The City Dealer

by Neil Rowland

  This felt close to drowning. He felt as if all the blood was gushing towards his head - he could feel unbearable pressure, behind his eyes and around the skull - as if he was turned upside down. He felt as if somebody was striking his face, slapping him about, even pulling his hair. Then the empty pool was suddenly filled with water, running water, heavy and strong, so that it was choking him. It was then a struggle to breathe: the blood was heavy, like a fist into the brain, while the water - distantly icy - was gushing over his face, like a sheet of rippled ice over his vision, through his mouth and nose, partly into his lungs. He was convulsed with choking, as if some heavy guy was sitting on his chest, so he couldn’t breathe any more. Somehow the icy water was transformed into searing fire in his chest and lungs. His heart burst like a paper bag filled with hot blood.

  The guy was shouting at him: “Where is your dossier Pitt?! Where is your dossier?!” Clive had the strange perspective of seeing an upside down face; the world was upside down again.

  There it was; the large round face of Viktor Di Visu, like a cynical infant. As described, Viktor resembled the devil with a point of beard at the very end of his chin. He wore a neat pony-tail at the back, a blood-diamond stud in one ear, above a lovely black cashmere rolled-neck sweater, which clung to every ripple of designer muscle. The sleeves were pushed elegantly a few centimetres up firm forearms, as if he was doing something interesting but slightly messy. A waft of exquisite Di Visu’s new Blades pour Homme fragrance almost masked the hot fetid air within Doug’s boxed, windowless spare room, which was filling up with fear and stress like a slave ship in a storm. Pitt noted Viktor’s presence and was aware of his background presence, waiting and scowling, orchestrating.

  “Give us the information,” echoed a heavy voice. “Give us the information you son of a bitch!”

  “He can’t speak. You dumb fuck. Don’t you see? Allow the bastard time to speak!”

  “Give back the information that does not belong to you. Where have you stored that? Do you hear us, where are you storing our data, Mr Pitt?”

  “We are going to kill you now, Pitt, if you do not speak.”

  He felt the world swivel, as blood and water surged with gravity. His vision was obscured as sopping hair streaked over his eyes. His bursting lungs apparently gasped and spluttered water as he lurched for oxygen. Then he felt himself dropped onto the stone floor, crushing the side of his head; except he was not horizontal, he realised, he’d been heaved up against the wall, so that his ribs were cracking.

  “He doesn’t understand you, fuckers. Can’t you see what’s happening?” Vi Visu challenged.

  “Where is it Pitt? Do you want more of this? Then you tell us immediately!”

  “There’s no point to this. He isn’t going to say anything.”

  “We’ll come back again tomorrow. Give us another day, Viktor.”

  “Get out of here all of you. Leave us alone. We must eliminate him now. Don’t you see that you are ruining his looks?” came the voice of Di Visu. “I’m tired of these ugly scenes. Don’t you realise I am creative? Artists don’t like such ugliness. This is disgusting for me to even look at. This is a beautiful guy. Give this bitch something to loosen up his arse,” Di Visu said. “Then go away, will you? Let me get something pleasurable out of this!”

  There was a clearing of the space. Then Clive felt himself being hoisted under the arms, pulled back across the room by his hair. He was not sensible enough to feel the full pain such an action should have provoked. Somebody had their hand in his mouth after that, forcing his jaws apart, before he was thrown down to the ground again. There was something inside his mouth that he was forced to swallow, as this was the only method to get rid.

  Di Visu was stood biting at the back of his neck, focused as intently as a mating dog. Clive had the sensation of elegant yet forceful hands painfully in the small of his back. He was too physically weak and disorientated to resist. After which he felt himself dropping back down, descending into the dark, until he was no longer conscious, far away from any point of light. For hours and hours he was content to fall into a state of unconsciousness, this dreamless sleep.

  41

  Then a point came back, like a needle entering a cave. He was able to focus on a feature of the room; to become aware of his physical situation; the twitching of a hand, a building pain in his knee. He had a distant awareness of movement in the area around; an exchange of fuzzy voices. Clive edged agonisingly back, forcing himself to concentrate. This pinprick kept him company like a cigarette on an endless and freezing night.

  Coarse, thick features clarified in front of him: a face peering at him from a high, stiff shirt collar. There was a jagged scar on the guy’s wide chin, slick with sweat and hair. Over this gent’s shoulder was another thick-neck, set off by an identical bowler hat. There was a blinding flash, like a primitive camera flash, that fully Illuminated Breadham’s claustrophobic guest room, filling it with smoke and sulphur. Clive clung precariously to the sharp sides of his consciousness. He hoped that this purgatory suspension, much worse than hell, would draw to an end. Maybe the whole ordeal would finish there, he wondered, and he could face eternal damnation or salvation with a degree of relief.

  However the revelatory light turned out to be issuing from a standard bulb (albeit diffused through a frilly pink shade). Pitt began to understand that detectives were standing around the bed - he was in the bed - when his vision cleared as if by a miracle cure.

  “What’s the time?” he enquired.

  “It’s the afternoon, sleepy head.”

  “Sorry to disturb your dreams. Did you have a bad night?” remarked the other.

  Clive recognised the guy who’d received an unconventional blow from a croquet mallet. The other bowler hatted figure stepped forward in support, looking down with a vengeful grin and grimace.

  “What’s been going on?” Pitt declared.

  “Mr Breadham kindly put you up.”

  “Oh, right, he put me up all right. But where are the other people? Like Viktor?”

  “You took full advantage of the bathroom facilities,” someone jested.

  Pitt was in a vulnerable position, his head splitting, stretched over a bed in his underpants. He was walled into this suffocating enclosure.

  A sequence of events, spending the night at Doug’s apartment, filtered back into his thoughts. So had he been in this space all the while? Perhaps - yet his head was killing him, his jaw ached, and every part of his body seemed to hurt; to the roots of his hair. Had he fully awoken?

  He couldn’t help a certain curiosity about these men, the detectives; what did they precisely want? Clive was trying to articulate these questions when another figure showed: a small guy, nimble on his feet despite relative age, wearing a well-cut black linen suit, throwing into relief a kinky quiff of silver hair. This was Sir Septimus Winchurch on night duty; if it was still night-time.

  “Don’t move a muscle Pitt,” the financier warned.

  Although not physically imposing, even regarded from the horizontal, the eminent banker had presence.

  “Where is your master?” Pitt returned.

  “Viktor Di Visu? Your interview is over, I understand. It doesn’t matter because I am taking control of the situation. He’s passed you on,” Sep said.

  “Are you back in touch with Viktor?” Pitt returned.

  “You’re in talkative mood again? Viktor informed me of your lethal reticence. I understand you have been entertaining lately,” he chuckled darkly. “Isn’t that your social philosophy? Been to any good parties lately?”

  “Very funny, you little swindler, but you’re a poor judge of character,” Clive replied. “You have a dangerous choice in friends.”

  “Oh, very sorry to disturb your toilette Pitt,” Sep told him, rattling the bedstead in annoyance. “But who are you to lecture me on
friendship?”

  “Where’s Doug meanwhile? Has he betrayed me?” Clive wanted to know.

  “Do you claim not to remember him? Douglas Breadham has an excellent legal brain, as you may recall. He underwrote our agreement with Mr Di Visu and the ZNT consortium. Surely that didn’t escape your grasp? Didn’t you ask him any questions? Surely you knew he’s one of the best financial lawyers in London. Didn’t you understand that?”

  “Doug Breadham is a good friend of mine.”

  Despite himself, the financier laughed.

  “He covered himself very well,” Clive remarked.

  “How well do you think you know Douglas?” the financier asked.

  “For some time ,” Pitt considered, vaguely.

  “Who and where are your true friends? Don’t you find it strange that you have not called on them, or even recalled them?” Sep told him gleefully.

  “I was quite popular,” Clive volunteered. But he couldn’t quickly produce any names or faces.

  “It’s always a pleasure to work with young Douglas and his team at Beds Whetter Breadham & Gross. Of course we have spent a lot of time discussing your personality flaws, when you first went off the rails.”

  “Wait until I get my hands on him. After I have finished with you and these two circus freaks,” Clive snarled.

  The pair shifted from foot to food unhappily.

  “Defiant to the last. But you are already a name from the past Pitt. You’re a talking corpse, really. Can’t you at least change your tune? Where is your expectant audience these days? Everybody has forgotten you, including a toothless FCA.”

  “Then why come and keep me company?” Pitt wanted to know.

  “You’re my responsibility. You used to work for me, didn’t you? Before you were deleted. We all agree. You don’t know your own mind. You’ve lost your thread. I’m glad to have this opportunity to... to tie up loose ends. It’s been a long time I must say,” he chuckled.

  “What’s happened to me? It’s like someone’s been running me under their boat,” Clive said, coughing. “I feel just terrible!”

  “Yes, it must have been torture, Pitt. But what does it feel like now? That you too are practically naked, defenceless and under threat? You should have stuck around my hospital to ask my daughter,” Winchurch said, losing the smile. “Did her screams put you off? Is that why you took to your heels?”

  The banker leant forward indignantly over Pitt; although he was dwarfed between the shoulders of those meaty investigators. His claret red animosity contrasted with the detectives’ professional detachment.

  “Insult me,” Clive said. “Pour scorn as you wish.” He clutched his knees and drew up the eiderdown. “If you were honest you wouldn’t be in this situation. You refuse to recognise peril with an offshore account.”

  “Huh, when it comes to the City, young man, you are stupidly naïve. Why, I hesitate to call you a banker any more. Didn’t you decide to opt out? Join another profession? You are half my age, yet you are stuck in the past, aren’t you. You long for the age of pinstripes, bowler hats, rolled umbrella at the ready and... and a copy of the FT tucked under the arm,” Sep scorned. “What do you think City finance involves, eh?”

  “Oh yes finance has adapted, just as the climate is changing,” Clive observed. “Just look at the kind of guys you’ve been mixing with.”

  “What about them?” Sep wanted to know. “I know how to play them... but you ran back into the pavilion, didn’t you? Too many hard balls around your head.”

  “Even worse your associates in Europe, linked to organised crime, offered kick-backs. Are you calling that a game of bloody cricket,” he declared.

  “What persuaded you to transform yourself, Pitt, from a trusted employee, a brilliant banker, in to some ninny? As an insider you don’t start acting like an outsider. Why not volunteer in a charity shop, if you feel that strongly? You knew this was a rough game, when you signed up. The financial markets never smelt sweetly,” Sep argued.

  “We claim to be a vital and legitimate business,” Clive objected.

  “What do you know, you innocent mill boy? During the Napoleonic wars my ancestors were raising finance... to pay for Wellington’s armies. That’s right, we go that far back. During the Peninsular war. Did you hear of that?” he challenged. His large face had flared and he was on the ends of his pointy shoes.

  “Was there anything crooked about that? I wonder.”

  “It isn’t our role to find moral questions. I’m not here to complain about other people’s imperialism, after we lost our empire. Wealth changes but money remains the same,” Winchurch argued. “Even these individuals that you term ‘crooks’ spend their money to the population’s benefit,” Sep argued.

  “So these crooks can do their Christmas shop down the King’s Road,” Pitt replied.

  “What a provincial little Englander you are, Pitt. I should have known. My father didn’t squander his investment. He knew what he was paying for. What did yours get? All we offer these high worth customers is wise investments... regardless of origin, or social or political backgrounds. It’s all as sound as Adam Smith would advocate.”

  “You apply the same principles to Mr Di Visu, do you?” Clive challenged.

  “We don’t have anything against Mr Di Visu. Viktor is fundamental to ZNT. He also runs an extremely successful fashion house. He’s moved this firm into the new global situation. His ZNT colleagues have become admirable members of my board. You couldn’t wish for more charming fellows. They aim to diversify and to purchase a larger basket of luxury brands. This company is ready to help them; according to our historic ethos. I recognise good business and will always back a winner.”

  “This guy lured me to ruin my life, as well as to harm your daughter. As part of the ZNT group he exploits a UK research hospital to render prisoners from abroad...political dissidents and opponents. He doesn’t merely launder currency but human souls. Are you aware of these practices?” Pitt declared. He tried to struggle up into a more forceful posture.

  “That’s your insane interpretation!” Sep declared.

  “You even hope to modify your daughter’s personality. That’s right, Sep, to stop her being an embarrassment to you. Yes, you might succeed in getting me out of the way, but Di Visu and ZNT are making themselves at home. Viktor and his cronies have occupied the economic driving seat. Crime and corruption are undermining business. Don’t even mention governments and the law!”

  “A shame you’ve lost your mind Pitt,” he commented.

  “You wouldn’t be treating me this way, if you thought so.”

  The financier stared deeply, with apprehension, into Clive’s eyes; eyes that were red and narrow with trouble. “What is this? Paranoia? Conspiracy theories? Miss Wright made hints about you... while I was driving her to the hospital. She suggested that you were not in control of yourself. You lost your memory - couldn’t recall what happened during the past year. Well I can tell you, I don’t go for that escape clause,” he argued.

  “I was kidnapped, drugged, brain washed,” Clive argued.

  Winchurch’s acid expression proved he was not won over.

  “During that period terrible events took place. I spent time in that hospital of yours, this psychiatric prison...undergoing some form of treatment, as it were.”

  “You managed to escape from this psychiatric prison, didn’t you?”

  “Viktor must have arranged for me to get out. You believe that he saved your bacon. You shouldn’t make any more mistakes like that, as he was the guy that arranged the attack on your daughter.”

  Sep’s facial muscles flickered. “You are the man who is responsible for the rape of my daughter, nobody else.”

  “You wish to trade your own daughter, for the survival of your precious family firm?” Clive demanded.

 
“You’re nothing better than a contemptible scoundrel,” Sep barked.

  “Did you suspect that I was capable? You got some warning sign? Then how did I get away from the scene? Didn’t you suspect there must have been others?”

  “There were witnesses. You went into the woods with her,” Sep insisted.

  “Did you forget how your daughter followed me? Don’t you think the events are strange? Wasn’t she behaving in an unusual way, for all her nightclub antics?” Clive argued.

  “You knew exactly what you were doing. You executed your plan with cold calculation. Miss Wright may have been gullible about you. She was a great disappointment to me as well. I had my doubts about her, but I hoped for the best. I sometimes question my judgement in regard to Pixie. Do you really expect me to believe your paranoid excuses? That you are prepared to follow someone’s instructions? Drugged? Brain washed?” Sep scoffed.

  “De Visu wanted to criminalise me to neutralise my case. He gambled that you would never go to the police. That you would be determined to avoid scandal in the media.”

  “That was quite a risky gamble for Viktor, wasn’t it? Maybe as a father I would be determined to have the police involved.”

  “Viktor is nothing but a gambler. He’s dancing between life and death, like the red and the black. How did his family enrich themselves to begin with? The City resembles a Sunday picnic to that guy. Then why didn’t you get the police involved? Your girl was attacked and you didn’t even want to tell the authorities? Ask yourself why these events took place during the previous year. I don’t have any recollection of that period. I might just have been a different guy.”

  “That’s mad. You knew what you were doing,” Sep insisted.

  “Why allow Viktor’s thugs to smash me about?” Clive wanted to know. “Was that going to clear my head?”

  “What evil genius persuaded you to ruin your career?” he asked. “Didn’t you know that I would shoot you down? Striking your pose as the whistle-blower?”

  “You were involved from the beginning. You understood what the ZNT flotation involved. What did my career mean to you?”