Read Online Blame It on the Bossa Nova by James Brodie - Free Book Online Page B

a different sense - physically. He leaned on the door in the way detectives do in films while their mates are interrogating a suspect they ‘know’ to be guilty. He looked at me as if weighing up my prowess in a rumble. I sat down the other side of the desk to Forsythe. I put my foot on the grate of a fireplace where a fire had been allowed to die a few hours previously and pushed myself back into the chair.
    “Alex..?” Part welcome, part question, part accusation.
    “That’s right.”
    “Pleased to meet you.” A hand extended across the table and I swivelled round and shook it awkwardly, then went back to my former position. I felt that neither of us was too happy with even this token display of cordiality.
    “The future.”
    “What’s that?”
    “The future - You.... You’re the future. Our future, the country’s future.... You and your generation.” I didn’t think the gap in our ages was sufficient to justify this Methuselah style approach but I let it go.
    “And yet I hardly know you.” Silence. “... You’re a person. You have dreams, aspirations... I expect.”
    I mulled over my limited aims.
    “....Tell me about them.”
    “They’re pretty personal. They wouldn’t interest you.... Really they wouldn’t....” Silence.
    “So, you’re a friend of Bryant’s?” There was no love of Chris implicit in the question.
    “Uh-huh.” I nodded lethargically. He watched me. Big Ben chimed half past.
    “A partner of Bryant’s?”
    “Since he practises medicine that’s hardly likely is it?”
    “I wasn’t referring to his medical practice....”
    “What then?”
    “His sideline.”
    “What’s that then?” We spoke with long pauses between. I reached over and tapped his time clock, it was a game of chess.
    “Blackmail.” Suddenly we were into the middle game, and me with my pawns not properly developed. I said nothing but turned round to look at the bodyguard.
    “He’s surprised, Adrian,” said Forsythe.... I hadn’t figured him for an Adrian.
    “Of course he is...” said Adrian. “... They always are.”
    It was evident from his demeanour that Adrian considered himself one of those chosen few never taken off guard by the vicissitudes of fate.
    “Who does he blackmail?.... You?” I said.
    “How could I possibly be blackmailed?” said Forsythe.
    “I haven’t the faintest idea.” I said. I could go on like this forever.
    “I can do this quicker,” said Adrian and Forsythe smiled.
    “Stop wasting my time Mr Marshall. I know your game - Adrian.”
    I stood up as he came towards me but I was ill prepared. He belted me in the stomach and then the face, cutting me with a heavy ring he was wearing. Then he put a hand on my shoulder and forced me back into the chair. He remained standing behind me. I wanted to vomit from the blow in the guts and my face seemed to be inflating like a balloon. I could feel blood trickling down my cheek. I sensed I hadn’t really done myself justice. Beyond Forsythe I saw the top of a red bus going past in the street outside, peoples’ faces looking out. I had somehow got the impression that we had progressed to the inner depths of the building, I hadn’t previously taken in the window. Now I could see that we were in a room fronting on to Great Smith Street. It seemed strange that a cabinet minister could supervise a beating up in a backbencher’s office within sight of the public should they choose to look in. I suppose it’s one of the great strengths of living in a democracy - accountability.
    I took out a handkerchief and pressed it to my cheek.
    He said “I’m sorry, that was clumsy. But talking would have taken so long... Can we just take it as read that I can get this sort of thing organised very easily, and far more comprehensively....” My silence testified to my comprehension.
    “... Anything you could get through Bryant’s squalid little activities would be peanuts.... and you take a big risk. You annoy people who generally don’t