2

Before he could make any more progress he was obstructed on the pavement. He was deliberately blocked off by an enormous uniformed guy, a coated and booted giant, square shouldered as a concrete block in North Korea, with a shiny peaked cap pulled over black shades.

Clive gradually took in the situation. He realised that this corporate giant stood in a catching position close to a limousine - an immense black limousine. This suggested that he was a professional driver, or even a chauffeur. The limo was comprised of no less than three compartments, with a long antenna at the rear, like a whip. Yet this was not the showy type of limo that people hired for significant birthdays or other glitzy celebrations. This model belonged to a significant personage and it was not ridiculous or improbable in shape or function. The car had an unusual, even other-worldly sleek design, curiously of no recognisable manufacturer: anyway Clive didn’t recognise the make and he had a decent knowledge of cars.

“What’s going on here then?” Clive asked. He approached the brute and found that his route was cut off.

“There’s nothing to be suspicious of,” the giant replied.

“What’s your problem?” Pitt objected.

“I don’t have a problem, do you?” the driver said politely.

Clive resolved not to be intimidated. There were many pricey marques around town. Clive had an expensive motor himself, as you’d expect in his job.

“I said get out of my way!” he persisted.

Despite Clive’s determination, the chauffeur did not step aside. The guy was blocking him tenaciously, surprisingly agile. He danced on his toes and did a little cage-fighting shimmy to stop Clive from out-manoeuvring him. Clive had played rugby himself when younger, and he knew many dirty tricks and sharp moves. But this guy was equal to everything and large enough to throw a motorway over. Clive was up against a uniformed terminator.

“Come on, mate. What are you trying to pull?” Clive demanded.

“No need to get upset sir,” the driver insisted.

“Why don’t you go and take a piss or somm’ut?” Clive suggested.

“No need for that sir, I’m on an empty bladder right now.”

“What’s your beef with me?”

“Don’t get upset,” he argued, offering shovel hands.

“I’m on my lunch. I need to get back. How am I going to explain this?”

“My boss is waiting patiently to talk to you.”

“What does he want with me?” Clive retorted, standing square to the guy.

“Just behave like a gentleman, Mr Pitt.”

“How do you know my name?” he wondered.

“Although this is a polite form of no choice,” the chauffeur considered.

“Nothing in the world’s going to make me get in that car,” Clive assured him.

Reading Clive’s growing panic, the driver changed tack. “Consider this a form of business, sir.”

“Nobody gets into a strange car with people they don’t know.”

“You’ve never seen a car like this before, have you? This is a limousine among limousines; like the one that occasionally figures in your fantasies.”

“How do you know about my fantasies?” Clive asked, seeing himself doubled in the guy’s ovular shades.

The chauffeur squeezed a door open - at the central section. It eased open like an oiled luxury safe deposit box. “Jump inside sir. You don’t want to be rude to a brilliant, talented young man. My boss just wants to have a little conversation with you.”

“What does he want to speak about?”

“This and that, sir.”

Clive searched for any available help in the vicinity, but strangely there were no options. “Just like the movies, huh,” Clive commented. “A big Mafiosi boss? Some new guy in town from the CIS regions, with his personal gas line on the table?” he wondered.

“You don’t want to prejudge him. He just wants a little chat and then you’re free.”

“How do I know what you’re up to? I don’t negotiate in the back of limos. He’s wasting his breath.”

“No need to be hostile, Mr Pitt.”

“I need to know who your employer is.”

“No cause for agitation. We’ll drop you back to the same place, to the exact paving stone in fact. Now come along, Mr Pitt,” he said firmly. The driver put a huge leather glove on Clive’s bare sweaty arm, nodding suggestively at the plush interior. “Hop inside and let my governor have his fill. Let’s keep him satisfied.”

The car’s long black door reached across the pavement, blocking his way like another strong arm. Finally Clive was forced to follow instructions. Then the door was snapped behind him with barely a sound. He was immediately sealed into a silent compartment, with intimate smells of luxury, like a pretty girl aroused. Again he was battling with his heartbeat, trying to regain composure and not to plunge into a vortex.

Clive sank into a creamy leather seat, attempting to control his breathing and a strange light headedness. He was reassured by being able to observe outside shapes through reinforced tinted windows. But nobody could possibly see him inside the car from outside. There was toughed reinforced glass in front and behind. He couldn’t see the driver once he had returned, presumably, to his seat. Neither did he see whoever was sitting in the compartment behind, within the third and final compartment of the stretched limousine. He could only sense “them”, without identifying them.

Soon there was a purring sensation, as the engine started up, followed by smooth and soft movement. They were apparently setting off on a tour of the square mile.

A suave and correct voice, like the big brother of all CEOs: “Good afternoon Mr Pitt, greetings.”

Clive’s nerves turned to steel; as if this time he was going to fall hard from the sky and finish up like the butcher’s scraps.

“You getting a bit hot under the collar, my dear young man?” the velvety voice continued. “Did I interrupt your daily routine?”

“So why don’t you get to the point?” Clive asked.

“You have a reputation for being blunt, don’t you, Clive. Isn’t that right?”

“Why don’t you show your face, for starters?” Pitt suggested.

“My face doesn’t belong to you, Mr Pitt.”

“I don’t do business like this. What do you want?”

“Scrupulous as ever, huh? Would you care for a drink?”

“Let’s get the thoughts off your chest first...whoever you are.”

There was rich sardonic laughter. “Take a whisky from the cabinet in front of you. Reach down. Don’t you appreciate what my Scots are doing up there with their mud and rain water? Who are we to complain, when they are performing miracles for me?”

“All right, just a drop, as you are offering,” Clive agreed, thinking that whiskey would maybe help.

“Take advantage of the world’s goods. Your precious metals aren’t going to last forever.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” Clive said.

“Consume them, while you can still extract them. Make sure the Chinese haven’t stuffed them all into their overcoats. There’s an ice bucket in the left cabinet, if you look.”

He tried to snap the steel trap of his elbow joint.

“Yes, rather hot today isn’t it. Warming up nicely anyway.”

“You have air-conditioning,” Clive reminded him.

“You don’t feel comfortable at Winchurch Brothers; do you Clive...not any more. The old chap with his rather touching, if hilarious attachment to his slutty daughter... while we are talking of hot and sticky situations,” he chuckled darkly.

“As far as I can remember, which isn’t very much,” Clive said. The inability to recall made him perspire even more.

“No, something has fucked with your head. You need to understand your place, Clive,” replied the gentleman. His voice was changed electronically, Clive understood - disguised - before it came to him.

“So who am I talking to?” he stated.

“Excellent whiskey though Clive, isn’t it. It’s from my own distillery in the Highlands. Such potency from absolute purity.”

“I can taste the quality of course,” Clive agreed.

“Only the best for you City boys and girls, am I right. I can see that you are a young man with nice vices,” remarked the gentleman.

“Is that the right?” Clive replied, bristling. “On what basis would this be?”

“Pour yourself another one. There’s time, I can assure you, before we are done here.”

Whiskey tackled the stress of recent experiences, although it only exacerbated his thirst, which was flaming up. Despite this luxury and the sumptuousness of his seat, Clive was feeling understandably on edge. Dark glass surfaces hemmed him in on all sides.

“Now you can explain what this is all about?” Clive suggested.

“You have to be wondering,” he agreed.

“Does this refer to my work?”

“You focus too much on your job, Mr Pitt. You fucking obsess.”

“Sometimes I can agree with you,” said Clive.

“You have to squeeze the tit of life. Get as much as you can!”

“Maybe I need a change,” Clive admitted, taking another sip from the glass. “Offer my services elsewhere.”

“Excellent, that’s the spirit!”

The drink was doing a bit of talking, but Pitt liked what it was saying. He’d wanted to discuss the shortcomings of his employment for a long time. Unfortunately at this point he couldn’t recall what they were. “I’m up to here with everything at Winchurch Brothers at the moment,” he added, for effect.

“Right, Clive! Variety is the spice of life. Don’t let the bastards get you down. Particularly that pompous little prick at the top table, huh?”

“So you have a job proposal here? Some useful information for me?” he wondered.

“This is much more interesting,” said the gentleman, with warm confidence.

“Maybe you are a scout?” Clive said.

“I definitely have a strong interest in you,” he returned.

“If you have a proposal, then I need to know your name...and who you work for?” Clive pressed.

“I don’t work for anybody. I only work for my fucking self. I could be the devil as far as you know. I am the devil to you... or your nemesis...your destroyer at least. Kill before you are killed. Well, that’s among the many other names, not to mention nicknames,” he said, “and other unflattering names.”

Ice did a dance into Clive’s lap. His whiskey didn’t look so good soaked into a trouser leg. “If you’re trying to scare me mate, then you’ve done a good job.”

“You’re not going to piss your pants are you, Clive? That would be a shame to spoil them.”

“All right, mate... now you’ve had your fun, let me out of here,”

“Keep calm in a stressful situation Mr Pitt. Don’t you enjoy chatting to the devil... the devil in the details? I understand that my publicity has been atrocious.”

“What kind of unhinged maniac are you?” Clive demanded.

There was dark laughter from behind. “A devious devil, that’s me, Clive. From when I was a brilliant little chap, barely an evil idea had crossed my almost innocent mind.”

“You’re the biggest head-case I’ve come across,” Clive insisted.

“You’re still a relative innocent yourself, aren’t you?”

“Yes, you’re doing a brilliant job at scaring people. That must have something to do with impressive props and a bass voice. Looks as if you’ve got a little synthesiser rigged up there...if I’m not mistaken.”

“Evil geniuses should be entitled to a little style,” he retorted.

“Is that right? So you hired the limo to give me a shock?” Pitt wondered.

“Why should I hire anything, apart from people?”

“OK, mate, let’s hear your proposal and then let me out.”

“Agreed Clive. As my driver promised, we shall return you where we picked you up...to the exact paving stone,” he promised.

“If you don’t mind, as I’ve duties and responsibilities.”

“Then you’ll find that the fun and games start for you. That is one of the little charms of my powers. You still have some work to do for me. You still have to appreciate my dark arts. It must come as a bit of a shock. It always does,” the gentleman told him. “I was always the boss. I was always pulling the strings, you see.”

“OK, as you like, you fire away! Then we can get this over with!”

“Fix yourself another drink. You spilt the last one,” he observed.

“But I don’t want another drink,” Clive replied.

“Suit yourself, Mr Pitt. Didn’t you see the benefits of alcoholism on your working classes? How could the polite people run their own estates and affairs, without booze, Pitt? What are the people offered these days? It is more complicated,” mused the synthetic voice.

Even while these tones came from behind him, Pitt couldn’t turn around to investigate. He continued to look rigidly ahead, and the tinted thick glass was impenetrable. Even if this was some kind of nutcase here, it was not the type of nutcase he wanted to encounter.

“Presumably you’re super-rich or mafia... you’re having fun with me. Not working for a living is your way of keeping occupied.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Clive, because the super-rich have plenty to do in these times. We’re at the top of the pyramid, a smart little band, even after the pyramid has crumbled under our feet.”

“I would rather be the guy I am, than some fruitcake in a stretch limo, going about the streets of London in a hearse, describing himself as the devil,” Clive replied.

There was electronic laughter in bass tones. “Why didn’t you join our party? You were lucky enough to be introduced. Were you too fucking dim to see that? Shouldn’t you know that, if you are so brilliant? No wonder you are taking your crumbs of comfort, in the face of oblivion.”

“Do I know you? Should I know you?”

“Should you?”

“It’s true that I feel lost at the moment,” Clive agreed.

“But you are lost, Clive, my big beautiful young man. Your time has already been appointed,” he said.

“You can seriously be fired for talking crap.”

“Now you are really having a laugh, aren’t you?”

“So you play your game. Let’s finish it soon.”

“Your notion of the game is fascinating to me. An arrogant techie like you probably knows how it works! How very amusing and pretentious these ideas can be. The universe really operates on an even sillier principle, similar to a game of tiddly winks.”

“Tiddly winks?” Clive retorted.

“Yes, that’s right, tiddly winks,” he chuckled. “A charming little British game, a legacy from your old empire, I think... which shows moral seriousness, in this fallen universe! The Royal family play this game while they are sitting on their thrones, I can assure you.”

“This is definitely a wind up,” Clive argued.

“How does that sound to you? The truth is usually ridiculous, Pitt.”

“Look, I have to return to my desk. Just drop me, will you? So I can get out of this mean-machine of yours.” He peered out of smoky windows trying to delineate milling crowds, normality, beyond.

“You’re sure that’s a clever idea? To go rushing back to your little desk job?” he said, giving an extra dark roll to his vowels.

“You said that you have a question for me?” Clive reminded him.

“Don’t worry, I never forget a face. Do you?”

“Just questions,” Clive retorted.

“Well, not so much a question as a proposition. Actually more like a dilemma than a proposition.”

“This is doing my head in,” Clive said.

“I love abstractions. Either you will agree to go forward a year in your life, or alternatively you will have to go back a year.”

“That’s amusing,” Clive said ironically.

“I’m pleased to provoke your rebellious interest at last, Pitt.”

“Just imagine how things might be... if I have another try. I could get up my courage and ask the family to relocate to the Far East with me. Just for starters. I might have put in for promotion, rather than sticking where I am,” he ruminated.

“Never a good idea to stick about. You wanna go back a year in time?”

“You claim to have such powers? You must be completely out of your mind,” Clive concluded.

“Don’t you understand the power of information? You will have to make the choice.”

“It’s a creative proposal, but I’m not interested.”

“You have to, Pitt, and you made a choice. Unconsciously, if you like it or not, you have already chosen.”

“I refuse,” Clive insisted, seeing only his own reflection exactly reversed.

“You must be exposed to this process,” the voice stated.

“I’m not doing any time-travelling,” Clive told him.

“Why should you be so hostile to that idea? Haven’t you heard about that precocious child Albert Einstein?” he replied.

“Let me outside.”

“Your life is different. Are you not interested to step outside and find out?”

“I’m not going to be shaken up like this.”

“You went through a black hole, Clive. Didn’t you feel yourself fall? Now you have to see where your ridiculous efforts have taken you.”

The limousine drifted to the kerb and eased to a stop. Clive was invited to alight and he didn’t refuse. Indeed he was returned to the exact paving stone, except that the chauffeur didn’t come to instruct him this time.