Peter Corris - Taking Care of Business

‘I don’t think I’m in any danger there. It’d be good if you showed up once or twice, just to get the message across, but I hardly think Stefan’d get Rudi to throw me out the window.’ He smiled when he said it, but his laugh was nervous.

‘Wouldn’t it be an idea for me to go around and see this Rudi and put him in the picture?’

‘No, no. Couldn’t do that. Stefan could use that as an excuse to have me examined… you know.’

I nodded but still didn’t sign. Charlie wrote a big, bold hand and the five grand was starting to look more and more attractive. I had rates to pay, credit cards and the Falcon needed work. ‘So how will it look when you show up in the office with a bodyguard?’

‘Shit, I hadn’t thought of that.’

I made my decision then; I wasn’t convinced that he was facing the danger he anticipated. I had a suspicion that paranoia was part of his make-up, but he clearly needed help of some kind and I was willing to go along for the ride. I signed the contract and handed him his copy.

‘Haven’t you got an uncle with some money who’s thinking of buying shares when you float the company? And isn’t he the careful type who likes to take a good long look at things before he buys?’

Charlie let go the first full-bodied smile I’d seen from him.

‘I believe I do,’ he said. ‘And I believe he’s just that sort of guy.’

Marriott’s house was in Ryde; not my idea of a place to live, but conveniently close to Sydney’s Silicon Valley in Lane Cove. The deal we struck was that I’d see him from door to door tonight and for the next four mornings and put in an occasional appearance at the Solomon Solutions office. When he had to go out to meetings or other functions I’d tag along. If anyone asked how come Uncle Cliff was driving him around, my line was that I was semi-retired from owning and driving a taxi and that driving was in my blood. Plus I was happy to do it for my favourite nephew who was going to make me rich.

We nutted some of this out as we drove from Darlinghurst towards the North Shore.

‘It sounds a bit thin,’ I said.

Charlie looked tired now, as if the effort of coming to see me and unburdening himself, plus the couple of red wines, had wearied him. He shrugged. ‘But it’s feasible, and they can’t lock me away on account of it.’

‘Won’t Stefan twig?’

‘Maybe. I don’t mind that. I don’t object to playing a few mind games with Stefan.’

And who else? I wondered, but I drove on.

The traffic was heavy. The free-flowing traffic of the Olympic fortnight, when people had left their cars at home and enjoyed the efficient public transport, was all over. We were back to our bad habits, with cars driving into and out of the city containing one person. I’m an offender myself, but at least now I wasn’t the worst. The politician who keeps cars out of the city and establishes drive-and-park points, or at least institutes an odds and evens numberplate system, will get the boot but he’ll be a sainted benefactor. Don’t hold your breath.

It was stop-start for kilometres and not made any easier by heavy rain. Charlie was in a mood to talk, especially when I asked him what was so wrong about selling out to a multinational.

He was still a bit drunk. ‘You know what they do?’ he said. ‘When they take over something down here? Get that? Down here! That’s what they always say.’

I sighed as I pulled up at least a hundred metres short of a set of lights. ‘No idea. Tell me.’

‘Jesus, I remember what Steve said. That bloody awful red of yours must’ve triggered it. He said something like, “They’re such literal-minded bastards they’re up and we’re down and that’s the way they like it.” He was right.’

Sitting there behind the wheel, and not entirely unaffected by the wine myself, I had a rare lateral thinking moment. ‘I suppose it depends where you are in the universe. If you’re far enough away and subject to other forces… say, the rings of Saturn have got you by the gravitational balls, the northern and southern hemispheres of planet Earth don’t amount to a hill of beans.’

Charles Marriott laughed as if I was Woody Allen on wheels. ‘D’you read much science fiction, Cliff?’

‘Never.’

‘Really? Well, what you’ve just said is the sort of thing Steve would’ve said. He read a lot. Not like Mark, who reads trash. Steve read all that thoughtful stuff-Arthur C Clarke, Philip K Dick… why’ve they all got middle initials?’

I made it through the lights on the amber, just. ‘Dunno.’

‘Yeah, well. When the Americans take over a dot com here or anywhere else they get all enthusiastic about its potential and possibilities and they set up all kinds of well-funded research and development projects and we mere mortals get excited and start working our arses off and coming up with brilliant ideas. I’ve seen it time and again. Know what happens in the end?’

‘The corporate suits rip them off, the locals get nothing.’

‘Sorry, but you’re naive, Cliff. It’s worse than that. Say we were taken over by BigDick. com based in Palo Alto. They’d send some hotshot out here and fire half the staff as a beginning and then get all enthused about some project or other, get the remaining people to work twenty-five hours a day on it and then just drop it, lose interest. Or there’d be some change at board level and the strategic focus or some such shit would change and so little Oz project X would get the flick. Happens all the time. Morale goes through the floor. They send out another swinging dick and he fires a few more people and recommends the operation be moved to Malaysia. The end.’

The rain got heavier and I had to concentrate on my driving, but I’d attended to what he’d said closely enough. He said it well, putting on a pretty good American accent for the key jargon words. I had the distinct feeling that he’d gone through the spiel a few times before, but he was so passionate about it that the diatribe still had a fresh feel.

My response was pretty lame. ‘Well, that’s capitalism,’ I said.

‘No. It’s a new kind of capitalism with a different psychology to it.’

I pulled up at another set of lights and glanced across at him. He’d taken off his tie and was rolling it up and unrolling it. ‘How’s that?’

‘I’ll tell you a story. A little while ago Stefan hired this young guy fresh out of uni. He’d done some brilliant thing for his honours project. All to do with interest rate projections and the effects on a whole range of businesses. Very smart stuff.’

‘Sounds like your kind of boy.’

‘Yeah. I suppose so. Anyway, Stefan put him on a short-term contract for, like, five grand a week. It was more money than he’d ever seen in his life in week one.’

‘I wouldn’t be far behind him on that.’

‘Okay. So he’s given this thing to work on and it’s a pile of shit. I mean, I’m slipping a bit behind the fast boys and I know it, and I can’t catch up until I’ve got through this rough patch-I mean with your help, Cliff.’

We were moving again and I was so glad to get a bit of speed up and get out of second gear that I almost missed the false note. Almost. Pleading and chumminess weren’t quite Charlie’s style. ‘Right,’ I said.

‘It was nothing! Going nowhere. But Stefan kept encouraging him and he kept slogging away until he hit a brick wall. Well, by now he’s got more money in the bank than he’s ever dreamed of and he’s what, twenty-two? He likes girls and cars and he likes the grog. He starts to run off the rails, a couple of crashes where he’s close to the. 05 limit but he just scrapes through and then one when he doesn’t and he gets a conviction and a hefty fine and a suspension. I mean, I went into a kind of slide like that myself and I know what it’s like. I could see the signs in him-late in to work, red eyes, twitching… shit!’