Read Online The Day Aberystwyth Stood Still by Malcolm Pryce - Free Book Online
Authors: Malcolm Pryce
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experience, only two professions are distinguished by a predisposition for the wisecrack. Cops and peepers. You’re not a cop.’
‘This is where you do the phoney act of dawning realisation. But you can spare me that one; not even the mayor of Aberystwyth is so busy he can’t remember the face of a man whose desk he chopped up two days ago.’
‘I must admit I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’
‘I’ve come about the human-cannonball job.’
‘You’re too tall. You would stick out too far from the end of the barrel.’
‘Why do you need a surrogate anyway? I thought the candidates were supposed to do it themselves.’
‘Delegation. The ability to find the right man for the right job. It’s an essential requirement in a mayor. You are not the right man, I’m afraid. We’re looking for someone with a better knowledge of semiotics. That’s the study of signs and meaning.’
‘I know what it is.’
‘There are a lot of danger signals involved in a job like that, red flags. You strike me as someone who ignores red flags.’
‘You shouldn’t rush to judgement; I got map-reading and signals intelligence badges in the Cub Scouts.’
‘The last thing I want to do is prejudge you unfairly. How would it be if I gave you a little aptitude test?’
‘Fire away.’
He observed me through narrowed eyes and stroked his chin. ‘Well, using all your skills and wide knowledge of semiotics, which we have both agreed is the study of signs and meaning, tell me how you would read the following situation. A man walks into your office and chops your desk up with an axe.’
I scratched my head. ‘That’s a tough one.’
‘Any red flags there you can see?’
‘This is pretty advanced semiotics.’
He put the cigar down on a vulgar onyx ashtray. Then took out a semi-automatic pistol, pointed it at the ceiling and made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. ‘Walther PPK, my favourite, the one favoured by James Bond –’
‘There are not many mayors who can say that.’
‘Adolf Hitler shot himself in the bunker with one, too. What do you think the PPK stands for?’
I shrugged.
‘ Polizeipistole Kriminalmodell or Polizeipistole Kurz? ’
‘You got me there.’
He looked unhappy. He put the gun down on the desk and swivelled it round to point at me. ‘Why have you come to see me?’
‘It’s about your soothsayer. I need to know how good he is. You told me that I would soon be poking my nose into your affairs and for that reason you were taking the precaution of chopping up my desk in advance. Then shortly after you left, a man entered my office with a case that may or may not constitute poking my nose into your affairs, but I need to know.’
‘Who was this man?’
‘I’m afraid that information is protected by client privilege.’
‘It was that fool Raspiwtin.’
‘I can’t confirm or deny.’
‘You don’t need to. My soothsayer gives very detailed prophecies.’
‘Maybe you should let me have his card. I like to have my fortune told.’
‘I don’t think you would like what’s in store for you.’
‘I need to know if I had a client who wanted me to ask questions about say, for the sake of argument, a man called Iestyn Probert, would that be OK?’
He narrowed his eyes slightly and you could see he was debating whether the forced politeness was worth the effort any longer. The debate went on for a long while. Eventually he said, ‘Mr Knight, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely frank with you. I don’t have a soothsayer. When I referred to my soothsayer I was being . . . I was just . . .’
‘Cracking wise?’
‘Call it a figure of speech. You see, Raspiwtin is a man with whom I have had some dealings in the past. Word reached me that he was in town and that he had been asking for your office. How do I know this? Because I am the mayor and I get to hear about things. I am well informed: I know where he stays and what pyjamas he wears. I know what
‘This is where you do the phoney act of dawning realisation. But you can spare me that one; not even the mayor of Aberystwyth is so busy he can’t remember the face of a man whose desk he chopped up two days ago.’
‘I must admit I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’
‘I’ve come about the human-cannonball job.’
‘You’re too tall. You would stick out too far from the end of the barrel.’
‘Why do you need a surrogate anyway? I thought the candidates were supposed to do it themselves.’
‘Delegation. The ability to find the right man for the right job. It’s an essential requirement in a mayor. You are not the right man, I’m afraid. We’re looking for someone with a better knowledge of semiotics. That’s the study of signs and meaning.’
‘I know what it is.’
‘There are a lot of danger signals involved in a job like that, red flags. You strike me as someone who ignores red flags.’
‘You shouldn’t rush to judgement; I got map-reading and signals intelligence badges in the Cub Scouts.’
‘The last thing I want to do is prejudge you unfairly. How would it be if I gave you a little aptitude test?’
‘Fire away.’
He observed me through narrowed eyes and stroked his chin. ‘Well, using all your skills and wide knowledge of semiotics, which we have both agreed is the study of signs and meaning, tell me how you would read the following situation. A man walks into your office and chops your desk up with an axe.’
I scratched my head. ‘That’s a tough one.’
‘Any red flags there you can see?’
‘This is pretty advanced semiotics.’
He put the cigar down on a vulgar onyx ashtray. Then took out a semi-automatic pistol, pointed it at the ceiling and made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. ‘Walther PPK, my favourite, the one favoured by James Bond –’
‘There are not many mayors who can say that.’
‘Adolf Hitler shot himself in the bunker with one, too. What do you think the PPK stands for?’
I shrugged.
‘ Polizeipistole Kriminalmodell or Polizeipistole Kurz? ’
‘You got me there.’
He looked unhappy. He put the gun down on the desk and swivelled it round to point at me. ‘Why have you come to see me?’
‘It’s about your soothsayer. I need to know how good he is. You told me that I would soon be poking my nose into your affairs and for that reason you were taking the precaution of chopping up my desk in advance. Then shortly after you left, a man entered my office with a case that may or may not constitute poking my nose into your affairs, but I need to know.’
‘Who was this man?’
‘I’m afraid that information is protected by client privilege.’
‘It was that fool Raspiwtin.’
‘I can’t confirm or deny.’
‘You don’t need to. My soothsayer gives very detailed prophecies.’
‘Maybe you should let me have his card. I like to have my fortune told.’
‘I don’t think you would like what’s in store for you.’
‘I need to know if I had a client who wanted me to ask questions about say, for the sake of argument, a man called Iestyn Probert, would that be OK?’
He narrowed his eyes slightly and you could see he was debating whether the forced politeness was worth the effort any longer. The debate went on for a long while. Eventually he said, ‘Mr Knight, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely frank with you. I don’t have a soothsayer. When I referred to my soothsayer I was being . . . I was just . . .’
‘Cracking wise?’
‘Call it a figure of speech. You see, Raspiwtin is a man with whom I have had some dealings in the past. Word reached me that he was in town and that he had been asking for your office. How do I know this? Because I am the mayor and I get to hear about things. I am well informed: I know where he stays and what pyjamas he wears. I know what
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