Peter Corris - Taking Care of Business

I slid open the top drawer of the filing cabinet. ‘I’ve got a cask of red and some plastic cups.’

‘Do you know what Bob Dylan said to John Lennon in the Beatles’ hotel suite when John asked him what he’d like to drink?’

‘No.’

He said, ‘Cheap wine.’

I hauled out the cask and the cups. ‘Bob’d be right at home, then.’

The cups were small and we knocked back a couple without saying much as the light died outside. Charlie fiddled with one of the buttons on his gunmetal-grey, single-breasted suit jacket. ‘I used to get around in jeans too, but Stefan wore me down.’

‘Have you got any evidence of his involvement in Steve’s death?’

‘Not really. I know he’s got a mate who’s been in jail for all sorts of things and would do anything Stefan asked him if the price was right. Guy named Rudi. Scary guy-tattoos and all that.’

I took a slug of the red; the third drink tastes better than the first. ‘Might be enough to interest the police, Charlie, along with everything else you’ve told me.’

‘No, I can’t go to the police. Not ever. That’s one of the reasons I’ve come to you.’

He explained, hesitantly and haltingly, that he’d had the pressure of studying and holding down part-time jobs got to him and put him into what he described as a ‘fugue’.

He was well into his third cup of plonk by this stage and showing the signs. He loosened his tie, undid the top button on his shirt and suddenly looked a lot younger and even more vulnerable. ‘I was smoking a lot of dope and I went paranoid, really nuts. There’s a name for it.’

‘Marijuana psychosis,’ I said.

‘Yeah. That. Well, I got this idea in my head that one of our lecturers was out to kill me because I was so much smarter than him and could take his job any day, and he knew it, and so he…’

He finished his drink and held out the cup for more.

‘You driving, Charlie?’

‘No, I don’t drive. I’ll get a cab. That’s if… um…’

I poured him some more red.

‘I… went to the cops, made a fucking nuisance of myself. Abused them… got locked up… got worse. It went on for a while until Steve found me a good therapist and I got clear of it. I still got a First-came equal top with Steve.’

‘What about Mark?’

‘He got a top Second. Mark did other things-read novels and played golf. You know.’

Normal, I thought.

‘We were sharing a grotty flat in Ultimo, Mark, Steve and me, and they had to put up with all the shit I was getting into. I got busted for dope. They didn’t, but it was a near thing. They got very pissed off. Mark especially, not so much Steve. But they knew they needed me when we were developing Solomon. It was my baby, really. But Steve’s, too.’

‘Who’d read the Bible?’

He laughed. ‘Steve, when he was a kid. He wasn’t a Christian anymore, but he was a good, gentle… Shit, I’m having trouble saying this.’

‘Take your time, Charlie.’

He sniffed and did a bit of beard stroking. ‘When Rog drew up the agreement, Mark insisted that he put in a clause that sort of put everything on hold if I… exhibited signs of drug use and paranoia again. That survived into the revised agreement Stefan masterminded. I’m clean now but, you know, I get intense… See the picture?’

‘I think so. If you go to the police with your suspicions, that could screw up the float plan.’

‘That’s it. I’m taking a bit of a risk just coming here. Stefan’s got someone watching me, but I gave her the slip.’

‘Her?’

‘Yes, this woman he’s sort of sicked on to me. Amie.’

‘You don’t like her?’

‘She’s stupid. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not gay or anything. I’m just not interested in sex.’

‘What are you interested in, Charlie?’

He looked down at the wine in his cup but clearly had no intention of drinking it. He leaned forward to put the cup on the desk. ‘I’m very interested in staying alive, Cliff. That’s why I’m here.’

Charlie Marriott told me the float would go through at the end of that week and if he could stay alive and at liberty for that long he’d be in a position to stop Stefan Sweig from selling the firm off to the multinationals.

‘Too much of our IT industry is going offshore,’ he said. ‘Jesus Christ, the federal government is doing it now. The finance minister’s gung-ho about it. I… we investigated one of these outsourcing deals for a client who was interested in getting into it. Found it’d be a great deal for him. I did a check of my own, just for fun, on what the government said it’d save. It was bullshit. If anything it’d cost the taxpayer money in the long run. Can you imagine the US government selling off the IT arm of the Internal Revenue Service to, say, France? That’s virtually what’s happening here.’

He was excited again. I had to get him back on track. ‘At liberty,’ he’d said. ‘What about this mental instability clause?’ I asked him.

‘That’s what I meant when I said Stefan might kill me or do something worse. Worse would mean being committed to a loony bin. That’d bring the clause into play and rule me out when it comes to voting on the shares. I know Stefan’s been reading up on psychology and such.’

‘How’d you know?’

‘This girl, this Amie, let it slip. As I said, she’s not too bright.’

‘Good-looking, though?’

‘Yeah. I suppose.’

‘What about after the float?’

He grinned; again, with the bad teeth, not quite parting the lips. ‘No, the original agreement dissolves and it’s all a new ball game after that. Some of the stuff to do with the float I don’t like, but I made sure there was nothing like that hanging over my head this time.’

I couldn’t say I liked it much, but I’d warmed to Charlie a bit and it had a certain interest. It was time I learned something about computers and this looked like a chance to do it. The prospect of five days of bodyguarding wasn’t exciting, but the money wouldn’t hurt. The mental instability factor worried me a little, but he seemed sane enough now, even if he was a bit of a two-pot screamer, to judge by the way the cask red had affected him. My doubt must have been showing because he took on that frightened look again.

‘You’re going to turn me down.’

I shook my head and got a contract form out of the desk drawer. ‘No, I’ll take it on.’ I slid the form across to him and he examined it as if he’d never seen anything like it before.

‘Shit,’ he said, ‘I’d forgotten there were still things like this. It all happens online now.’

‘Reckon you can master it?’

He pulled out a pen. ‘Sure, but you’re going to have to catch up to stay in business, Cliff.’

‘We can talk about that,’ I said. ‘What exactly did you have in mind for me to do, Charlie?’

He filled in the form quickly, took a cheque book from his jacket pocket, made a quick calculation and wrote out a cheque for five thousand dollars and passed it across to me.

‘That’s too much.’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of a bonus? If you’ve got a good spreadsheet you can work it in as… shit, I forgot. No spreadsheet?’

‘All I know about a spreadsheet is that it rhymes with bedsheet. You didn’t answer my question and I think I’d better get an answer before I sign this.’

‘Okay, well, I guess I’d like you to drive me to and from the office on the working days remaining until the float.’

‘That sounds all right. What about at home?’

‘Oh, my home’s secure. No problems there. Plus I’ve got a rifle.’

Have you? I thought. That’s a worry. ‘What about at work?’

He thought for a minute, fiddling with his now empty cup.