The Business

'Can you smell that, Adrian?  Smells like burning oil or something, don't you think?  Oh, look, there's a red light on in here.  Can't imagine that bodes too well.' I blipped the throttle again.  The engine caterwauled, metallic and harsh. 'That sound different to you?  I thought it sounded different that time.  More of a metallic edge, seemed to me.  What do you think?  Here, have another listen…'

'Stop it!  Stop it!'

'You'd better answer my questions, Adrian, or soon I'm going to get bored and then I'll just keep my foot planted pedal to the metal until the fucker seizes.'

'You fucking bitch!'

'Here we go, Adrian.'

'All right!  What?'

'Sorry?' I said.

I pressed a finger to the window lift, depressing it slightly so that the window cracked open by about a centimetre.  He forced his fingers through the gap and tried to shove the window down further.  I hit the button again and the window started to lift, trapping his fingers between the top edge of the glass and the fabric-covered metal frame of the hood.  He screamed.

'Shit,' I said, 'I didn't think you could do that with a modern car.  I thought they were all supposed to have a sensor or something that stopped that happening.'

Poudenhaut tried to pull his fingers free, but couldn't. 'You fucking bitch!  My fingers!'

'What do you reckon, Adrian?  Are Ferrari above fitting that sort of namby-pamby safety device, or do you think it's just not working?  I don't know.  I'm still not convinced that Fiat have all the reliability concerns licked.  Never mind.  Going into the red again here, Ade.' Another swinging, rasping, screaming bellow of noise.

'All right!'

'What?' I lifted my phone and studied the display.

'All right!  Fucking let me go!'

'Pardon, Adrian?  What was that?' I punched some numbers, listened, then hit some more.

'I said all right!  Can't you fucking hear me?  All right!'

'What?' I was still fiddling with the phone, jabbing numbers.  I held it up to the window. 'You'll have to repeat that, Adrian.'

'It was a dealing room!'

'In Silex?'

'Yes!  So fucking what?  We could have fucking lost money too, you know!'

'The value of your investments can go down as well as up,' I agreed.

'It doesn't matter!  It's all over.  We sent the money to Shinizagi!  That's what he wanted!  Daniels raped his daughter; the fucker deserved worse!  Who fucking cares anyway?  Let me go! Ah!  My fucking fingers!'

'What's it all for, Adrian?' I asked, still holding the phone up to the window. 'What was the money for?  What is Shinizagi supposed to do with it?'

'I don't know!'

'Oh, bad answer, Adrian.  Could cost you a brand new engine.' I hit the throttle.  The engine zinged monstrously.  It really didn't sound right now.  I thought I caught a puff of ominously grey-blue smoke in the rear-view mirror.

'I don't fucking know!  Something to do with Fenua Ua, maybe, but he wouldn't tell me!  You fucking bitch!  My fingers are breaking!'

'Hazleton wouldn't tell you?'

'No!  I didn't need to know!  It's just a guess!  I'm just guessing!'

'Hmm,' I said.  I let the window down a fraction.

'You cunt,' he hissed, and tried to shove his hands in towards my throat.  I leant back and pressed the window up again, trapping him by the wrists.  He gurgled, his fingers waving near my face like pink anemones.

I felt in my bag and brought out an aerosol can. 'Not wise, Adrian.  This is Mace.  Very bad for your eyes and mucous membranes.  Could ruin your whole day.  I think you ought to back off.  I've already called the police.  If you behave yourself they may accept it was all a terrible mistake, otherwise I'm going to get very tearful and upset and claim you've been trying to assault me.  Put yourself in their place: who would you believe?'

'You fucking bitch,' he sobbed. 'I'll fucking get you for this.'

'No, Adrian.  You won't.  Because if you try to, I'll do much worse things to you than this.  Now, lean back.  Lean back on your heels.  Let your arms take your weight.  That's it.' I pressed the window lift button again; down, then up.  His hands pulled free as he staggered back.  He stood on the gravel, rubbing his wrists and tenderly massaging his fingers, his face streaked with tears.  I held the phone up so he could see it and hit the off button, then dialled Happy Hans and told him where we were.

'What about the police?' Poudenhaut asked, glancing warily up the switchback road.

'Don't worry,' I said.  I hadn't called the police, just somebody's answerphone.  The Mace wasn't Mace, either; it was a can of Armani.  I nodded at the low wall at the edge of the gravel semi-circle. 'Why don't you go and sit down, Adrian?'

I turned the car's engine off.  It sputtered down to silence, then started to tick and click behind me.

Poudenhaut kneaded his fingers and looked at me with an expression full of rage and hate, but he went and sat down on the wall.

Hans brought the 7 -series crunching on to the gravel about ten minutes later.  He parked opposite, between me and Poudenhaut, then got out and held the door open for me.  I waved Adrian goodbye, and got in.  I looked back as we drove off.  When we were about a hundred metres up the road, while Poudenhaut was staring through the open door at the Ferrari's steering column and turning to look towards us, I lowered my window and threw the 355's keys out.

'Kathryn?'

'Mr Hazleton.'

'I've spoken with Adrian Poudenhaut.  He's very upset.'

'Yes, I think I'd be upset in his situation too, Mr Hazleton.'

'Apparently you made some rather wild allegations about me.  Which he might have seemed to confirm, though of course it was done under considerable duress.  Not the sort of thing that would stand up in court.  In fact, the sort of behaviour that could very easily land you in court, Kathryn.  I'm not sure what you did to poor Adrian isn't against the Geneva Convention.'

'Where are you, Mr Hazleton?'

'Where am I, Kathryn?'

'Yes, Mr Hazleton.  We have these conversations on the phone and you quite often know where I am, whether it's in the middle of the Himalayas or on an obsolete cruise liner, but you're always just this placeless, disembodied voice floating in from the airwaves for me.  I keep wondering where you are.  Boston?  That's where you live in the States, isn't it?  Or Egham, on the Thames.  That's your UK home, isn't it?  Maybe you're here in Switzerland:  I've no idea.  I'd just like to know for once.'

'Well, Kathryn, I'm on a fishing boat off the island of St Kitts, in the Caribbean.'

'Weather nice?'

'A little hot.  Whereabouts in Switzerland are you?'

'I'm walking in the grounds of the château,' I lied.  I was nearby, but not in the compound itself.  I was in a neat but damp little park in the town of Château d'Oex; I could see the château through the trees on the other side of the valley.  If things were going according to plan, Hans the chauffeur would be there now, picking up my things from the rather swish two-balcony room.  I walked across springy black rubber tiles and sat on a child's swing.  I looked warily around, not so much for Hazleton-controlled Business heavies like Colin Walker as for ordinary Swiss citizens, who'd probably shout at me for sitting on a swing meant for persons of less than a certain height and/or age.  Nobody about.  I was probably safe.  I lifted my feet up and swung gently back and forth.

'There,' Hazleton said. 'Now we each know where the other is perhaps we can discuss more serious matters.'

'Ah, yes.  Like your Couffabling antics.'

'Kathryn, you are probably already in deep trouble.  I wouldn't make it any worse for yourself.'

'No, Mr Hazleton, I think you're the one in trouble.  You're way up ordure inlet with no means of non-manual hydro-kinetic propulsion, and the sooner you drop this patronising now-look-here-young-lady bullshit the better.'