Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

'Sounds like he and Frank were destined to clash.'

'I'd say it was unavoidable,' said Daniel.

We drank our beer. I thought through other possibilities. 'Gil?' I suggested.

'I don't think so,' said Daniel. 'He's so straight. And they were friends.'

'Besides, why would he do it?'

'No reason I can think of.' Daniel sipped his beer thoughtfully. 'But what about Diane?'

'Diane?' I said. 'Why would she want to kill Frank?'

'I don't know. She seems charming on the surface. But she's cunning. Devious. A skilful political animal.'

'Where did you get that idea?'

'Charlie Dyzart from B-school went to Barnes McLintock. He told me a bit about her.'

'Like what?'

'She was a very good management consultant. She became one of the youngest partners at Barnes McLintock. Certainly the youngest female partner. But she left some collateral damage in her wake.'

'What happened?'

'It seems her boss advised Pan United Airlines to change their image to appear more international and less American. They lost a quarter of their passengers within six months. They tried to sue Barnes McLintock. Diane somehow persuaded Pan United that she had always thought it was a bad idea, and she came up with some smart ways to fix the problem. Barnes McLintock didn't get sued, they kept the client, her boss got fired, and she got promoted. Charlie said the guy didn't stand a chance once Diane had him in her sights.'

'I see.' I remembered Frank had said something about how Diane had broken up a marriage at Barnes McLintock. It was something I had tried to forget. 'She didn't have an affair with him, did she?'

Daniel laughed. 'No, but there was something with an associate,' Charlie said. 'A young guy. Married. He walked out on his wife and left the firm. Then she dropped him a few months later. Everyone knew about it.'

'Hmm.'

Daniel looked at me curiously. 'You'd better watch yourself with Diane, Simon.'

'Oh, come on, Daniel. There's nothing between us. I like her. I respect her. She's a good venture capitalist.'

'She's after you.'

The trouble with Daniel was you could never tell whether he was joking or being serious. But either way I knew he was right.

'I still don't think Diane would kill anyone,' I said. 'That goes way beyond political scheming. No, I think Art is our best bet.'

Daniel allowed the subject to be changed. 'There is one interesting thing about Art,' he said.

'What's that?'

'I think he used to be an alcoholic'

'I've never seen him drink,' I said.

'Precisely,' said Daniel. 'And he doesn't act like the temperance type. In fact he seems more like the hard-drinking type to me.'

'You mean he must have given up?'

'Absolutely. Maybe Vietnam had something to do with it.'

'It must have been horrible.' Nothing in my military experience came close, certainly not Northern Ireland. 'But Art being a former alcoholic doesn't prove anything'

'Except I think he might be back on the booze.'

'Have you seen him drunk?'

'No, but he's called in sick unexpectedly three times in the last three weeks. I know because I had to cover for him. And on Tuesday morning I could swear he smelled of whisky.'

'That's not good. Do you think some recent event might have started him off again?'

'It's a theory,' said Daniel. 'But it's nowhere near as convincing as the theory that you did it.'

'Great,' I said, and drained my beer.

An hour or so later, we left Pete's, mellow but not drunk. The nights were beginning to get cold. Daniel had his raincoat, but I was wearing just my suit. I hunched my shoulders and pushed my hands deep into my pockets. It was late, and it was quiet in the heart of the Financial District.

Two big men in jeans approached us along the narrow sidewalk. We paused to let them pass by. But they didn't pass by. Their eyes locked on Daniel and me.

I heard rapid footsteps behind us. Too late I pulled my hands out of my pockets, too late to prevent a heavy blow to my stomach. The air burst out of my diaphragm, and I doubled up, gasping. Two more punches followed, and I slumped backwards against the wall.

They bundled Daniel into an alleyway. In front of me stood a big hard man, his fists clenched. Daniel was suffering, I heard the blows coming thick and fast. He cried out. My head slowly cleared. The man in front of me was watching me closely, his fists ready to strike again. I closed my eyes, and allowed myself to slump downwards, letting my weight fall on to my right leg. Then I spun round, and thrust my fist upwards with all my strength into the man's face. The blow caught him on the side of the head, and sent him stumbling. I hit him a couple more times, and he staggered backwards into the street.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other two leave Daniel, and move towards me. I turned to face them.

Then one of them muttered something in a foreign language that sounded like Russian, and they backed off.

'Jesus, Daniel, are you OK?' I crouched over him. He was conscious but groaning.

'No,' he muttered between his teeth.

'Here, I'll call an ambulance.'

Daniel sat up. 'No, don't do that. I think I am OK. It just hurts.'

'Where?'

'Everywhere. But I don't think anything's broken. My arm hurts like hell. Get me a taxi, Simon. I'll go home.'

His face was a mess. His nose was bleeding, and so was his lip, and he had a huge red mark on one cheek. I picked him up and half-carried him to a busier street. We waited a couple of minutes for a taxi, and after I had assured the driver there was no chance of us getting any blood on the upholstery, I gently placed Daniel in the back seat.

'Here, I'll go with you,' I said, climbing in with him.

'You're a great guy to be out in Boston at night with,' said Daniel, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose with his hand.

'They didn't know who we were, did they?'

'Didn't they?' said Daniel. 'Did they steal anything? I've still got my wallet, I think.' He patted his pocket to make sure.

I checked mine. It was still there.

The thought that people I didn't know might want to beat me up bothered me. But Daniel was right. They hadn't taken anything.

'Did you hear them at the end?' I said. 'One of them was speaking a foreign language. Russian I think.'

'No,' Daniel said. 'I was out of it.' He groaned and rubbed his ribs. 'This hurts.'

'What would a bunch of Russians want with me?' I said.

'Face it,' said Daniel. 'Nobody likes you.'

The sun rose cold and clear the next day as I walked into work. The leaves of the trees on the Common were at the peak of their colour: oranges, yellows and browns. The previous autumn, Lisa and I had spent as much time as we could outside Boston, in the back roads of New England, amongst the extraordinary foliage. But not this year. This year, the leaves would fall unremarked. The cold greyness of a Boston winter was close.

My body still ached from the blows it had received. Why would some Russian thugs want to beat me up? Daylight and a clearer head didn't help answer the question.

If they'd beaten me up once, they could do it again. I'd have to be careful. No more walking down dark alleys half-drunk. But if someone wanted to get me, they'd find a way, however careful I was. A depressing thought.

I left the open spaces of the Common, and made my way through clogged streets downtown. I was walking past the Meridien Hotel with its line of red awnings over the ground floor windows, when I saw Diane coming the other way. She crossed the road at the junction, and disappeared into the entrance. I wasn't surprised; it was the favourite breakfast haunt for downtown venture capitalists. Then, as I reached the junction myself, I saw the diminutive figure of Lynette Mauer, clutching a Wall Street Journal and a briefcase. I turned, walked up the street for a few yards so she wouldn't see me, and watched. She too headed for the entrance of the Meridien.