ‘This is an image of how the market functions in a free society. A paradigm. Money to begin with. This money handed over. And in exchange come goods.’
‘You must of been doing an Open University Master’s degree in Business Studies on the quiet,’ Leo replied. ‘What I’m after now is a tableau.’
‘Certainly,’ Ivor said.
‘I think the case might have been empty on the way in,’ Tom said. ‘Not that it’s material, I suppose.’ It was material in helping prove Tom had truly been there and observant.
‘A tableau in the sense of considering the whole stack and spread of possibilities,’ Leo said.
‘This has ever been your style, Leo,’ Ivor said. ‘Overarching.’
‘The personnel in this tableau being Scray, Norm and us,’ Leo said.
‘Exactly,’ Ivor said.
‘Why the fuck do you answer, “Exactly,”? How do you know what I’m going to say?’ Leo asked.
‘I meant “exactly” in general, Leo,’ Ivor said. ‘Sort of globally.’
‘I’m what’s referred to as “pragmatic”,’ Leo replied.
‘No gainsaying that,’ Ivor said.
‘Scray: a high-grade operator with a collection of customers that I – we – want and intend getting,’ Leo said. ‘Now, maybe them customers got faith in Justin Scray as to quality of the product, price and security. Important factors. This is a valuable supplier-client relationship.’
‘Very,’ Ivor said.
‘Therefore, we don’t necessarily want Justin killed, regardless of how much the fucker has earned it.’
‘Which he undoubtedly has,’ Ivor said.
‘We want him wi
th us, not wiped out and with nobody. If he’s with us he brings that crowd of devoted, disposable-incomed punters with him. They’ve got not just a habit but a habit of dealing with Scray. OK, the false bastard is as false as false will ever be, but it’s only us who think he’s a false bastard, know he’s a false and stealthy bastard, because it’s to us that he’s the false bastard. His customers don’t see it the same. They regard him as a true, reliable, honest gent who comes up regular with a packet of their delights every week or so. They long to stick with him. He’s their beloved, safe, accommodating Mr Snort, or the Marquis of Mainline.’
‘I love it,’ Ivor said, giggling. ‘“Mr Snort!” “The Marquis of Mainline!” Maybe “The High-Commissioner of H”.’
‘We need him,’ Leo said. ‘What we don’t need is daft rage, a stupid search for vengeance.’
‘Yes, we need the bastard,’ Ivor said.
‘This is why I spoke of a tableau,’ Leo said.
‘Of course,’ Ivor said.
‘In this tableau we get to Norm Rice as openers.’
‘The poxy louse!’ Ivor declared.
‘We gives him some pain and possible breakages, but not on an absolutely immense scale which might lead to medical and police poking about. Norm wouldn’t want that; it would be like an intrusion on his privacy. We wouldn’t want it, either, obviously. I’d like it so he can manage, say, the splints and poultices by himself, or through dear ones – no hospitalization and all the snags that could bring for the firm, such as questions re how he got in that state, whatever it might be. People outside the trade are not going to understand that Justin and Norm were asking for it by their obnoxious behaviour.
‘Norm’s not our main objective, clearly. His injuries will be sort of messengers, and they are aimed at his master and scabby honcho, Justin Scray. And what do these messengers tell him, then? They tell him, first, we know what the fuckers are up to, owing to our own confidential methods, the chief of them methods being a tastefully customized van. Two, we don’t like it. Three, we’re not going to put up with it. Four, this is what a churl in their private outfit gets after he’s been fully observed doing a deal to feed this secret string of punters; and if a nobody in his organization gets this, Scray better start thinking what might come to him, such as not just a bit of rough-house but something that suits his higher rank, for instance, a volley in the tit region.