Good Morning, Midnight

17

If Tony Kafka could have seen the dining room of the Mastaba Club this lunchtime, his suspicions about the unreal nature of the place would have been confirmed. The same Mastabators occupied the same places, the same waiters soft-shoed along the same routes between the same tables, and even their trays bore platefuls of the same soup. Put on a looped tape to play endlessly, it would have been a hot favourite for the Turner prize.

“I often wonder what the vintners buy,” said Warlove, pouring the wine, “one half so precious as the goods they sell.”

“So you say, Victor. So you always say,” replied Gedye in his dry lifeless voice.

“Do I? You sound a little tetchy, Timothy. Has something happened? Indeed, to have the pleasure of your company twice in two days makes me suspect that something must have happened. Not bother, I hope. I don’t have the temperament for bother.”

“There were developments. Action had to be taken.”

“Oh God. Action. I hate it more than bother. And on your lips the very word is like a knell. What happened to good old pressure? Surely the authorities up there are as susceptible to pressure as anywhere else.”

“In this case, no.”

“Come, come. Policemen are like politicians, very few of them can pass the three vee test unscathed. You recall the three vee test?”

“You have mentioned it before,” said Gedye.

“Venery, venality, vanity. If they flunk out on one you always get them on another. I cannot believe Mid-Yorkshire is any different from the rest of the world. And doesn’t a Special Relationship exist between our Yankee lady and our Yorkshire tyke?”

“Yes, but it’s special in a special way. It involves trust. Also this fellow’s outward semblance, which is overweight bumpkin, apparently belies his inner nous. You recall Gaw Sempernel? Retired early, ended up as Hon Consul in Thessaloniki? It seems our Northern friend contributed in no small part to his downfall. In addition there is another officer in that northern wilderness who is so sea-green incorruptible, they’ll probably dig him up a hundred years from now and make a saint out of him. Action had to be taken, and I fear there is more to come.”

“More action? Oh dear. Oh dear. Tell me then. I cannot contemplate a mouthful of lunch before I hear the worst, so delicate is my digestion.”

“I have it on good authority that the Securities and Exchange Commission will be launching an investigation into Ashur-Proffitt shortly before the close of business this afternoon, which will be about eleven p.m. our time. I did warn you yesterday, but I admit it’s happened somewhat sooner than I guessed.”

“And what is Joe’s reaction?”

“It didn’t seem worth warning him. That way he won’t have to fake shock.”

“Always so considerate, Tim. And this action you are contemplating

…?”

“Kafka is due in the States tomorrow to meet with Joe and discuss his concerns about the current activities of Ash-Mac’s.”

“Well, from the sound of it, that meeting will be off, so nothing to weep or beat the breast about there. Indeed, it could be a plus, the way Tony was going on.”

“I don’t think so. A tete-a-tete with Joe might just have brought him back into line. I fear that when he realizes what has been going on in the Corporation, that pustulating conscience of his may just explode.”

“You think so? He hasn’t been party to any of this, then?”

“No. But he’ll be investigated along with the others, of course.”

“And no doubt someone will do a deal to get immunity from prosecution. They always do. So what’s the worry?”

“You’re right. Someone will do a deal. But what they say will, on the whole, only harm Ashur-Proffitt. What Kafka might say could harm us. All of us. You. Me. Our masters.”

“Oh dear. So you think… action? No need to give me details. And then things will be OK?”

“Hoblitt, my man informs me, is sound. You agree?”

“Excellent fellow,” said Warlove. “Like a rock. All three vee’s and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few more.”

“Good. Let’s proceed.”

“If we must. But what about questions… this sea-green incorruptible, is he the kind to ask questions?”

“Of course he is. But policemen are the prisoners of their own experience. They never ignore the obvious. Over the next few weeks, I suspect that Ashur-Proffitt executives are going to go missing in droves.”

“You think so? Then I am reassured, my boy. Oh look. Here’s the soup. How do they always manage to get their timing so perfectly right? I sometimes suspect that they must have the tables bugged.”

Gedye smiled to himself and began to eat his soup.