Dinosaur

By Haydon Murray

Mickey Williams grew up in the East End of London. Never standing out at school his talents couldn't be taught. He takes a job in a family friends bookmakers until a chance encounter offers him a future he never imagined.

He is offered a job in the Financial District where his "street-wise" attitude and quick wits see him excel as a currency trader.

Mickeys is successful over a number of years but the march of technology makes him appear a dinosaur to his new manager who is employed to update the treasury in which he works. She manufactures a reason to dismiss Mickey and his inability to compromise sees him leave the bank.

Not having to work, Mickey drifts until an opportunity in Dubai intrigues him. Visiting Dubai for the interview he meets a woman who will change his life. Accepting the position Mickey starts to receive a series of warnings about some of the bank's senior management and their illegal operations.

When he arrives in Dubai to take up the position he is thrust into a dangerous environment peopled by men he doesn't understand.

Mickey's "black and white" attitude and sense of injustice lead him to confront life head on with devastating results.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haydon Murray
• Release date: May 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301087952

Haydon Murray

An ex-banker turned author. My first novel Dinosaur is now available. I am married to Julie and we live in Cyprus with our dog Ruby

Book preview

Dinosaur

By

Haydon Murray

Published by Haydon Murray at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Haydon Murray

HaH H

Part One

Chapter One

Whitechapel High Street is a scruffy, untidy place at the best of times but after a week of rain, it takes on an even more dismal demeanor.

The rows of shops, either boarded up or taken over by providers of ethnic provisions, give the area an almost ‘third world’ feel.

This was the area haunted by Jack the Ripper more than 100 years before. In the back streets off the main road you can still feel aura of one of London’s great mysteries.

An area yet to be gentrified, Whitechapel remains a magnet for poor immigrant families who come to England for a better life bringing their customs and religion with them.

The East London Mosque, recently completed, provides a place for worship for the many thousands of Muslims living in the area but also a focus for the hate related crime that was gaining a foothold in the area.

The police are powerless to control the violence as the indigenous community are tight knit looking after their own, relying on their own methods to turn back what they saw as an endless tide of immigrants living on benefits, taking their jobs, taking over businesses and putting what they see as an intolerable burden on health and social services. The immigrant population mistrusting of the police simply cower away from violence and say nothing. Their tribal reliance on their own spiritual and political leaders keeps alive a flame inside them that their day would come and their new home would be all they expected it to be.

Michael (Mickey) Williams had lived in this area all his life. At twenty he lived with his mother in the same council flat that she had brought him back to after giving birth in The London Hospital close by.

Mickey had never known his father. He sometimes joked that he was not sure that his mother had.

At school Mickey had been a talented sportsman. His footballing skills attracted the attention of a number of professional clubs but he never seemed to be able to summon up that extra something when it was needed in trial games. He represented his school, his District, Tower Hamlets and once got selected to play for London but was injured in a kick-about with his mates the day before and missed the game. Mickey continued to play with his mates in midweek five a side leagues but his job now precluded him from playing on Saturdays.

Much as he enjoyed football, Mickey was passionate about cricket. A naturally talented batman, he made a century playing for his school at age 14 and had always enjoyed it far more than football. This marked him out from his mates who were always kicking a ball about no matter what time of year.

Asked to attend the Middlesex County Cricket Club indoor nets in Enfield, he was only able to show up a couple of times as money was always tight and he had to play where and when he could.

At 16 he was asked by a mate’s dad to go and play for Ilford Cricket Club which was a good standard. He played half a season in the Second XI and had played for the past two years for the Sunday First XI. Again, Sundays only, as he had to work on Saturdays. It was only twenty minutes on the train so a very easy commute.

Mickey was not intelligent in the conventional way. He had left school as soon as he could with a handful of meaningless qualifications in subjects that would be of no use to him.

But Mickey was smart; naturally gifted in many ways.

He had a talent for numbers and often found himself doing odd calculations in his head. One thing that always amazed Clare, his mother, was that when he was younger and would accompany her to the supermarket for their weekly shop, he always knew when they reached the checkout, within a few pence, just how much the bill would be.

His walk to work took ten minutes and as he walked, shoulders hunched against the drizzle, he had no idea how this was the day that would change his life forever.

Mickey worked for a local bookmaking firm. The job didn’t exercise him too much but he was fascinated by the mathematical calculations that took place there.

As Mickey walked through the door, he was assailed by the familiar smell of stale tobacco and bleach. The carpet tiles on the floor were scuffed and stained from myriad hot drinks spilled on them over the past ten years. Truth be told it was a squalid place but Mickey felt at home here.

Morning Mickey did you go to Spurs yesterday? His boss Colin Edwards asked as he walked through the door. Colin was sitting in his office with the door open as was the security door in the cashier’s area between the office and the front door.

Nah. Had a bit of a late one on Saturday night so couldn’t be bothered replied Mickey with a smile.

Did well apparently. I see Durie got a hat-trick.

Yeah 4-3 against Coventry though. Gonna finish near the bottom again. All this money stuff gets on my tits. Cricket season soon, can’t wait to get playing again, it seems like ages since we finished last year.

Colin had known Mickey all his life. He lived in the next block and had kept an eye on him during the years when he could have found a very different life. Colin always thought Mickey was destined for more than a job in a back street bookies.

Colin’s wife Fiona had been school friends with Mickey’s mum and she and Colin were like Mickeys closest family.

Cheltenham this week so you better be prepared for a few late ones. Think it’s gonna be a busy one this year. There’s plenty of money about.

Well I wish some of it would come my way. The boys are talking about where we are going on holiday and I’m nowhere near avin’ a deposit let alone paying for it or spending money n’ that.

Sorry son, don’t look at me, we are doin’ ok but I can’t give you a rise for a few months yet

Colin had inherited the business from his father fifteen years ago and although he heard the phrase ‘you never see a bookie on a bike’, he never seemed to be doing well enough with the overhead of the shop etc. He didn’t have kids, Fiona couldn’t. Colin had always harboured the idea that ‘one day all this would be Mickeys’. He had considered giving up the shop and being an ‘on course’ bookie but as in a lot of things in his life, he lacked motivation. Colin was the proverbial ‘do enough to get by’ kind of bloke. He didn’t have a great deal of ambition and as long as he could provide for his family he was happy.

"I wasn’t after a rise or nuffin Colin. I love working here but it’s just that I need to earn. I’m spendin' every penny I earn and it’s not good. It’s down to me to start bein’ a bit more sensible I suppose.

Reckon it’s time you got yourself a steady bird and settled down a bit

Mickey has a good looking boy and had plenty of girlfriends and could generally expect to pull on a Saturday night but he lost interest very quickly. That’s a good way to start saving a bit

Really? I reckon birds are a nightmare if you get serious. I’m way too young to be thinkin’ like that. Ask mum. She says I should be in no hurry. Auntie Fiona says the same too.

Well in that case you better get interested in TV or readin’ then ‘cos you will have to stay indoors more

Mickey started arranging the daily papers around the room opening them at the racing pages.

Do me a favour and nip the takings from Saturday over to the bank for me. The slip is in the bag

Colin handed Mickey a Tesco carrier bag with the cash inside.

Sure. You want a bacon sandwich? I’m starving

Yeah. Plenty of brown sauce

Mickey took the bag and disappeared through the door he had just come in through leaving Colin alone to read the back pages morning papers.

A few punters drifted through the doors, placed their bets and shuffled off into the dismal weather outside.

Colin continued to read the paper but his reverie was interrupted by a voice that clearly didn’t belong to one of their regulars.

Chapter Two

The fourteenth floor conference room commanded a view across the City of London. The IRA had done some damage to the confidence of those working in the Square Mile but the assurance of the time continued to spill over into those employed in the financial system and the markets in particular.

In the conference room a discussion was taking place that had, at times, become quite heated.

Seated around the glass and chrome conference table were four men and two women. Each was very well dressed. No one was a stranger to high end hairdressers and, in the ladies case, the nail spas which were springing up all over London.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air competing with a number of perfumes and aftershaves.

Paul Robinson, Head of Markets and Trading at Global Trade Bank was in discussion with his desk heads. He encouraged an open forum and expected his team to speak their minds. What was said in the room was never mentioned outside and no grudges were allowed.

Marc, I simply don’t agree. Markets are becoming ever more complicated and a degree will soon become the absolute minimum qualification we can expect when recruiting new traders

I’m sorry Paul but that just isn’t the case in my team. Running an FX trading book does not require any kind of further education at all. It is an almost primal activity where sharp wits and a quick brain are all that’s required.

Look, I can see where you are coming from but the bank is moving further and further down that path and as we are forever asking HR to consider Treasury and Markets as a special case I really feel that we need to consider fighting only those battles that we can firstly win and second giving back something to make them look upon us more favourably when it comes to the more important issues like staff numbers, salaries and bonus pools. In any event, you don’t want to be surrounded by boffins like your colleagues around this table as you feel inferior!

The last sentence was delivered with a wink and a smile.

Marc Rimmer, Head of Trading at Global Trade had risen through the ranks the old fashioned way. Despite a meteoric rise through the back office functions of the bank he had survived on his wits since arriving in the dealing room aged 25 seven years previously and had taken to trading immediately. Helped by the banks enormous captive business from its trade financing operations, he had quickly become a star performer and was absolutely blinkered in his ability to understand the psyche of the markets and to keep his personal life away from the other members of the team. No one knew where he lived or his personal circumstances. He was utterly professional at all times while at work and, he believed, that gave him the freedom to keep his personal life private.

Marc had left school at sixteen and done a few menial jobs before replying to an advert he had seen for a trainee back office clerk with Global Trade. His mother had told him that working in a bank was a ‘job for life’ and she was as proud as could be when he landed the job.

He always felt a bit out of his depth in these meetings but was always able to stand his ground using what he called his common sense head. He could see how change was coming to the industry but believed that would be through technology rather than employing eggheads as he called them.

Marc ran the spot currency trading team. Each of his traders ran a separate book. A book is an individual currency pair like British pound against the U.S. Dollar or the U.S. dollar against the Japanese yen. He had revolutionized the way the bank traded currencies in two very distinct ways. First he made sure that the traders were able to clear through the markets huge trades the size of which had never been seen before and second he made it clear that to work on his team you had to be prepared to quote any size of trade to any viable counterparty at any time of day. This had transformed the market totally as other trading banks had become almost frightened of this Goliath that seemed to both control the market and also have advanced knowledge of the sentiment and trends that were its drivers.

Marc had also been instrumental in creating a ‘sales team’. Their job was to talk to the banks clients who were the major global trading houses to ensure that their orders and trades were brought to the bank. This enabled Global Trade to be at the ground floor of order and fund flows. They had particularly targeted global fund managers who saw foreign exchange as secondary to stock and bond prices and therefore were not particularly concerned about the pricing of FX transactions giving Global Trade a further profitable angle.

‘I understand that completely Paul but my team is what? Less than ten per cent of the whole Treasury so surely you can cut me some slack? The problem we have is that in the pyramid we have created, highly educated graduates are going to expect to be rising through the hierarchy on a fast track and they see my group as a starting off point. The people I want to bring in will be looking at this as a job rather than a career and if they are successful will want to be out in ten to fifteen years not be looking at your job. I firmly feel that having a number of traders simply concentrating on their job and not looking at career advancement every three months would be very beneficial to performance overall’

‘Ok Marc, for the benefit of our colleagues around the table who are probably getting a little bored of us monopolizing the meeting, can you explain what you want?’

‘Well it’s quite simple actually. I want to employ guys who are numerate, street smart, have a quick mind and common sense. I have created a series of tests that I think will sort them out. I want to bring in four new people and want them to be running the four main books within a year’

‘Marc that’s all well and good but where will you find them and as you have admitted your team is a small part of the overall, how will they fit in?’ Ashley Carlyle ran the interest rate trading team and was the absolute epitome of the eggheads Marc had been describing.

‘What do they have to fit in to? That is the unique thing about spot FX, we don’t need to fit in with other desks, we are totally free standing’

‘I take your point but I mean more socially than professionally’

‘Ashley, I think you may be barking up the wrong tree there’ Paul interjected. ‘I have to agree with Marc that we are all here to do a job and if he feels that is the way to go it will be difficult for me to sway him otherwise. Anyway unless his team have double firsts from Oxbridge your guys will look down their noses at them anyway.’

Ashley took his glasses off and polished them on his handkerchief raised his head and simply said ‘Standards old boy. We need to have standards’

‘Well if that’s all you are worried about I’ll make sure they all know how to tie a tie and never leave the toilet seat up’

‘On that note then I think we will leave it for now. Thanks guys. Marc write up the proposal for me officially and I will get it through HR. When do you propose to start looking?’

‘Well I have a couple of ideas already but I will keep them to myself for now. We will obviously use the same employment template but we will need to change a few things. I won’t be advertising in the usual places or using head-hunters. I plan to do the legwork myself’

Marc had earned the right to be a little unconventional. He ran the most successful team in the Treasury by a lot of measures but was still looked at as a bit rough round the edges by a number of his colleagues.

As he waited for the lift, Marc was joined by Rachel Hollingsworth who ran the equity trading team. She was tall, much taller than Marc and strikingly attractive. Her auburn hair, tied back in a simple pony tail shone in the downlights of the lift lobby.

Rachel and Marc’s paths rarely crossed professionally. Their business had virtually no overlap. They also came from diametrically different backgrounds. Marc, the local boy made good. Rachel, born with a silver spoon in her mouth, a degree in modern art from Oxford and a rolodex of contacts that almost rivalled DeBretts. Despite this when they met either socially or casually such as now, there was an easy familiarity to their relationship.

‘I like your ideas Marc. I think a lot of the team could learn from the analysis you make of the demands of your individual business’ Rachel’s rounded English country accent almost reverberated around the hallway.

‘I really believe that the easiest way to manage these teams is to treat them as individual businesses. We all have very separate and diverse goals which, although they combine into the one group requirement, are arrived at in many unique ways with different tools needed to achieve success. I think I may have read that in some business school business case or heard our Chairman say something similar in New York last year’. Marc added with a grin.

Rachel smiled right back at Marc displaying her almost perfect smile. Teeth care of some Harley Street Practice Marc observed to himself a little ungraciously.

‘Are you still portraying this lonely hermit existence thing or are you prepared to buy me a bottle of decent plonk one evening soon? Rachel often goaded Marc about his personal life and she was probably the only person at Global Trade who he would not either ignore with a smile or, after a particularly trying day, might threaten with some particularly nasty retribution.

Marc thought for a moment and to Rachel’s surprise said ‘Why not? You have been chasing me long enough! My terms, my choice of venue though. And you may have to sign a confidentiality agreement’ He added with a smile.

‘Ok you are on I’ll check my diary and email you a few dates’ Marc and Rachel worked on different floors. ‘Typical, now I have to fit in with you having decided to break the habit of a life time’ Marc’s easy banter appealed to Rachel and she was already looking forward to seeing another side to Marc and what made him tick.

The lift doors opened and they entered the car. Marc pressed the buttons. Five for Rachel and three for him.

Chapter Three

Marc strolled back into the dealing room. The constant hum of chatter mingling with the brokers prices being relayed via loudspeakers on each trader’s desk. He stopped to chat with a couple of people. Marc liked to gauge the atmosphere and mood of the market from the various sounds he heard and the level of those noises added to various titbits he picked up talking to traders on other desks. Although his team acted virtually in a bubble, he was himself responsible for a book of proprietary trades that were longer term and therefore dependent on the actions of other asset markets. He soaked up information like a sponge and often surprised colleagues when he chose to discuss how he came to a trade decision based on information he had heard days or sometimes weeks before.

Arriving at his seat at the end of the desk each of his team of twelve seated six to a side of the rectangular desk with his nominal P.A. seated at the other end, knew to update him on what their market had been doing for the past hour. They each knew to say nothing if nothing had been happening. He had exploded many times at members of the team who said something for the sake of it. He had drilled them that if nothing were happening, then it wasn’t their fault. Never ever try to push a market that is not willing to be pushed. Sit on your hands and learn to be patient.

Marc’s position in the hierarchy of both the treasury and the bank overall meant that he was allowed a secretary or P.A. He never felt this was warranted and Mary Powell, his P.A. was clear in her duties. She was not solely his P.A. but acted as liaison for the entire team.

Mary had known Marc a long time. They had joined the bank around the same time although she had stayed in the back office once he had joined the front office. They had been friends some time and knew more about Marc than he cared to admit. She even knew where he lived which was a secret locked deep in his H.R. file. What he did at weekends and why he kept these things safe and secret from his colleagues.

‘This Yen has been lively all day, been seeing Japanese names buying dollars after what Maekawa said last night’ Paul Simmons an experienced trader ran the Yen book. He was an excitable character who despite always blaming someone or something else when his trades went wrong was highly profitable overall and had a good eye for the market.

‘Simmo, I have only been away an hour. Dollar yen is only 25 points higher than when I left’

‘I know boss but it is gonna launch at any moment. I reckon New York is gonna buy the crap out of it. I’m a hundred long right now and looking to add more on a break above the resistance.

‘I agree. Buy a hundred for my book now can you maybe we can start the ball rolling.

Once the trade was complete both Marc and Simmo would be long one hundred million dollars against the Japanese Yen. Every point of movement would mean a profit or loss to the bank of a little over ten thousand dollars.

‘Ok Marc that’s done you are long at an average of 133.13.’

‘Thanks put a stop at 132.78. But I agree looking at the chart quickly it looks likely that if 20 goes we will see 135.

Marc was limiting his loss on the trade to three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The end of the first quarter was approaching and his desk had made around seventy eight million dollars so far against a budget of thirty two million. His budget for the year was a hundred million dollars so it was safe to say they were on track. Marc always felt that the numbers would look after themselves if they maintained their focus and professionalism and so far he was being proved right. He felt it important that he liked each member of his team and that they felt comfortable with each other. He encouraged them to interact personally on nights out etc. but never got personally involved.

Marc had an investment committee meeting to attend and as he was about to leave an email flashed up on his screen from Rachel. It simply said tomorrow at eight. Tell me the venue. Marc was angry with himself for being caught off-guard by Rachel. He normally managed to avoid being backed into a corner.

He was excited by the prospect of putting his idea into action concerning the new team members. He had identified a couple members of his team who would benefit from moving to other desks as part of their career progression and he also had an idea to create a more strategic trading team who would look at longer term trades basically running the book that he was currently managed. Simmo would be one person he would target to move to that desk and as his de-facto number 2 would be ideal, particularly since he ran one of the books that would be taken over by one of the new guys, to pass on his knowledge and experience.

Chapter Four

‘Good morning. I am looking for Mickey Williams’ Marc felt as though he had stepped through the door into a low budget British gangster movie. He fully expected to see a young Michael Caine sitting on one of the stools writing a bet. Even at 11.30am there was an atmosphere to an East End Bookies that was all its own. A few punters sat around eagerly studying form and writing bets on little yellow slips.

Colin looked up startled by the accent. ‘Why? What’s ‘e done? Colin was very protective of Mickey and was immediately on guard.

‘Nothing as far as I am aware, I just want to talk to him. Is he here?’ Marc was taken aback by the hostile attitude of the man behind the screen.

‘Well if he ain’t done anythin’ why do the Police want to talk to him?’

‘The police?’ Marc realized that as he was wearing a suit that Colin connected that with authority and authority in this area meant the police. I am not a Policeman; I work for a bank in the City and want to discuss an opportunity with him.

’An opportunity? Well he ain’t here at the moment but shouldn’t be long. Sorry about the misunderstandin’ we don’t get many suits in ‘ere. Colin was embarrassed by his belligerence and wanted the ground to open and swallow him. ‘Do you want to wait or shall I get ‘im to call ya’

‘I noticed a café along the street. I will wait there until 12.00. I have to get back to the office by 1.00 as I have another meeting. Do you think he will be back by then?’ Marc’s smooth unruffled nature was totally out of place in the rough and tumble atmosphere of the bookies buy he was highly amused that the guy thought him a Policeman.

‘Sure I’ll tell ‘im. Actually no need, here he is now. Colin looked past Marc’s shoulder to see Mickey stroll through the door.

‘Good morning, Mickey Williams?’ Marc proffered his hand and also his business card.

‘Yeah that’s right. Who are you? Mickey shook the offered hand and took Marc’s card. Looking at it he then looked Marc up and down and asked ‘What you want with me?’

‘Is there some place we can talk in private? Marc believed in first impressions and so far he liked what he saw. He immediately felt in the quiet confidence Mickey exuded and the fact that he looked him straight in the eye.

‘I’m supposed to be working ‘ere mate and I don’t like to take the piss. Anyway, where did you get my name’ Mickey was intrigued by Marc but felt that he probably had the wrong bloke.

‘We ain’t busy son, you can take a few minutes to talk to ‘im’ Colin was as intrigued as Mickey about what Marc wanted.

‘I was given your name by Peter Knowles, a colleague of mine. I believe you play cricket with him’. Marc was very keen to gain Mickeys confidence. From what Peter had told him in the office last week, Mickey sounded just the character he was looking for.

’Yeah that’s right. Ok then mate, let’s talk’.

Marc looked around himself in the alien surroundings of the bookmakers shop. ‘Shall we go to the café down the street? I will even but you a cup of tea!’

Mickey remembered that he still had Colin’s sandwich in his hand and his own too. ‘Give me five minutes mate and I’ll come and find ya ok?’ Mickey walked around Marc and punched in the code for the security door.

Chapter Five

Mickey opened the door of the café he had left ten minutes earlier.

‘Oi Mickey, what’s goin on you was only here just now. Watcha forget?’ Davey Paul who worked in the café had been at school with Mickey and they had been mates a long time.

‘Nah nuffin mate just ‘ere for a chat with this geezer ‘ere’ Mickey pointed at Marc who was nursing a mug of tea and smiled in Mickey’s direction as he heard his unmistakable voice. ‘Give us a cup of tea mate. Cheers’

Mickey sat down opposite Marc.

‘So what’s this all about? Why would Peter give me your name I can’t see us havin’ much in common?’

‘On the contrary actually’ Marc responded. Mickey took Marc’s card out of his shirt pocket, turned it over in his hand and read the words printed on it out loud. ‘Marc Rimmer Head of Foreign Exchange Trading Global Trade Bank. Nope, still means nuffin to me.

‘Well first I was born not so far from me and we attended the same school’ Mickeys eyebrows soared as he imagined the guy in a suit sitting opposite him without a trace of an East End accent attending the same school he did.

‘ You went to Bishop Challoner?

‘Sure did. Still have the scars to prove it’

‘Where did ya live?’

‘Oh close by’ Marc was willing to tell Mickey enough about his pat to gain his confidence but was very aware that they may become colleagues at some time and wanted to maintain his privacy.

Marc and Mickey chatted about the area and the way it had changed over the past ten years or so. They both became aware of the easy way they could communicate both appreciating the others story.

‘Well Marc it’s been good to talk but I still have no idea why you want to talk to me or what Pete could have told you about me other than we was once neighbours’ Mickeys interest was piqued and he found himself drawn to the easy confidence of the man sitting opposite him. Nice suit and obviously a few bob in his pocket. Bet he wasn’t worrying about how to raise enough money for two weeks in Benidorm.

Marc saw some of himself in Mickey. Marc had been very self-obsessed when he was Mickey’s age whereas Mickey was far more laid back. They seemed to share a desire within them that whereas Marc had recognized it, Mickey was still content to lets things run their course. Marc almost envied Mickey his comfort in his own skin it was as if there was an innate knowledge that whatever was going to be in his future was going to be exciting. Possibly he, Marc, was the one who could propel him on his journey.

‘Well Mickey. As you can see from my card I manage a team who trade foreign exchange for a bank in the City. With all due respect I am sure you have no idea what that entails.

‘Foreign Exchange? That’s like when I go on ‘oliday with me mates and we go down the bank to buy Pesetas for beer money n that’. Mickey seemed proud to show off his knowledge and travel experience to Marc.

‘Yes it is something like that but we don’t take delivery of the notes and the sums we trade are appreciably bigger than you are used to seeing’ Marc was pleased that Mickey was showing some idea of the term and his naivety was somehow almost endearing. ‘What we do is trade currencies as a commodity. Let me explain what I mean. The currency of any country is driven by many factors and that’s all the economic mumbo jumbo you hear spouted on those very boring TV programmes. Basically currencies move up and down against each other due to what we call market forces. They are bought and sold by traders and if there are more buyers than sellers the currency goes up and it goes down if the opposite is true. Take the Japanese currency. That’s called the Yen.’

‘I know that! I did go to school you remember’ Mickey was getting a little bored now. He had no idea what this all had to do with him.

‘Of course I’m sorry. Anyway suppose a big British company is importing cars from Japan. The Japanese company will sell those cars valued in yen and the British company will want to pay in pounds.

‘So they need to buy Yen and sell pounds?’ Mickey interrupted Marc as his patience continued to wear thin.

‘Yes that right and in isolation the pound will fall as its being sold and the Yen will rise as its being bought. Now multiply that transaction my around 500 and mix in a number of different currencies and that is what we do. As a bank we buy and sell currencies if we feel they are going to rise and fall.

‘I get it but what has it to do with me?’

‘Right. Well in order to be a successful trader you don’t need to know what’s behind the reason the market moves, just that it does move and in the specific market my team trade in it is more important to have a keen mind for maths, be able to think quickly, be able to understand how sentiment works and have an unknown quantity I like to call street smarts. That is far more important to me than spending three years getting a degree in some stuffy university understanding the theory but not the practice of the markets. I was talking to Peter the other day and discussing an idea I have to bring in some guys who have the qualities than I am looking for rather than the education the bank may want. He mentioned you to me and said I should meet you. All I need to know right now is would you be interested to come up to the office to see how things work and to have a chat. Obviously no obligation on either side.’ Marc had already made his mind up that this was exactly the guy he was looking for and would do everything he could to make this happen.

‘Blimey. I have no idea what you are talking about. Me? In the City? Shirt and tie? I think you must be crazy. I have a job thanks and I have a boss who I trust and rely on for anything.’

Marc wasn’t about to be put off. ‘Look Mickey what harm can it do? Come and see us and if it’s not for you then so be it but at least you will have given it a chance. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who would die wondering.’

‘Ok tell you what give me some time to think about it and I’ll give ya a call by tomorrer.

Marc felt Mickeys cockney accent get even stronger as he subconsciously tried to show Marc he had the wrong guy.

Marc stood and held out his hand. ‘All I ask is that you promise to give this serious thought. Maybe discuss it with someone close who you trust’

‘’ll do that and thanks for the tea!’ With that Mickey turned on his heel and marched out of the café.

Chapter Six

‘See ya Pete. Better luck tomorrow. Colin locked the door as the final punter left the shop’ it had been an outsider’s day. Of the three meetings, eighteen races only two favourites had won. Punters had done better on the dogs but the market was much smaller.

Colin turned and looked at Mickey sweeping up the losing slips that were almost traditionally thrown on the floor despite the presence of waste paper baskets. The stale smell of tobacco pervaded the shop and seeped slowly and inevitably into Colin and Mickeys clothes. He was deep in thought, head bowed over the broom.

‘You alright son? You have been a bit quiet this afternoon. We were so busy didn’t get a chance to ask what the guy in the suit wanted. As if it’s any of my business.’

As soon as Mickey had opened the door of the shop earlier he had been assailed by a wall of noise. Cheltenham week as Colin had said. He had barely had time to make a cup of tea let alone get into a conversation about one of the most important decisions he would ever have to make.

‘Don’t be crazy Colin. Of course it’s your business. I tell you everything. It’s not like there is anyone else other than mum and all she says is make your own mind up. Well now I can’t.’

Mickey looked up from his sweeping and looked at Colin.

‘He offered me a job!’

‘What? Doing what? Working for who?

‘That’s just it, I know the oo but I got no idea about the what’.

‘I don’t get it. Where did this come from. How did he get your name?’

‘It seems a geezer I know from cricket works with this Marc and recommended me. He is looking to employ a few blokes like me and this bloke Peter reckons I fit the Bill’

So, what did you tell him?’

I was about to tell ‘im to poke it. I told ‘im I got a job and I have a boss who I trust and trusts me. But in the end I just said I would think about it and call ‘im back. He invited me to go and see where they work and what they do then we can make our minds up.’

‘Mickey. Son. I have been looking out for you for just about all your life. You know the story about me and Fiona and kids. I have always looked at you as bein’ as close to my own kid as I am likely to get. Any advice you want I am always there for you. I never thought you would be workin’ ‘ere with me for ever, that something was gonna come along and maybe this is it. If you want my advice go over there and see what they look like. Be honest wiv yourself and if you like it do it. Watcha got to lose?’

‘It’s not that simple though is it. I give it all that about being confident but what ‘ave I got? What ‘ave I done. I never go away from a little bit of territory I ‘ave known all my life. I have a steady job. Mum always ‘as me dinner on the table. I suppose I’m scared. Suppose I make a total arse of meself.