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should have said something. What an idiot he was. What
about Sarah? She was out of his class, he concluded. And,
anyway, who d want to date a policewoman?
There was no shortage of women at the bank in fact
there were thousands of them but they were all so high-
stepping and thoroughbred. They exuded a professional
spiky air, which would fizzle out to be replaced by exag-
gerated cooing if they knew who he was. Dating that kind
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T HE A RMAGEDDON T RADE
of girl would be more like a dentist s appointment than a
night out. What was worse, somewhere in the employee
handbook that no one read for fear of finding they were
already fired, there was a whole set of rules discouraging
fraternization between employees. Even the biggest guns
could find themselves out on their ear if they made a pass at
the wrong person. Dating was impossible.
As he rounded a corner, his senses prickled. Something
was up. Ahead on the other side of the road a blurred bundle
of humanity was remonstrating. He focused. An old man
was being menaced by a younger, taller one, who d got him
by the collar and was shouting something at him. The old
man was wheeling back and forth, his right arm out as if to
balance himself or perhaps to launch a feeble punch.
Jim clenched his teeth and set off across the road. Hey!
Hey! he called, waving at the pair.
The young guy looked round. He had deep-set eyes in a
gaunt, pockmarked, junkie-style face.
Jim was close now. What s going on?
Get your hands off me! The old man was trying to yank
himself free. Let me go.
Jim walked right up to the attacker, avoiding his direct
glare, and spoke to the old man. Are you & he began, his
back half turned to the other. He sensed the thug reacting,
felt he was about to grab or punch him. He stamped his heel
on the assailant s foot. Its owner s leg folded up like a
straw.
Jim knew where his right elbow was going, but he was
wrong. Rather than connect with the man s jaw, it met the
left side of his neck. He spun round with the blow and saw
the body fall. Then he turned back to the old man. Let s
go.
The old man snapped to attention and began to waddle
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C LEM C HAMBERS
down the road with him. Fifty metres and they d be round
the corner out of sight. Jim snatched glances over his
shoulder, but no one was coming their way. He d have to
stop to see more and he wasn t about to do that. Around the
corner, out of sight of the scene of the fight, there was a
pub.
In here, gasped his companion. Jim followed.
The old man stopped in the entrance, took a deep breath
and stiffened. He pasted on a smile, then pushed through the
door calmly. Jim followed. The old man led him around the
bar and into a quiet corner. He slumped down and let out a
huge sigh. Jim took his coat off and dumped it on the bench
beside him. You all right? he asked.
Sure, said the old man. Thanks to you. He had an East
European accent. Thank you so much for your help. I
thought I was going to die.
No problem, said Jim, as a sudden wave of shaking
crossed his body.
I am Max, said the old man, and you are?
Moby, said Jim. I mean Jim. He laughed. It s Jim.
Moby s just a stupid nickname.
Very nice and most fortunate to meet you, Jim, said
Max, holding out a quaking hand.
Jim shook it. Nice to meet you too. Who was that guy?
Max looked sour. Some filthy Nazi thug. The world is
full of them, even today.
Was he mugging you?
Yes, said Max bristling.
Jim felt relieved: the faint possibility that he had misread
the situation had crept into his mind. That s what I
thought.
It is hard being old, said Max. When I was young I
would have torn his head off. Now, he shrugged, I am little
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T HE A RMAGEDDON T RADE
more than a lamb to the slaughter.
Get you a drink?
No, I get you this.
No, said Jim, you sit there and I ll get them in.
Max fished in his pocket and pulled out a note. At least
let me pay. I will have a cognac. He handed Jim a fifty-
pound note.
Wow, a big one, said Jim, taking it.
I am sorry, but it is all I have.
No problem.
Jim came back with the glasses and dumped the change
awkwardly on the table. They don t like ponies, he said,
sitting down.
Ponies?
Fifties. Too many printed by private enterprise around
here. He grinned.
I see, said Max. Anyway, he raised his double brandy,
here is to my rescuer. May the gods of justice repay you
tenfold.
Thanks, said Jim, unsure whether or not to toast
himself. Eventually he waved his pint glass and said,
Here s to the downfall of all Nazi thugs.
Absolutely, concurred Max.
I m starting to worry now, said Jim. What if I really
injured that guy? You know you can die if you get knocked
out.
Phah, said Max. The world would be a better place.
Maybe, said Jim, but I don t want to go to prison and
for that matter I don t want to kill anyone either.
Max smiled apologetically. You see, now I am angry, I
want to kill that man with my own hands. Forgive me I
am not a bad person.
No, said Jim, of course not. I understand. I m as shook
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C LEM C HAMBERS
up as you. He held out his hand, which was quivering. He
laughed. How lame is that?
Max s were shaking slowly, his fingers flicking up and
down, like a pianist s. I thought I should never be in a situ-
ation like that again. I thought I had had my share of
violence and terror. But, no, there is no end to it, nothing
bounded about man s ability to prey on another. He beamed.
But you, young man, are special. Not only was your kind
intervention courageous but your execution majestic. Are
you a fighter, a soldier? A doorman, perhaps.
Jim blushed and laughed. No, not me. I just, well, learnt
how to handle myself when I was little. It just fitted
together. You stamp on someone s foot hard enough and
they can t stand up or run after you. He grinned guiltily. I
did spar a bit once but it got harder the bigger I grew. The
older you are, the better the other guy gets at bashing your
head in. That kind of spoiled the picture.
Max nodded.
What s more, when you start sparring no one bullies you
anymore, so it loses its original purpose. But, hey, it finally
came in handy.
Max shifted out of his coat. At my age you cannot afford
a bad knock. As soon as you are off your feet it is all over.
You lie in bed and fill up with water. First it starts at your
feet and then your legs swell, your stomach, your lungs and
you drown. That s the way we old ones go, drowning in our
own water.
Jim shuddered. I didn t know that.
That is why you must get up and be moving around. The
moment you lie down the process starts. We are all just a
sack of water and when we are old we cannot keep it evenly
distributed. Gravity and motion is all that keeps us going.
He regarded Jim soulfully. When you are seventy-five, you
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T HE A RMAGEDDON T RADE
have only so much stuffing left, so little wax to keep the
candle burning. But, he said, lightening up, thanks to you
I shall go on my way unharmed. He sipped. So, what
about you? Clearly you are a fit and able young man, how
do you make your way in the world?
I work in a bank, down at Canary Wharf.
A bank clerk. A good solid profession.
No, said Jim, not a retail bank, an investment bank in
one of the big towers. I m a trader there.
Oh & oh, said Max, a merchant bank. I see & I see.
A trader no less. He squinted. And what does a trader
do?
Jim took a sip of his beer. I buy and sell shares in compa-
nies for my bank and try to make a profit out of it.
Really? said Max. That is impressive. Is that commis-
sion business? You buy and sell for other people and they
pay you?
No, said Jim. I buy and sell what I think is good and
if I m right I make the firm money. If I m wrong I lose
it.
That sounds hard, but also like a good living. Even I
know they pay a prince s ransom to young men in places
like that.
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