Felix Shill Deserves to Die

by Gareth Busson

  ‘Really?’ I replied. ‘I’m surprised that they don’t bill you for the time it takes for them to read it.’ I laughed alone.

  One or two of the group were starting to look for an exit, so I hit them again before they could make their excuses.

  ‘Listen, please, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with being a cuntsultant. I mean, failed middle managers have to work somewhere, don’t they? As long as there are clients dumb enough to pay for a lack of originality, then there really is no shame in being a bottom feeder.’

  ‘Bottom feeder? How dare you insult my profession like that!’ She turned to Pressman. ‘If you ask me then someone should speak to security about–’

  I held up a finger. ‘Hold on one second, Little Miss “I Can Bill You The Hour If You’d Prefer”. I didn’t hear anyone ask for your view on anything. But rest assured, in the unlikely event that I want an opinion from a consultant, I’ll be sure to pay you to repeat mine back to me.’

  That was enough to drive the woman away. The conversation stopped and we all watched as she walked up to the bar. There was a brief conversation with a black shirted barman, which culminated with the woman pointing a finger in my direction. I waved in reply to the man’s authoritative stare. Ignoring me, he nodded and picked up a nearby phone.

  The rest of the group smiled confidently at each other. Security would be here any minute. Then they’d get their own back. Order would be restored.

  ‘I think that’s my cue to leave,’ I said, and as a parting shot I gave Pressman my broadest smile then moved away, tittering like a juvenile.

  A broad archway spanned the far side of the room and through it I found a large auditorium. Chairs filled the space and from the banners and makeshift stage at the front it was clear the room was set for a presentation of some kind.

  In the far corner was a toilet. With Pressman probably already rubbing a scented rag in the security guards’ faces, I figured there was just enough time for a quick slash before I was ‘cordially invited to leave’.

  Halfway across the room I stopped momentarily to set down my empty glass. As I leaned out to do so, I felt a hand fall heavily across my arm. At first I was shocked; I couldn’t believe how quickly they had reacted. But when I traced the arm back to its owner I saw it belonged to a silver-haired man.

  ‘You’re a bit too old to be playing bouncer, don’t you think?’ I said, peeling his fingers away. ‘Listen, I’m not looking for any trouble, I’m just going to take a piss and then I’ll be out of your hair. OK?’

  He never said a word, his face fixed in a cool blank. Then his eyes flicked to one side and followed a couple of noisy execs walking past. The instant he was sure they were not there to apprehend me, his expression changed. The brows lightened and his olive face crumpled into a mischievous smile.

  ‘Don’t worry, old chap,’ he said, patting a discrete hand in answer to my resigned look, ‘I’m not here to ask you to leave. As a matter of fact, you’ve just made my day.’

  He looked over my shoulder and then pulled me quickly behind a nearby column. ‘Wait there,’ he said. ‘They can’t see you if you stand there.’

  I heard Pressman’s voice grow louder. He was barking orders, presumably to the security guards. Then they faded away to my left.

  ‘That little shit Pressman struts around as though his father was still the majority stakeholder,’ my colleague said. ‘It’s just a shame that no one important was listening in when you put him in his place.’

  ‘Really,’ I said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  ‘Hmm. Charles Waters, by the way,’ he said, bringing the conversation back into the realms of formality. ‘I’m the Financial Director of White and Hurst.’

  He shook my hand with both of his. The energy of the gesture helped disguise my total lack of effort.

  ‘Don’t you think it could be a bit dangerous for a man in your position to be caught talking with me?’ I asked. My cynicism was blatant.

  ‘Very probably, except I stopped playing the political game a long time ago.’

  ‘Oh really, and how did you manage that? You marry the boss’s daughter?’

  Waters winced. ‘Oh no, you should see her. She’s looks like Buddha in a false beard. No, my department deals with budgets and expenses, so that means I get to see the company credit card statements each month. Everyone here leaves me alone because they know that if they interfere in my affairs, I’ll take great pleasure in exposing theirs.’

  ‘A nice arrangement. Even so, I’d be careful of Pressman.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s an officious little cunt, but not a dangerous one. Well, not yet anyway. In a few years he might garner some gravitas, but at the moment he’s just a pimple. A boil at worst.’

  ‘Yeah, but boils like that have a tendency to become cancerous if they’re not lanced. I should know, I’ve worked alongside plenty of them.’

  Waters flipped open a heavily engraved case and offered me one of his gold-banded pencil cigars. When I refused, he struck a hand-made match and filled the air with sulphur.

  ‘Point taken,’ he said lazily. ‘And if you don’t mind me asking, in what line of work would that be?’

  ‘I’m, erm, well, I used to be in business development.’

  ‘But not anymore?’ he asked, poking a thick stream of smoke into the air directly above his head. I watched it hang there along with his question.

  ‘Not any more. I recently opted for a change of direction.’

  ‘And into what area are you heading now?’

  It was skilfully done. A balanced enquiry. Just enough treble to sound casual whilst retaining the bass needed to command an answer.

  ‘Not a hundred percent certain, if I’m honest. Need to think it through. It’ll be a million miles away from the bullshit end of business though, that’s for sure.’

  Waters let out another burn from the side of his mouth and dipped his head at me. ‘Then I’d say you’re in a rather fortunate position, my boy.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well,’ he said, looking back across the room, ‘you’ve recognised the futility of all this before it is too late. And it is futile. Make no mistake about that. What was it Einstein said? "If I had only known, I would have been a locksmith."’

  I smiled. ‘Hadn’t planned on slipping that far down the food chain, but don’t worry, I’m getting well out of it. There are just a few people to see first.’

  ‘If I might make a suggestion; have you ever considered the pharmaceutical industry?’

  I laughed. ‘I don’t think so, mate, I’m not really the caring type.’

  ‘That’s not quite what I meant, old chap,’ and with that Waters reached into his trouser pocket. I followed his line of sight and saw that he was holding a small bag of powder in his open palm.

  ‘Ah, that’s different,’ I said, checking the area for potential witnesses. ‘If we’re talking about alternative medicine then I would always be open to offers.’

  Waters grinned nefariously. He looked exactly how I imagine the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s disinherited brother might, a scandal buried deep within every crease of his face.

  ‘Excellent,’ he replied. ‘Then why don’t we make our way somewhere a little more private?’

  With the presentation about to start, the two of us walked a small distance across the room and pushed through into the men’s toilets. I’ve made countless journeys with the same purpose before, and to the casual observer I’m sure we looked perfectly natural. But on this occasion I felt like a rent boy schlepping after his next hit. That’s how well turned out Waters was.

  On our way in we came across the two execs Waters had earlier scoped out. They dipped their heads to him, like all good little worker ants should, and left us alone. Before anyone else had the chance to see us Waters quickly ducked into the furthest cubicle. I shuffled in after him and bolted the door. He whispered for me to roll up some currency and then got straight t
o work. A slice and dice later and Waters turned to face me. He smirked when he noticed the colour of the note.

  ‘You know,’ he said, lowering his head over the fifty, ‘I always think it tastes better through one of these.’ Then a short snort and he was bolt upright, twitching like a rabbit with a grass allergy.

  ‘Divine,’ he said, his voice a rasp, then handed the purple baton over to me.

  I squeezed self-consciously past. I could hardly believe what was happening. It’d been years since I last did a line. Now, all of a sudden, I was bollock to bollock, tooting coke off a sweaty cistern with a complete stranger.

  Barging my trepidation to one side, I closed my eyes and inhaled hard, Waters’ strong musk filling my nostrils for a split second, and as I dragged the paper tube to one side, I remember thinking, ‘So that’s how a Jaguar smells.’ Then my nasal sense vanished completely and the back of my throat went numb.

  ‘Holy shit,’ I said, straightening up and trying to pop the pressure in my ears. Through the tears I saw Waters sniggering.

  ‘Rather good, eh?’ he said. ‘That should loosen your passageways.’

  His words fixed me to the spot. Whether the premium grade cocaine in my system was making me paranoid, I can’t be certain, but I could swear there was a mischievous curve to Waters’ mouth that hadn’t been there before.

  The cocaine drip crept around my mouth, deadening the pain from yesterday’s fit of gnashing as it went. Its sudden relief caught me by surprise and, like the child who leaves the dentist after being anesthetized for the first time, I licked my lips to try to revive my tongue. By the time I realized what signals I might be sending out, it was too late – this time there was definitely a smirk on Waters’ face. His lips parted.

  Why the hell hadn’t I seen this one coming?

  For a breathless moment, the two of us stood and stared at each other, both of us waiting to see who would make the first move. Then, just when I was sure Waters was about to lean into me, someone burst through the main entrance to the toilets. Whoever it was must’ve loosened the doors hinges.

  ‘This better be bloody important,’ a voice said.

  ‘Oh it is, Pressman. It is.’

  Waters’ expression solidified at the sound of the name and he immediately held up a calming hand. Pressman grunted.

  ‘Well, try and restrain yourself for a second, can you? Until we know that the room is secure.’ Footsteps came towards us.

  Without hesitation, Waters pointed a finger at me and then at the ground. I was to stay put. His reputation might be impervious to certain threats, but there was no way he wanted Pressman to catch him in such a compromising position. Drug-fuelled cottaging was a nice little trump card, one that might go a long way to developing the much needed gravitas Waters had mentioned earlier.

  Wiping a well trained finger beneath his nose, the old man opened the door and walked out. The door swung to behind him.

  ‘Ah, Charles.’ Pressman sounded surprised. Guilty.

  ‘Pressman,’ Waters replied, his tone as flat as a policeman’s.

  ‘I was just checking the room – no doubt you heard. You see, my, erm, associate and I need a brief conference before the presentation gets underway, and it’s of rather a confidential nature.’

  ‘I see.’

  There was an uncomfortable pause and I knew Waters was enjoying making Pressman squirm.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you understand, Charlie. If you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all. You can relocate your entire office in here for all I care, Pressman, just as long as you back up and allow me to wash my ruddy hands.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course, Charles. My most sincere apologies.’

  I heard the two of them walk back to the main urinal area. There was the flow of water in a basin, the grinding of a paper towel dispenser, followed by more footsteps as Waters headed out of the room. The moment the door closer squeaked shut, Pressman launched right into it.

  ‘Alright, what’s all this about?’ he hissed. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I have rather an important presentation to give in a few moments.’

  ‘I’m fully aware of your presentation,’ the other man replied, his voice wavering with anger, ‘it’s what you are about to say that concerns me.’

  ‘What are you talking about, man?’

  ‘I read through the final draft last night and it says nothing about the sourcing project that we’ve been working on.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So why is that, Pressman? We built the Shanghai facility and bought three million pounds of capital equipment, ready to start production in two months, all agreed and signed off by you. If you’re backing out then you’d better start–’

  ‘Samuel, Samuel, Samuel. Please, please, please,’ Pressman said, cutting across him and sounding more condescending than ever. ‘I have absolutely no intention of backing out of anything. Let me explain how this works.’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘The presentation that you read is simply a PR exercise to smooth things over with the financial markets. Nothing more. When I stand in front of the press I intend to explain that we are currently undergoing an operational review and that – amongst many other things – we will be reappraising the competitiveness of our low volume lines with an ultimate view to enhancing our overall customer satisfaction. And that’s all they will hear on the matter – for now.’

  I heard the flow of water in the basin again. I could just imagine Pressman preening himself in the mirror.

  ‘Then, in six months time, I’ll come back and tell them that we outsourced a small percentage of our low margin operations, and that it resulted in a negligible restructuring cost – one that was more than offset by the additional revenue generated. The lost business will not be significant enough to worry them, but just in case it is, I’ll have growth and profitability figures of double-digit proportions to prove that the process worked wonders.’ His tone hardened.

  ‘You can provide me with those, Samuel. Right?’

  ‘Erm… yes. Yes, of course,’ Samuel said, trying to keep up.

  ‘There you are. If anyone questions my logic then naturally I will elucidate and explain where the operations have been relocated to. But they won’t because they never do. All any of them really care about is the bottom line and the earnings per share, both of which I will be making more healthy.’

  ‘In the meantime, and in parallel with all of this, we’ll systematically undermine what is left of our local union so that no one complains when we steadily drip feed you the rest of the business. In a couple of years you’ll be manufacturing the whole bloody shooting match.’

  ‘It can’t be that simple, Pressman,’ Samuel said, uneasily. ‘You’ve spent a lot of money out there. Surely you have to tell someone what you’re doing?’

  ‘Of course, and I’ve already started.’

  ‘You have?’ Samuel was losing the thread. ‘But I thought-‘

  ‘For the last six months I’ve been making utterly ambiguous announcements via dispatches, quarterly reports, organizational newsletters – you know, the stuff that no one reads – and absolutely no one has picked up on it. My intention is to continue with that so, if the old farts ever question what we’ve done, I can tell them that they were informed.’

  ‘They won’t accept that, Pressman. You’ll be lynched.’

  ‘Will I indeed? We’ll see what happens when they see the profitability report. Once they work out how much of a bonus they will be entitled to, the board and everyone else will think that I’m – sorry – we’re total heroes.’

  At that moment, the door to the lavatory opened again.

  ‘Leave. Now.’ Pressman ordered.

  ‘But I need–’ a voice said.

  ‘I couldn’t care less about your needs, Scott. Either use the ones downstairs or start seeking alternative employment.’

  The door closer squeaked submissively.

  ‘Trust me, Sammie,’ Pressman said, his tone sliding effortlessly back
into smarm. ’I know exactly how this will come to pass; once the board see the numbers you won’t hear a peep out of them. The next thing you know they’ll be scared to death that they’re not in control of their manufacturing facility and they’ll agree to buy you out. Leaving you to retire a very contented multi-multi-millionaire.’

  ‘And you the youngest member of the board,’ Samuel added.

  ‘Quite. But since we’re both making good, who are you to complain? You need to stay calm, old boy. I’ve got it all under control.’

  I have to admit that it sounded fairly well thought out. From his prolonged silence I could tell that Samuel was also being persuaded by Pressman’s plan. It took just a couple more promises of future wealth and prosperity and he was completely won over.

  ‘Leave it with me,’ Pressman reassured him finally. ‘I have it all in hand.’ Then the two of them left the room. I was alone at last.

  I couldn’t be sure the coast was clear and so I bolted the door again and waited for a few minutes. It was when I turned to sit on the toilet seat that I noticed the little bag of devil’s dandruff Waters had left on the cistern. Of course! With Pressman’s blazing entrance there hadn’t been time to retrieve it. Still, he was sure to miss it eventually. Better to look after it for him. I carefully slipped it into my coat pocket.

  On my way out the cocaine relaxed its grip on my bladder and I suddenly remembered why I had come to the toilet in the first place. A quick stop at the urinal was needed and I parked the tandem in one of the spare cycle stands. I was getting ready to drip and zip when I became aware of someone staring down at my crotch.

  ‘You got an impressive piece there,’ a blond guy to my right said.

  ‘Fucking hellfire,’ I said, tucking myself away and stepping back. ‘You as well? What kind of company is this?’

  The blonde man looked quizzically at me. Then his face lit up.

  ‘No, no – oh dear god, no. Your watch, old chap. I was talking about your Breguet. That’s an early sixties Heritage, isn’t it?’