right?
Tim was astonished. Surely this crook could not be connected with any of
those respectable companies? He said: “Yes, but it’s too late for me to
influence the result–the decision has been made It will be announced
this afternoon.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. I know it’s too late to change it. But you
can tell me who’s won the license.”
Tim stared. Was that all he wanted? It was too good to be true! He said:
“What possible use could you have for that sort of information?”
“None, really. I’m going to trade it for another piece of information.
I’ve got a deal going with this gent, see. He doesn’t know how I get my
inside dope, and he doesn’t know what I do with the stuff he tells me.
That way he keeps his nose clean. Know what I mean? Now, then: who gets
the license?”
It was so easy, Tim thought. Two words, and the nightmare would be over.
A breach of confidence like this could ruin his career: but then, if he
did not do it, his career was finished anyway.
Cox said: “If you’re not sure what to do, just think of the headlines.
“The Minister and the Actress. He wouldn’t make an honest woman of me,
showgirl weeps.” Remember poor old Tony Lambton?”
“Shut up,” Tim said. “It’s Hamilton Holdings.” Cox smiled. “My friend
will be pleased,” he said. “Where’s the phone?”
Tim jerked a thumb. “Bedroom,” he said wearily.
Cox went into the room, and Tim closed his eyes. How naive he had been,
to think that a young girl like Dizi could fall head over heels in love
with someone like him. He was a patsy in some elaborate scheme which was
much bigger than petty blackmail.
He could hear Cox speaking. “Laski? It’s me.
Hamilton Holdings. You got that? Announcement this afternoon. Now, what
about your end?”; There was a pause. “Today? Terrific. You’ve made my
day, pal. And the route?” Another pause. “What do you mean, you think
it’s the usual? You’re supposed okay, okay.. So long.”
Tim knew of Laski–he was an aging City whiz kid–but he was emotionally
too exhausted to feel appropriately astonished. He could believe
anything of anyone now.
Cox came back in. Tim stood up. Cox said:
“Well, a successful little morning, one way and another. And don’t feel
too bad about it. After all, it was the best night’s nooky you’ll ever
have.”
“Are you going to leave now, please?” Tim said.
“Well, there is one more little matter to discuss.
Give us your dressing gown.”
“Why?”
“I’ll show you. Come on.”
Tim was too battered to argue. He slipped the robe off his shoulders and
handed it over. He stood in his shorts, waiting.
Cox threw the garment to one side. “I want you to remember that word
‘ponce,” he said. Then he punched Tim in the stomach.
Tim turned away and doubled over in agony.
Cox reached out, grabbed his genitals in one huge hand, and squeezed.
Tim tried to scream, but he had no breath. His mouth gaped in a
soundless howl as he tried desperately to suck air.
Cox let go and kicked him. Tim toppled to the floor. He curled up there,
and his eyes flooded with tears. He had no pride, no dignity left. He
said: “Please don’t hurt me anymore.” Tony Cox smiled and put his coat
on. “Not just yet,” he said. Then he went away.
THE HON. DEREK HAMILTON woke up with a pain.
He lay in bed with his eyes shut while he traced the discomfort to his
abdomen, examined it, and graded it bad but not incapacitating. Then he
recalled last night’s dinner. Asparagus mousse was harmless; he had
refused seafood pancakes; his steak had been well done; he had taken
cheese in preference to apple tart. A light white wine, coffee with
cream, brandy.
Brandy. Damn, he should stick to port.
He knew how the day would go. He would do without breakfast, and by
midmorning the hunger would be as bad as the ulcer pain, so he would eat
something. By lunchtime the hunger would be back and the ulcer would be