The Pattern Mafia

Chapter 28 - Montbars - Lussan

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The Story So Far… Charli Parker, one time Algebra employee and creator of accidental Alien incursions, is resigned to being held captive in the Burning Bear surrounded by gargoyles and the anarchic crime syndicate that haunts the bar. And now her fate is dependent on the plan of an ancient motor cycle mechanic and an aristocratic tramp. It’s no wonder she wants a drink…

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Molly serves an English breakfast on a grand scale. She was alarmed by the slightness of the figure beneath the Scholar’s spoiled clothing, and the trembling of the frail man’s hands. Ed was skinny by nature, but the Scholar she remembers as a large, well fed man. Despite his desperate condition, the Scholar retained a barrister’s projection and confidence.

“This,” said Ed the Ted, “is Lord Charles Grey, and he is going to set up a bank to receive the money. This, your Lordship, is Hollywood, the originator of the asset for sale. She is not part of the team, but she has a role to play for us. She’ll be well looked after while we need her, and…” he turns to face Charli “has nothing to fear providing she behaves herself.”

“The gentlemen by the door?”

“Her protection, and yours. We are going to move fast but inevitably we can expect some trouble along the way. Arret’s men have agreed to provide security for us.”

Lord le Grey turns to look at the big men by the door. The big men nod.

“Are two men sufficient, Edward?”

“The local café has gone halal overnight to meet their new clientele’s needs, and there are a couple of carloads close by. Should be enough to cover the entrances and if you have them closed off you are gold.”

“And why should I join you in this endeavour, Edward?” his deep voice sonorous and edged with grit. “To be blunt, what’s in it for me?”

“A chance to get back in the game, Charles. The opportunity to show your family they should never have counted you out. The chance to recover what you have lost. Like your Maserati, for example.”

The bushy eyebrows shoot up: the piercing blue eyes lock onto Ed’s sunken stones.

“My Sebring! You kept her?”

“She’s in the garage, under cover.”

“Still? After all these years?’

“Beautiful piece of kit. I said I would look after her for you.”

The Scholar roars with joy and, rising to his feet, reaches across the table to grasp the old Ted by the shoulders.

“Thank you Edward! From the bottom of my heart. You are a true gentleman, a deeply honourable man. I thought her sold for scrap.”

Charli looks away as the vast pyjamas the old fool is wearing gape in unfortunate ways and she tries to ignore the spittle and fragments of bacon that the old man’s sudden joy has ejected. She is in a London pub, with an ancient gangster and a delusional tramp. That is her life now.

“Yeah, alright, no need to make a fuss.” Ed the Ted looks uncomfortable with the Scholar’s praise “Sit down and finish your breakfast. We can take a look at her later.”

The Scholar’s face shines at Charli. “I can take you for a spin, my dear.Scatter pigeons from Trafalgar Square, rattle the windows of the Palace. What about it, dear girl, shall we promenade?”

“Hollywood stays in the Bear until we are done.” Ed replies.

“What do you mean set up a bank? How? How are you going to set up a bank?” Charli snaps, asking Sir Charles but glaring at Ed.

The Scholar nods his large head, ”Quite right to be sceptical my dear, there is little evidence at this table that such a claim can be satisfied, but this is London my dear, and it is all a question of the three fundamental elements. The three great ‘C’s’ of commerce. Confidence, Contacts, and Cash, preferably mountains of the latter, which empowers one’s access to the former. And couture of course, one’s presentation is vital, one of the three great C’s Couture, Cash and Contacts. That is why we must discuss my wardrobe at the earliest convenience Edward.”

“What happened to Confidence?”

“I have that in abundance my dear. I must say these are excellent bangers, British pig, no doubt. Norfolk, or Wiltshire breed? Thank you, Molly!”

Molly has returned with a frying pan loaded with sizzle.

“Microbial fermentation vats,” Charli mutters.

“I beg your pardon, miss!” Molly snaps. ”I’ll have you know this is real pork, raised, fattened, and butchered on a proper farm and bought direct from Spitalfields Market. None of that synthetic muck in my establishment I hope you know.”

“Jesus! Pigs are as intelligent as Chimps. They have memory and lead complex emotional lives,” Charli replies.

“And they make very good eating. How’s the bacon, Sir Charles?”

“Delicious, my good woman, one of the reasons I could never be Jewish. Intelligent and cultured race that they are, their cuisine leaves much to be desired.”

“Mind you,” offers Ed, “I do like a good lox and schmear.”

“That is an excellent rebuttal, Edward. Perhaps my criticism was a little sweeping in scope”.

“OLD GUYS!”

The American girl’s voice would have echoed had there been any reflective surfaces in the Bear. In compensation, the deep plush and mahogany create a denser silence in the long pause that follows.

“The floor is yours, I believe?” ventures Sir Charles.

“How? How are you going to open a bank?”

“We will buy one my dear.” Lord Charles grins, chewing enthusiastically on an once sentient being. “It is by far the easiest method and avoids all the fuss of setting out deeds, charters, and all that what-not to obtain a licence. That’s dreadfully dull.”

“But that will take huge amounts of money surely?”

“Between twenty and fifty grand, depending on the jurisdiction. They come pre-packaged my dear. It’s just a merchant bank after all. Offshore, of course, one doesn’t even think about setting up a merchant bank in the City these days, far too expensive. The Caymans are still the easiest and, most importantly, still reliable, although I did hear good things about El Salvador. The details I will leave to a greedy little clerk I know who makes a very fast buck selling access to a database of available licences, which he guards with great zeal. Or perhaps we could resurrect a zombie.” Lord Charles muses. “That might be even more efficient. A nice little boutique merchant bank in the process of going bang might be worth the effort. Dirt cheap and desperate for the finance which we will promise for a controlling interest. A change of name to honour the new ownership and a bit of laundry to paper over the sources and voilà, a brand new merchant bank that will attract no official scrutiny because it doesn’t actually trade and therefore leaves no visible trace. Needs a good name mind. How about Montbars-Lussan, that has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Authoritative, with just a touch of the continental. It implies that it might be Swiss. Always good for an air of propriety, your Swiss, don’t you think?”

“Who are Montbars-Lussan?”

“Pirates, my dear, French Pirates. Montbars the Exterminator became the terror of the Caribbean in the 17^th century slaughtering the Spanish in droves and stealing all of their gold. Raveneau de Lussan was an impoverished noble who joined a gang of Hispaniola pirates and led a thousand kilometre raid on the Spanish colonies. Wonderful entrepreneurship. Rather good names for a bank don’t you think? Buccaneering and banking are more or less the same thing after all. And we need faces. Authoritative, well connected, desperate for a bit of cash. One looks to the failing aristocracy for these. Desperate blighters most of them and some in very dire straits. But they look the part, have grand names, and are as cheap as chips. I know quite a few.”

“But…” In exasperation, Charli waves a hand at his Lordship’s borrowed pyjamas and battered face.

“Oh I quite agree my dear, presentation is vital, which is why we must address the burning question of my wardrobe. I need to make an appointment with my tailor for a new fitting. I fear I have lost a lot of weight. I do hope Desmond is still employed, he was getting a bit long in the tooth and spoke of his wish to retire to Brighton. He is as gay as a sparrow you see. Always choose a gay cutter if you can. For natural reasons they have excellent attention to detail and show great diligence in the sculpting.”

“But you have been sleeping on the streets for…how long have you been …”

“Destitute? Since the Rus nations withdrew and started to become very petty. That must be…what would you say, Edward?’

“Twelve years, Charles.”

“Goodness is it that long ago, you lose a sense of time once retired. Where is that sweet lady? I would rather relish a pint with my breakfast.”

“You can have coffee, Charles. Black.”

“Ah, strict discipline. I do understand, although it is such a bore. I must say it does one good, meeting old friends again, Edward, such a pleasure. And making new ones, my dear.”

Charli stares back at the old man with the broken lip, wild hair and tragic frame enveloped in the vast barman’s candy striped cotton pyjamas. She is fighting a recurring mental image of the tiny blonde woman in bed with the vast barman. Her situation is, she realises, just as surreal as anything in Mulholland Drive, perhaps more so. She makes another attempt to drag this farce back towards reality.

“You have spent years living as a bum. Who the hell is going to believe a word you say about finance, or licences or, …anything?”

The old man’s face freezes.

“I find it always advisable to metre my scepticism judiciously my dear. The critic never knows when they might need the gift of charity from the performer. It has ever been such. As for my absence from the scene for such a long time, everyone tires of retirement eventually my dear, and so naturally I have returned to my field of success to ply my trade for old clients and demonstrate my expertise for the benefit of the young and ignorant. That’s you. Which brings me onto the need for a sojourn in the sun before we commence. My current pallor is hardly evidence of a long and joyful retirement in the sun, so might I suggest the Riviera for a month, Nice, perhaps? Monte Carlo would be too much of a temptation I fear.”

“You can simulate a tan and as many posh suits as you want.” Charli said.

“Oh no, that will not do at all. Verisimilitude, my dear, verisimilitude.”

“It will be fine. Nobody meets face to face these days.”

“That’s not the way business gets done old school,” Ed the Ted interrupts. “And Lord Charles is old school, and Lord Charles is what we got, so live with it, Parker. But we don’t have time to waste Charlie so your gay cutter will have to come here and your tan is coming out of a bottle.”

“Desmond detests the East End Edward; it disrupts his metier.”