Market Forces Part 7

Mike Bryant shot him a peculiar glance across the kitchen.

On screen, Carla kept her scowl. 'Yeah, yeah. Me too. See you at four. And don't be late.'

She reached for the phone and the image faded. Chris turned just in time to catch the last of Bryant's call.

'Yes, I am aware of that, detective. Well next time I'm attacked on the street, I'll be sure and remember it. Goodbye.'

He snapped the phone shut angrily.

'a.s.sbole. Get this, the corporate police, our f.u.c.king police want to conduct an investigation into whether this was an unlawful shooting. I mean.' He gestured helplessly, lost for words. 'Defend yourself, and you're f.u.c.king breaking the law. Meanwhile, some piece of s.h.i.t gangwit cracks a fingernail in a back alley and you've got Citizens' Rights activists screaming for someone's neck. What about us citizens? Who's looking out for us? What about our rights?'

'Michael!' Suki appeared in the kitchen doorway, a coffee cup in eachhand. 'How many times have I told you, don't use that language in front of Ariana. She just comes right out with it at the playgroup, and I get dirty looks from the other mothers.' She put the coffee cups on the table and went to clean some of the surplus food from around her daughter's mouth. Ariana made half-hearted protests, all the time squinting shyly at Chris, 'That's right, don't you listen to Daddy when he talks like that.' She turned a fraction of her multi-tasked attention in the same direction as her daughter. 'Take no notice, Chris. He's always moaning

49.

-about citizens' rights. This'll be the second time he's been in trouble, there, is that better darling, the second time he's been in trouble with the police this year. Use of undue force. Yes, who's a clean girl? I think he just likes living dangerously.'

Bryant made a disgusted noise. Suki went to him and put an arm round his waist. She kissed him under the chin.

'Maybe that's what I see in him. You're married, aren't you Chris?

Was that her on the vid?'

'Yeah.' To Chris, his own voice sounded unfairly defensive. 'She's a mechanic. Got to work most Sat.u.r.days.'

He sipped his coffee and watched for a reaction, but Suki either didn't care one way or the other or had been trained to black belt in social graces. She smiled as she unfastened Ariana from the high chair.

'Yes, Michael said. You know, one of the Shorn partners had a girlfriend who worked in auto reclaim. Now what was his name?' She snapped her fingers. 'I met him at the Christmas bash.'

'Notley,' said Bryant.

'That's it, Notley. Jack Notley. Well, you must both come over for dinner, Chris. What's your wife's name?'

'Carla.'

'Carla. Lovely name. Like that Italian holop.o.r.n star Mike gets so turned on over.' She put a playful hand over Bryant's mouth as he protested. 'Yes, ask her to come over. In fact, why don't you come over tonight? We've got no plans, have we, Mike?'

Bryant shook his head.

'Well, then. I'll cook sukiyaki. You're not vegetarian, either of you?'

'No.' Chris hesitated. There had been some notion of going to visit Carla's father today, and in the whirl of the week just gone, he wasn't sure quite how solidified the plan was. 'Uh, I'm not sure if '

'Not to be missed, that sukiyaki,' said Michael, draining his coffee and setting down the mug. 'Beef direct from the Sutherland Croft a.s.sociation herds. Hey, you reckon Carla'd like a look at the BMW?

Seeing as she's a mechanic and all. That's the new Omega Injection series under the bonnet. State of the art, not even on general release outside Germany yet. I bet she'd love to watch it turn over.'Chris, aware suddenly of the exact depth to which he did not want to visit his father-in-law, made a decision.

'Yeah, she'd like that,' he said.

'Good, that's settled then,' said Suki brightly. Tll get the beef this afternoon. Shall we say about eight-thirty?'

Mike insisted on dropping Chris right beside his car. The underground 5Oparking decks beneath the Shorn block were largely deserted and the level Chris had parked on showed only three other vehicles. Bryant slewed to a halt across the battery of empty s.p.a.ces opposite, killed the engine and got out.

'Hewitt's,' he said, nodding at the nearest of the isolated vehicles.

'Audi built it for her to spec when she made partner. Fancy seeing that coming up in your rearview?'

Chris looked at it. Broad black windscreen, heavy impact collision bars that jutted from the end of the raked hood.

'Not much,' he admitted. 'But I thought Hewitt was a BMW fan.'

Mike snorted. 'Hewitt's a fan of money. Back when she made partner, Shorn had this deal with Audi. They supplied all our company cars and hardware, and the partners got special edition battlewagons thrown in for free. Two years ago BMW made Shorn a better offer and they went with it. As a partner, Hewitt can opt for any vehicle she likes but when this baby gets written off or superseded, you can bet she'll just take a top-of-the-line Omega with all the armour options, free to partners of BMW clients. To her, it's all just a cost-benefit a.n.a.lysis.'

'So what does Notley think of all this?'

'Notley's a patriot.' Mike grinned. 'I mean, in the real, uncut sense of the word. Last of the diehard anti-Europeans. Anti-American too, come to that. He actually believes in the cultural superiority of England over other nations. s.h.i.t like that. I mean, you'd think he'd be able to see a little more clearly from the fiftieth floor, wouldn't you.

Anyway, when he made partner, he didn't want to know about the German makes. He had Landrover build him a customised battlewagon from scratch. And he' still driving it ten years later. f.u.c.king thing looks like a tank but it'll do nearly two hundred kilometres an hour. Except he won't use metric, so that'd be... what, about a hundred and twenty-something? Miles an hour? Whatever. That's what his speedo reads in.'

'Yeah, right.'

'No, really. He made them fit an imperial speedo. Miles per hour. Ask him to let you look at the dashboard some time.'

'He's not here today?'

'No way. You won't catch Notley working weekends. Calls it the American disease, working all the hours G.o.d sends you.' Bryant's eyes flicked away. with recollection. 'I remember one quarterly do, I ran into him in the men's room, we were both pretty p.i.s.sed and I was asking himif being a partner was really worth all the extra s.h.i.t, the weekend work, the all-nighters and he looked at me like I was insane. Then he says, still treating me like I'm a headcase, talking very slowly, you know, he says, Mike, if you make partner and you're still working weekends then there's 51something wrong somewhere. You make partner so they can't tellyou to do that s.h.i.t any more. Otherwise, what's the point? You believe that?'

'Sounds like a decent philosophy.'

'Yeah, not like the rest of these f.u.c.king wannabes.' Mike gestured around dismissively. He wandered across to Chris's car. 'So what have we got here? This looks Scandinavian to me.'

'Yeah.' Chris laid a proprietorial hand on the car's flank. 'Saab combat cha.s.sis. Carla's family are Norwegian, but she did her apprenticeship in Stockhohn. Been around Saabs and Volvos all her life.

She says the Swedes were building cars for road-raging decades before anybody even thought of it.'

Bryant nodded. 'It looks pretty mean. But I reckon you'd still lose on speed to an Omega.'

'She's faster than she looks, Mike. A lot of that bulk's Volvo s.p.a.ced armouring. Strut-braced stuff. It isn't solid, and the slipstream channels through flues on the outer edges for stability, but by Christ you'd still know if it hit you. Volvo've crash-tested the struts at aeroplane speeds, and they hold.'

's.p.a.ced armouring, huh?' Bryant looked thoughtful for a couple of moments, and Chris had the unsettling sensation that he had given something important away to the big man. Then another grin swept the calculating expression out of his eyes. He clapped Chris on the shoulder. 'Remind me to divorce Suki and get a Swedish mechanic to shack up with.'

The parking deck was filled with a soft chime. The Shorn elevator voice announced two o'clock for the whole building. Mike glanced reflexively at his watch.

'That's me,' he said sourly. 'Look, Chris, I'd better run. Corporate police can be a real drag when they're determined to do something by the book. See you tonight, alright?'

'Yeah.' Chris watched him stride away towards the double doors that led upwards into the Shorn tower. 'Hey, Mike.'

'Yo.'

Good luck.'

Bryant raised a hand and waved it sideways. 'Ah, don't worry about it.

Piece of p.i.s.s. Be out of here by three. See you tonight.'

'He said what?'Carla paused in the act of fastening one earring and stared dis believingly at Chris in the mirror. Chris looked back at her, confused.

'He said it'd be a piece of p.i.s.s and they'd--'

'No, before that. That stuff about divorcing Suki.'

'He said to remind him to get a divorce so he could shack up with a 52Swedish mechanic.' Chris saw the look on her face and sighed, feeling the edge of the row they were teetering on. 'He's just trying to be friendly, Carla. It's a kind of compliment, you know.'

'It's a load of s.e.xist s.h.i.t is what it is. Anyway,' Carla finished with the earring and came away from the mirror. 'That's not the point.'

'No? Then what is the point, Carla?'

This time it was Carla that sighed. 'The point,' she said heavily, 'is that I'm not some curiosity for you to show off. This is my wife, by the way she's a mechanic. I'm sure it's fun to say. The shock value. The looks you get. I know you get a kick out of taking me to these corporate functions, showing everyone what a rebel you are.'

Chris stared at her.

'No, it's because I love you.'

'I ' She'd been about to raise her voice. Something broke in the effort. 'Chris, I know that. I know. You just, you don't have to prove it against overwhelming odds all the time. It's not a-a battle or a quest. It's just, living.' She saw the pain flit across his face and went to him. Her hands, scrubbed clean with aromatic oil, cupped his downturned face. 'I know you love me, but I'm not here just to be loved. You can't use me as a statement of how strongly you feel about everything, how loyal you are.'

He tried to turn his head away. She held it in place.

'Look at me, Chris. This is me. I'm your wife. Mechanic is just a job, just a statement of financial disadvantage. I don't let it define me, and I don't want you doing it behind my back. We're more than what we do.'

'Now you sound like your father.'

She paused for a moment, then nodded and let go of his head. 'Yeah, you're right.' She touched her throat. 'Should be f.u.c.king miked up, huh? And that reminds me, you said we'd go and see him this weekend.

Whatever happened to that promise?'

'I didn't think we'd '

'Oh, forget it. I don't really want to go anyway. I don't feel up to the refereeing. Once you two get at each other's throats...' she sighed again. 'Look, Chris, about this mechanic thing. How would you like it if I dragged you over to see Mel and Jess and said you'd just love to have a look at their tax returns.'Chris's eyes widened with outrage. 'I'm not a f.u.c.king accountant.'

Carla gri.nned and dropped into a defensive boxing stance. 'Want to bet? Want to fight about it?'

The bravado ended in a shriek as Chris hurled himself at her and rugby-tackled her back onto the bed. The brief tussle ended with Chris straddling Carla's body and struggling to hold her flailing arms at bay.

He could feel the strength leaking out of his grip in giggle increments.

53.

I.

;L--'Sssh, sssh, stop it, stop it, behave yoursel We're going out.'

'f.u.c.king let go of me, you piece of s.h.i.t.' She was laughing as well, breathlessly. 'I'll claw your f.u.c.king eyes out.'

'Carla,' Chris said patiently. 'That's not really an incentive. You've got to learn the art of negotiation. Now--'

An incoherent squeal. Carla tumbled him. They grappled at each other across the bed.

54EIGHT.

Out, driving through Hawkspur Green in the waning light of evening, while Carla tried to do something with her dishevelled hair. The s.e.x had taken half an hour, and it still lurked in the grins at the corners of their mouths.

'We're going to be late,' said Chris severely.

'Ah, b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.' Carla gave up on her hair and settled for pinning it untidily up. 'I don't know why we're doing this anyway. Going out to dinner with some guy you're going to wreck in a couple of years' time.

It doesn't really make sense, does it?'

Chris glanced across at her, the implied confidence in the remark warming him inside. There was always an intimacy to the conversations they had while driving, maybe born out of the secure knowledge that the car was clean. Carla swept for bugs on a regular basis, and her knowledge of the Saab meant they were sure of their privacy in a way they never quite could be at home.

'You know it might not come to that,' Chris said, feeling his way through his own thoughts. 'A wreck. We don't have to run for the same promotions.'

'No, but you will. Like at Hammett McColl. It always works out that way.

'I don't know, Carla. It's strange. It's like he's just decided he's going to be my friend and that's it. I mean, there's a lot about him I don't like.

That stuff in the zones was pretty extreme--'

'No s.h.i.t. The man sounds like a f.u.c.king crackhead psycho to me, Chris. Whatever you say.'

Without actually lying to his wife about anything specific, Chris had somehow managed to omit Bryant's execution-style dispatch of Molly and her jacker colleagues. The way it came out, it really had been self defence against armed and violent attackers. In retrospect, Chris was almost starting to believe it himself. The gangwits had wrecking bars.

Not much doubt they would have used them if Chris's unloaded gun had given them the chance. Carla remained unimpressed.

'He's just like a lot of the guys at Shorn '

'Well, I certainly believe that.'