Killing the Beasts

Chapter 7

June 2002

'So you're saying we can't do a single thing?' Tom pinched the bridge of his nose with a forefinger and thumb, eyes shut.

The company lawyer on the other end of the phone replied, 'From a practical point of view, I'm afraid so. It will cost us far more in legal fees and associated costs. As I said-'

'OK,OK, 'Tom interrupted. 'No need to go over it all again. If you could put it in writing though, thanks.'

'You'll have something by tomorrow.'

Tom replaced the receiver, shaking his head. The news had probably screwed up a chunk of his bonus. Choosing to ignore the piles of paper on the desk in front of him, he got up, walked out of his boss's old office and climbed the circular stairs.

'You won't believe this,' he announced to the room in general, then looked towards Ges. Heads appeared round the other monitors, all eyes on him.

'That company over in San Francisco? We're writing the money off.'

Ges let out a low whistle. 'How come?'

'Any legal action would have to take place in the States, paid for by us. The costs are just too prohibitive.'

'But surely it's fraud. Can't the American authorities do anything about it?' asked Ed.

Suddenly Julie jumped to her feet and everyone looked in her direction. London accent made stronger by the outrage in her voice, she began speaking. 'Same thing happened to a mate of my dad's! He ran a cosmetics company, joined forces with a similar outfit on the West Coast of America to market his product over there. They asked if he could set up a joint bank account to make everything easier. He kept on paying more and more money in to cover what they said were production costs. All the while they were draining every penny, telling him profits would start clocking up soon. But this is the critical bit. If the rip-off is under a certain amount — a million dollars or something — it's not a federal offence. You have to pay to prosecute the case yourself, and do it in their courts over there. There was no way he could afford it. He had to walk away.'

The room was silent for a few seconds before Ges spoke. 'Well thank God it looks like that printer in Dublin can pick up the pieces.'

'We hope,' said Tom, sitting down at his desk. Looking around he realized that he'd left the file he needed downstairs — it was becoming ever more unrealistic trying to avoid moving in to his old boss's office. But in his mind he still didn't regard himself as the new managing director, even with the keys to the Porsche Boxter in his jacket.

'I need to head back downstairs to chase up Manchester Airport for some bridge banners. Anyone fancy hitting the pub at lunch?'

Julie, Ges and Ed agreed. Gemma made noises about needing to pop out and see a florist about the wedding. Creepy George kept silent behind his screen of monitors.

Downstairs Tom opened up the cabinet Manchester Airport's file should have been in.

Like so many of the others, it had been mixed up. Cursing that nothing was going right, Tom started rifling through the stacks of documents on the desk. Rather than find the missing paperwork, he discovered a load of invoices that needed sorting out. With a sigh of frustration, he scooped the lot up and placed them in his briefcase for looking at once he got home.

Tom called up to Ges's phone. 'You lot ready?'

'Yeah,' he replied. 'We're coming straight down.'

As they headed for the stairs, Creepy George stood up. 'Erm, Julie. Could I keep you for a minute?'

Ges looked at his slightly blushing face and wondered what he was up to.

'I'll catch you guys up,' said Julie.

George unlocked the cabinet behind his desk and got out a roll of pale blue material. 'Could I just take your photo for the Manchester staff page of the company website?' The snap he'd got of her a few weeks ago wasn't good enough, the match with the woman's torso making her look like some sort of female Frankenstein's monster.

'Can't you transfer my photo from the London page?'

'I'm having trouble accessing it. Dreamweaver is playing up.' He reckoned a reference to something technical would seal his case. 'It will be easier to just take another.'

'Oh, OK,' she answered, automatically adjusting her hair.

George pinned the material up on the wall in the corner and wheeled a chair in front of it. Then he took a digital camera and tripod out of the cabinet. 'If you take a seat, I'll be two seconds.'

She perched stiffly on the chair, hands in her lap, knees pressed tightly together. George examined a light meter in his hand and then looked at her through the viewfinder, zooming in on her face. 'OK, the flash will go off, so just keep your eyes shut for the test shot.'

Julie raised her chin a fraction and closed her eyes. There was a light click as the photo was taken.

'That's great,' said George. 'Now one with your eyes open and a nice smile.'

She did as he asked and he took another photo. 'Perfect,' he said, straightening up. 'I won't keep you any longer.'

'Cheers,' said Julie, hurrying from the room.

George watched her nervous exit with some concern: he wanted her to feel relaxed in his company. As soon as she set off down the stairs, he hurried round to the Apple Mac on his desk. He plugged in the digital camera and transferred the two shots to the desktop. He'd put the one with her eyes open on the company website later. Now he clicked on the other image. Her eyes were closed. She looked defenceless, helpless. As he stared at her face, he thought about the two of them alone, lying next to each other. He imagined whispering how beautiful she was, caressing her cheek, sweeping stray strands away from her face. Then, with a thumb, lifting her eyelid to check she was completely unconscious.

The door to The Church creaked open and they pushed their way into the dimly lit interior. The pool table was free, so Ges flicked Ed a quid coin. 'Rack them up and I'll get the drinks in.' 'Don't worry, Ges, I'll take care of it,' said Tom, holding up his company credit card.

'You sure?' asked Ges uncertainly. 'We're not exactly clients.'

Tom shrugged. 'So? What are you having?'

'I like your management style. Pint of lager, cheers.'

'Ed?' Tom called over to the younger man as the balls were released into the end of the table with a sound like distant thunder.

'Same as Ges, thanks.'

Tom turned to the barman. 'And a large glass of white wine for me.' He was just placing the drinks on the table when Julie walked in. He waved at her. 'Julie? It's on the company.'

She grinned. 'Vodka and Coke, thanks.'

'What did Creepy George want?' Ges asked her.

Involuntarily, she shivered, causing Tom and Ges to laugh. 'My photo for the Manchester staff page of the company web site.'

'Oh yeah?' said Tom. 'I bet he's in the toilets with it right now.'

'Oh don't!'she cried. 'I can just imagine him and all … not that I want to.' She picked up her drink and went over to the pool table.

'So what can we do about that twat Ian?' asked Ges, elbows on the bar and head slightly bowed so he didn't bang it on the glasses hanging down from the rack above.

Tom's face soured. 'I suppose we have to hope he hasn't actually removed stuff. If he's just fucked the filing system up we should be able to sort it out again, given time. I imagine that's what he's done; that way we can't prove it was him. If stuff has actually gone missing, I imagine we could look at taking legal action. Jim Morrel, the IT guy down in the London office, is trawling the computer system checking through all the files there. I should think he'll find deleted or sabotaged electronic files quicker than we'll find paper ones up here.'

'Jesus.' Ges picked up his pint and took a sip. 'It's just one thing after another.'

'Tell me about it,' said Tom. 'Anyway — let's not talk office; it's doing my head in. I'm taking a leak. You lot can decide on who plays with who.' He pushed through the double set of doors leading into the toilets and walked across to the stainless steel urinal running the length of the far wall. Undoing his fly, he looked down. Nestled among the yellow squares of soap, he saw lump after lump of spat-out chewing gum. The urinal's flush started up and a fine spray of water began hissing down, droplets gathering in the dimpled and creased surfaces of the discarded gum. Staring at their rubbery surfaces, he was reminded of the little droplets of water in the folds and crevices of the regulator in the swimming pool on the Seychelles. Once again, he could taste the rubber and feel the sensation as it entered his mouth, pushing up under his lips.

Suddenly his stomach churned and he let out a little retch. He turned round, walked across the narrow room to a cubicle and emptied his bladder into a toilet.