Grantchester Grind by Tom Sharpe

Author:Tom Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Porterhouse College (England : Imaginary place), Fiction:Humour, Humorous, General, Modern fiction, Fiction
ISBN: 9780099466543
Publisher: Random House
Published: 1995-05-31T03:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Edgar Hartang wasn’t interested in intellect, pure or otherwise, but he was adamant that something be done about Kudzuvine He had been in consultation with his legal team for hours and nothing that Schnabel, Feuchtwangler or Bolsover had told him had been to his liking. ‘You telling me because that fucking Kudzuvine goes apeshit in this fucking Porterhouse I got to spit out twenty million pounds you got to be as crazy as he is,’ had been his first reaction.

‘We are merely speaking in terms of the legal consequences of this action,’ Schnabel had told him. And if the facts as laid out by the solicitors acting for the College are as they state them to be liability certainly lies with Transworld. That is the unfortunate fact of the matter and our unavoidable conclusion.’

Two days later the facts of the matter had worsened and Skundler, who had lost a stone in weight through having to live in the presence of a man who made it abundantly clear he intended to have him killed very painfully, had been ordered to get some independent operatives to find Kudzuvine.

‘No, not from Chicago, not yet,’ Hartang had shouted at him. ‘Locals. And on the phone, Skundler. You’re, not leaving this room.’

The operatives’ report that Kudzuvine was almost certainly still in Porterhouse, and a further communication from Waxthorne, Libbott and Chaine that they had even more damaging though unspecified evidence, had sent Hartang into a paroxysm of rage. ‘You mean the fucker’s squealed?’ he screamed at the legal team. ‘I’ll…I’ll crucify that…that…’ Words failed him.

‘Apparently he’s given an affidavit of some sort,’ Bolsover told him. ‘Like it’s a sworn statement, a confession–’

‘I know what an affifuckingdavit is,’ Hartang bawled. ‘Whadda they mean by our ancillary activities for shit-sake? That’s what I want to know.’

‘One can only suppose…’ Feuchtwangler hazarded to take some of the heat off Bolsover. He preferred to leave the supposition unsaid.

‘Suppose? I knows. I know what…’ He turned to Skundler. ‘What does Kudzuvine have in that head of his? Like details, you dummy, not fucking neurons. What he’s got to have spilt to these fucking shysters?’

Skundler took a desperate gamble. ‘As a V-P he’s got details, sir. Got a lousy mind…’

‘That I’m learning. Tell me the new.’

‘He’s got a photographic memory, Mr Hartang sir. Filing cabinet full of account numbers and times of consignments and fund flows and…’

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Edgar Hartang, and wiped the sweat from his face. There was a long and terrible silence. Finally he spoke. ‘Get me some independents Stateside…’ he began, but this time Schnabel stepped in with remarkable courage.

‘I…we would strongly advise against any action that might make the situation worse,’ he said.

‘Worse? Just how much worse can it get you don’t think this is worst? I got to take this shit; do nothing about it?’

‘I did not say that. I just want you to know that there is nothing in this communication from the solicitors to indicate that they intend to move from civil action and initiate criminal proceedings.

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