Gutter Press

By Clive Cooke

In “A Man Called Che”, an elderly Spanish gentleman turns up at a lawyer’s office in Tampa, Florida claiming to be Che Guevara, the communist revolutionary. Is he who he says he is? And, what does he want from the lawyers?
In the second story “We have a Problem”. The truth about the Apollo 11 landing on the moon is revealed. The whole episode was filmed in a Hollywood film studio. Many people already know this. But, do they know that the Russians got to the moon first?
The play “Romeo and Juliette” by William Shakespeare is revealed to be a forgery. Gutter Press found the original version in a dusty old library which had been banned by the Elizabethan censors 500 years ago.
“Interpretation of Dreams” records that the Russian dictator Joseph Stalin hired the psychologist Sigmund Freud to analyse his nightmares. This is a state secret only known to the KGB.
In “Mortuary Rock” our investigative reporter interviews a person who prepared Elvis Presley for his fake funeral. Yes, Elvis did not die in 1977. What actually happened was that Elvis held his final rock concert in the mortuary. This is front-page stuff and as usual Gutter Press is first with the news.
“Climate Change” when applied to the United Kingdom is something everybody would like.
“Gonna Make America Great”. Well.... if a retired film actor like Ronald Regan can become President of the United States of America, why can’t Laurel and Hardy?
“Is That You?” is set in the future when the science of plastic surgery has improved to such an extent that anyone can look like their favourite film star. Be warned, though. There may be consequences.
“Love Fifteen” is a tennis match with a difference.
“The Darwinian School of Lying” proposes that lying is the logical outcome of Darwin’s theory of “the survival of the fittest”.
You are invited to join us for “Tea with Mrs Beethoven”. There’s lots of hot gossip to hear over tea with apfelstrudel.
“The Other Roswell Incident” finally puts paid to the US Government’s cover-up. The family who was involved in the incident wrote up their experiences in a diary which Gutter Press publishes for the first time.
“Walkies” is about Mrs Barbara Whitehouse, the lady with a TV show on dog training. But, did you know she also trained members of the British cabinet in total, slavish obedience to the Prime Minister?
“The Flight of the Icarus” describes the Wright brothers’ experiments with heavier-than-air, powered aircraft. They named their aircraft after the Greek legend of Icarus which was probably a mistake.
In the story, “E=M*C Cubed”, Gutter Press reveals that Albert Einstein did not discover the Special Theory of Relativity after all. His wife did. Only, she never received any recognition for her work. After many years of languishing in the shadow of her famous husband, Gutter Press is proud to reveal her contribution to science. Give the lady a fur coat!
“Kentucky Fried Colonel” reveals the truth behind the famous chain of fried chicken restaurants. Namely, that the founder, Colonel Saunders, was a vegetarian.
“The Immigrant” tells of the desperate attempts by Count Dracula to immigrate to the United Kingdom. After being foiled by bureaucracy and red tape, the Count has only one option left, namely, to immigrate illegally.
In “The Iceberg” the famous British murder mystery writer, Agatha Christie, writes her last novel during a luxury cruise. Unfortunately, she booked the cruise on a ship called The Titanic.
Do you believe in Santa Claus? Of course you do. Who else eats the biscuits and drinks the milk you put out on Christmas Eve along with your stockings? Pity poor Santa. Christmas is two weeks away, orders are piling up and the elves have gone on strike.
In “Thomas” our investigative reporter proposes an alternative version to the apocryphal “Gospel of Thomas”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clive Cooke
• Release date: Feb 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310085666

Clive Cooke

Worked for thirty years in the petrochemical industry in production and marketing, recently retired. Published ten books. Intends to devote more time to writing and to travelling.Specializes in small-scale human dramas rather than in epics. A shrewd observer of the complexities of human behavior. Loves contradictions and uncertainties. Health warning: there are unexploded land mines buried in my writing. The reader is advised to tread warily.Traveled extensively in Europe, North, Central and South America. Speaks four languages. Photograph: I'm the one on the left wearing the hat.

Book preview

Gutter Press

By Clive Cooke

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Published by Clive Cooke at Smashwords

Copyright 2016 Clive Cooke

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Cover Design by Jo Naylor

Cover photo courtesy of CanStockPhoto

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In this collection of short stories, I have used the British style of spelling throughout and added a few foreign words for local colour. These are translated as follows: kvetz (Yiddish) someone who complains; klutz (Yiddish) a clumsy person; yente (Yiddish) a gossip; corredo (Ital) a girl’s trousseau, bottom drawer; pasta asciutta (Ital) dry cooked pasta, not pasta added to soup. Please enjoy!

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Contents

Prologue

A Man Called Che

We Have a Problem

Romeo and Giulietta

Interpretation of Dreams

Mortuary Rock

Climate Change

Gonna Make America Great

Is That You?

Love Fifteen

The Darwinian School of Lying

Tea with Mrs Beethoven

The Other Roswell Incident

Walkies!

Eye in Cheek

Yellow Submarine

The Flight of the Icarus

E = M*C*Cubed

Kentucky Fried Colonel

The Immigrant

The Iceberg

Ho…. Ho…. Ho

Thomas

Prologue

Good day, esteemed reader. Let me introduce you to the publication Gutter Press.

Gutter Press is a weekly newspaper, founded by me, and devoted to telling the truth. You might ask: what is truth in a post-truth world? That is an interesting question and I’ll get back to you on that one in just a moment.

Gutter Press is part of the Scurrilous Group of Companies. You might not have heard of us except in some of the more high-profile libel cases. Our mission is dirt. It’s not pleasant work, but someone has to do it. After all, when your drains are being naughty, would you try to unblock them yourselves, or would you call in the plumber? Exactly. We are the experts in muck-raking. Leave it to us.

Our task is to strip away the veneer of respectability from the glamorous, the rich and the famous, we sniff out bad smells when most reporters hold their noses, we shine the light of honesty into dark corners. You might ask: what is honesty? That’s a good question and I’m glad you raised it. Philosophers over the centuries have spilt large amounts of ink over the issue. Elderly gentlemen in white wigs, black gowns and thick glasses have debated the concept. Honesty underpins the very fabric of civilization. It advances the struggle for the greater good. It differentiates human beings from the animals. It…. pardon me, what was the question again?

I am often asked: How does Gutter Press make a living? We are not the largest selling newspaper in the country. We don’t have a big stream of advertising revenue. We don’t charge a premium for quality. At Gutter Press, we are passionate about quality. We try our hardest to achieve the lowest possible standards. And I have to tell you: it is extremely difficult.

Politicians fear us. The rich and famous flatter us. The glamorous send the editor of Gutter Press chocolates on his birthday. We don’t make our money from our readership. We make it from blackmail. Actually, we don’t call it blackmail. We call it the public’s right to know.

Now, seeing you are here, we have a small favour to ask: would you be so kind as to enter your name, your personal details and your bank balance into the template at the end? Tick the appropriate box as to whether you are rich, or famous, or glamorous. This is only for record keeping purposes. Your secrets are safe with us.

Some time ago, the Government tried to censor one of the Gutter Press editions on the basis of National Security. What a cheek! We are National Security. The exposé we wrote was that the Prime Minister had sold off the houses of parliament to a Russian oligarch. All right, I have to admit that the report was not absolutely, completely and one hundred per cent true. But it might have been. To quote the CEO of a well-known public relations firm (we interviewed the gentleman in jail): truth is in the ear of the listener.

Let me give you a few examples of the sterling work done by Gutter Press.

Earlier this year, journalists at Gutter Press caught the president of one of the largest multi-national companies in the world in bed with his own wife. This is outrageous. What is the world coming to when a man in his position betrays his mistress? He deserves to be exposed. He earns millions of dollars a month. He has off-shore bank accounts in the Caribbean. He has undeclared assets in Afghanistan. We were on the point of revealing his moral turpitude when we were visited by his lawyer with a briefcase stuffed full of crisp, new dollar bills. The lawyer forgot the briefcase in our editor’s office. What was the editor supposed to do…. keep the money and return the briefcase…. write him a thank you note…. donate the briefcase to a worthy cause?

Then, there was the case of the famous British rock-singer. I can’t reveal his name for legal reasons except to say that he is the front man in a group calling itself: The Rolling Stones Gather No Moss. The gentleman in question has always been cagey about his background. He pretends to be a man of the people, a true working-class socialist. Our journalists smelt a rat when they found out he was a cricket fan. And, as they suspected, it turned out that he was the illegitimate son of a high-born aristocrat. We presented the pop singer with the facts of his parentage (please note that he wasn’t concerned about being a bastard) facts which could have ruined his image. The same day, he sent us a blank cheque and his latest disk by special delivery.

That’s how it works. That’s how Gutter Press makes a living.

Did you know that Henry VIII had seven wives? Some people say nine, but I think the royal clerks were guilty of double accounting. You see: they said that four of his wives were called Catherine. His seventh wife, according to Gutter Press’ information, was Elizabeth Taylor, the actress. Harry and Liz were married in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, the marriage did not last long. They were divorced the next day. Celebrity marriages are high risk enterprises. I have always wondered why Henry VIII did not allow polygamy in his kingdom. He could have. He was the head of the church. Talking of heads, polygamy would have saved quite a few pretty heads from the chopping block.

Our motto is: Sue Us. And, of course, most people are too scared to. Which reminds me: Gutter Press makes more money from litigation than by selling our scandal sheet. In fact, we employ more lawyers than journalists.

As part of their journalistic talents, our reporters are experts in fitting bugging devices in company boardrooms, under the tables in fashionable restaurants and in hotel bedrooms (especially in honeymoon suites). They hack into e-mails and mobile phones. They eaves-drop conversations in the supermarket queue, at the coffee machine and in waiting rooms. They pore over ancient documents in dust-filled libraries. And their discoveries are quite amazing.

Did you know that the most romantic love story ever told (Romeo and Juliette) is a total lie? Don’t believe Shakespeare. Our investigative reporters have discovered what really happened. R & J were married by Friar Lawrence. Okay, we agree with Shakespeare on that score. What happened afterwards was that the lovers survived the poisoning in the tomb. Feeling a bit icky, they fled Verona by night to settle in Naples. The truth is: their marriage was a failure. Far from being the most romantic story ever told, the couple spent the rest of their lives bickering and fighting. From a handsome youth, Romeo became fat, bald and a drunkard. The fair Juliette became an embittered nag with health problems, blaming her husband for their descent into penury. The real story is a sixteenth century Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf’.

Let me tell you about Albert Einstein. Well…. you might not believe it…. and I understand it if you don’t…. but…. our investigative reporters found documentary proof that Einstein did not discover the Special Theory of Relativity. His wife did. It was she who performed the calculations, Albert not being too hot at maths. Mrs E never received any recognition for the famous equation (E = M*C Squared). No Nobel Prize for her, no accolades and not even a fur coat. To-day, we salute Mrs E. Thanks to Gutter Press’ efforts, her contribution to science has been brought to the attention of the world at large. Albert gets the booby prize.

Then, we have Count Dracula, the United Kingdom’s most notorious illegal immigrant. Our reporters discovered that he made it across the channel on the back of a truck. Then, we have the world-famous Dr Professor Freud doing a psychoanalysis of Joseph Stalin’s nightmares. And Elvis Presley performing his last rock concert in a mortuary amongst the coffins and the corpses. It’s the truth. Our investigative reporter found an eye-witness who was prepared to tell her story.

Enough of all this. Let’s move on to the actual case studies. After all, this is what you have been waiting for.

‘Extra…. extra…. read all about it!’

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A Man Called Che

In the twenty-five years of the law firm’s existence, Ball and Novak Incorporated had not done very well. You could see they were struggling from their second-hand office furniture and their location down a side street in Ybor City squeezed between a massage parlour and a betting shop. You could see it from the empty waiting room and from the broken windowpane facing the street advertising cut-price legal services. What money that was left over after paying salaries, rent and other essentials, went on alimony for the senior partner Eliot S Ball’s two ex-wives. His mistress wanted to get married, but he told her that he couldn’t afford it. This was one of the rare occasions he was telling the truth. The junior partner, Harland J Novak never intended staying with the firm for as long as he had. It was supposed to have been a temporary parking place while looking for something better. When pressed, he claimed he was still looking for another job. But he wasn’t. There was an air of resignation about him, a sort of stale smell. However, Harland regarded himself as a cut above the senior partner having attended a prestigious law school in the north. The third member of the gang of three was the secretary, Maria (pot plants don’t like me) Fernandez. She was a middle-aged Cuban refugee who dyed her hair red and smoked hand-rolled cigars. Ms Fernandez had fled Cuba with her parents at the age of six. Back in Havana, her father had been a doctor. In his new home, he was a taxi driver.

The two partners did not get on well together. In fact, they hated one another with a passion. This may have been a contributing factor to the firm’s lack of success. Harland called the senior partner Slime Ball behind his back. In return, the senior partner said that his junior partner was stuck-up. Harland kept reminding his colleague that he had attended a top law school in the north. Eliot S Ball had obtained his licence to kill by correspondence. He had always meant to check the junior partner’s qualifications, but never got around to it. He suspected that Novak was lying about the famous law school.

The senior partner kept a gun in the drawer of his desk, ostensibly to protect himself from the scum on the streets. The office was situated in a bad part of town. In reality, the gun was for use against angry clients. Most of his clients ended up being angry. Ms Fernandez often had to intervene in fist fights between lawyer and client. The scam was to offer the client a free service in return for a cut of the profits. This was the bait on the hook. Only, the cut was seventy-five per cent, after expenses. It was in the fine print. No-one ever read the fine print and what was meant by expenses was open to different interpretations. This generally resulted in the client going away pretty much empty-handed. Seventy-five per cent was all very well if you were winning cases, except that Ball and Novak rarely did. So, a cut of seventy-five per cent of nothing was still nothing. Their knowledge of the law was poor, their witnesses badly prepared and the amounts they tried to sue for verged on the laughable. At least the jury thought they were funny.

Then, one day, they hit paydirt.

Novak was doing his weekly rounds of the hospitals in the city trying to persuade semi-comatose patients to sue their doctors for malpractice when a new client arrived at the office. Ms Fernandez directed him to the senior partner. The client was an elderly gentleman who said he was a retired doctor, originally from Argentina. While they waited, Maria spoke to him in Spanish, trying hard to distract his attention from the noise emanating from behind the senior partner’s closed door. Then, the door burst open and a disappointed client stormed out uttering threats to sue. Ms Fernandez smiled sweetly at the new client. She shrugged her shoulders. One did one’s best. It wasn’t a perfect world. Some clients had unreasonable expectations. The name of the new customer was Dr Ernesto Guevara Lynch. Apparently, the doctor had spent some years in Cuba. Maria only had vague recollections of her childhood in Havana, but she loved reminiscing with people from her homeland. Ybor City was the Cuban quarter of Tampa, Florida, USA. Fidel Castro had stayed in Ybor City in the fifties recruiting people for his revolution. In those days, he was more of a freedom fighter than a communist. He was not the first of the revolutionaries to live in Ybor City. In the late nineteenth century, the Cuban national hero José Martí had started his movement for independence from metropolitan Spain there. The park in the centre of Ybor City contained a statue of Martí, the only piece of ground in the United States belonging to a foreign power: Cuba.

‘You can go through now, Mr Guevara.’

‘Buenas dias, seňor Ball.’

The elderly gentleman held out his hand for the senior partner to shake.

‘English, please.’

‘Right,’

‘How can I help you?’

The client sat down opposite Ball.

‘You may have heard of me,’ he began. ‘My name is Dr Ernesto Guevara Lynch. They used to call me El Che, or Che Guevara.’

‘Pardon me Sir, I don’t think I have heard of…. wait a minute…. do you mean that communist revolutionary?’

‘Exactly.’

This couldn’t possibly be true. Che Guevara had not been heard of for decades. How many years was it? Everyone knew he was dead. Something stirred in the back of Eliot S Ball’s head…. trapped in the Bolivian jungle, caught by the armed forces with the assistance of the CIA and executed in cold blood.

‘Can you repeat that?’

‘Che Guevara, seňor.’

The senior partner smiled. This was crazy. He looked at his certificate framed and hung on the wall. He looked at the dead pot plant on the windowsill which Maria had forgotten to water. He looked at his client and giggled. He buzzed for his assistant.

‘Ms Fernandez, would you get in here for a minute, please?’

‘I’m busy.’

‘You can’t be busy. There’s no work to do.’

Ms Fernandez was engaged in painting her nails. That was work. Ball was always interrupting her just when she was doing her hair or her lipstick. It was usually to translate Spanish into English for a client whose language skills were poor. Translation was not part of her job description. She never got paid extra for it.

‘I’m coming.’

Maria sat down next to the client. The second-hand chair protested loudly. The senior partner asked her to interrogate the elderly gentleman in Spanish. There must be some mistake. It was probably a language problem. After a few minutes, Ms Fernandez confirmed that the client claimed to be Che Guevara, the communist revolutionary. Whether this was true or not, was not for her to say. Ball asked if the gentleman could back up his claim with documentary proof.

‘I can produce witnesses.’

‘Who?’

‘My friend, Fidel Castro.’

‘Uh…. well.… uh….’

‘Actually, he is not my friend anymore seňor. When I started criticizing the Soviet Union, he side-lined me. I was removed from all my official positions in the Cuban Government. I went into retirement for a year. You see, the country was being funded by Soviet Russia. They had a stranglehold on Fidel. Cuba was simply a pawn in the struggle between the big powers. I have never forgiven Fidel.’

‘Dr Guevara, I don’t think Fidel Castro would be allowed into this country even if he was prepared to give evidence on your behalf.’

‘How about the CIA?’

‘Ooh…. I don’t know about the CIA.’

‘They have a file on me. They even have my dental records.’

Currently, Ball and Novak Incorporated were under investigation by the IRS for possible tax evasion. They were in arrears with the rent and were being sued by five of their clients. The firm did not need the kind attentions of the CIA to add to their problems.

‘Mr Guevara, if I remember correctly, the CIA helped the Bolivian army capture you. I don’t believe they would testify on your behalf.’

The thought occurred to Eliot S Ball that it might be unwise to take on this well-known revolutionary as a client. Many of his existing clients (those that he hadn’t defrauded) were Cuban exiles. But, was this elderly man sitting in front of him really who he said he was? And what did he want from Ball & Novak?’

‘Sir, you haven’t told me what you need in terms of legal services. Could you please start at the beginning?’

‘My reason for being here will become apparent.’ Che asked if he could smoke. He reached into his pocket and brought out an old pipe which he filled from a leather pouch. He lit the pipe and blew smoke into the air. ‘Let me start at the beginning. I was born into an Argentinian family of Irish and Basque descent. There were five children. My two younger brothers Juan and Roberto are still alive. They did not join the cause and I haven’t spoken to them in forty years. It was a middle-class family with left wing tendencies. My father supported the republicans in the Spanish Civil War.’

There was a noise in the reception room. Ms Fernandez went to investigate. The second-hand chair she had been sitting on breathed a sigh of relief.

‘After leaving school, I went to the University of Buenos Aires to study medicine. I played sport, lots of sport, even though I suffered badly from asthma. I got involved in student affairs. I was not politically aware until I toured through South America and saw the poverty and the oppression of the people.’

The noise in reception turned out to be the junior partner. He was about to go into his office when Maria stopped him.

‘What happened?’ she cried. ‘Look at you!’

Harland was a mess. The pocket of his suit was torn and his forehead was bleeding. Dried blood stained the collar of his shirt.

‘The hospital orderlies,’ said Harland. ‘You got any disinfectant?’

‘They caught you signing up patients, ain’t that so? This time you got beat up. When will you learn? I keep telling you and you don’ listen.’

‘Quit squawking and fix me up.’

Fernandez fetched the first aid box and proceeded to clean the junior partner’s wounds.

‘I told you to wear a hospital worker’s uniform. I told you not to go into the general wards. Rich people have private wards. No-one will see you there. You can shut the door behind you and you can sign up the patient. You don’ listen.’

‘Quit squawking, woman.’

Ms Fernandez told Harland that there was a new client in with the senior partner. It was the first new client they had had in more than a month. The junior partner said he would join them just as soon as he had changed his shirt. Novak did not trust his partner. He made a point of sitting in on discussions whenever he could. He knocked on the senior partner’s door.

‘May I?’

‘Sure Harland, come right in. This is Dr Guevara. Che this is my junior partner, Harland Novak.’

‘Che Guevara?’

‘Sí, sí.’

‘But.… but.… isn’t he dead?’

‘No seňor. I am alive.’

Che continued with his story.

‘My first trip while I was at university was a 4 500-kilometre bicycle ride through Northern Argentina. I had fitted a small engine onto my bicycle and went on my own. The following year, I took nine months off from university to travel all over South America. I went with my friend Alberto. This time, we had a motorbike. We saw some terrible things: human slavery on the copper mines, poverty and disease. We were disgusted. This was the start of my political awakening. We stayed at a leper colony on the Amazon River and treated these forgotten, desperate people. I was a half-qualified doctor, at that time.’

‘Say, didn’t they make a movie of your trip?’

‘That is correct. I wrote a book about my experiences, called The Motorcycle Diaries. It was a best seller. A Hollywood studio turned it into a movie. They never paid me a cent in royalties. I am owed thousands of dollars. That is why I wish to hire a lawyer. I want to sue them.’

The partners looked at each other. Eliot’s nose twitched. He had caught the scent of money. Harland did a quick mental calculation. The film had been a huge box-office success.

‘After graduating, I did another trip through South America. This was a much more ambitious project. I covered South America as well as Central America. What I saw reinforced my observations from my previous tour. In Central America, I settled down in Guatemala which was then under a democratically elected leftist government and which was implementing a policy of land reform. There, I met a group of Cuban exiles linked to Fidel Castro after his failed attack on the army barracks in Santiago de Cuba. However, the leftist government and its reform programme did not last. The government was overthrown by CIA-assisted forces and a military dictatorship was established.’

‘Did you play a part in this?’

‘I volunteered to fight, but did not do so. After the coup, I took refuge in the Argentinian Embassy and was eventually given a free pass to leave the country. I went to Mexico. It was this experience that convinced me that only Marxism and the armed struggle would safeguard the rights of the working class.’

Ms Fernandez came through from reception to remind the senior partner of his next meeting. Dr Guevara stood up and they shook hands. He made another appointment with Maria for the following day.

‘Well, Harland, what do make of this?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Should we take him on?’

‘Maybe.’

The next customer was a surprise visitor. It was the senior partner’s ex-wife. Eliot S Ball had instructed his secretary never to let her into the building, but his ex-wife had made an appointment pretending to be a client.

‘Bobbie, what a surprise! You’re looking good.’

‘I regret that I can’t say the same about you, Eliot.’

Bobbie had a deep, gruff voice.

‘Aw…. gee…. honey.’

‘Don’t honey me. You haven’t paid my alimony in two months.’

‘Listen, sweetheart, the firm hasn’t been doing well lately. Business is slow. I will pay, honest. I just need a little understanding from you. It’s just that at this particular moment in time we have large commitments.’

‘Like your mistress.’

‘That’s a most unfair thing to say.’

‘I heard you took her to Bermuda for a week and stayed in one of the best hotels. You never took me to Bermuda.’

‘I took you to Saint Augustine.’

‘We stayed in a caravan park.’

Eliot S Ball guessed that his ex-wife’s source of information was Ms Fernandez. He would have words with her afterwards.

‘I had no choice, Bobbie. I had to go to Bermuda. It was a promotion for the firm and tax deductible. I could not pass up an opportunity like that.’

‘I bet you couldn’t.’

‘Listen, Bobbie, we have just taken on a new client. This is really big. The man promises to be a rain maker. You gotta be patient. We are planning to sue a Hollywood film studio. The settlement could run into hundreds of thousands of dollars. We will claim fraud, conspiracy, racketeering, money laundering, reputational damage and emotional distress. It might even be millions.’

The senior partner shepherded his ex-wife out of his office with promises, assurances and dreams of wealth. When she had gone he called the secretary into his office.

‘Ms Fernandez, did I not tell you never to let that woman….’

‘Now listen to me Ball.’ Maria shook her finger in her boss’ face. ‘You never paid me my salary last month. The cheque bounced.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘You know, I know and my landlord knows. Even my dog knows.’

‘Trust me.’

‘Let me give it to you straight, Ball. If I don’t receive my salary by the end of the working day to-morrow, I am taking you to the labour court. And I want cash as in greenbacks, not cheques.’

‘I can pay half to-morrow and the rest later.’

‘No.’

‘Maria…. Maria…. you gotta understand. We just signed up the most promising client we’ve seen in years. We gonna sue one of the big four Hollywood film studios for a percentage of their gross….’

‘I’ll just want my salary.’

‘Okay, be like that if you want to. To be honest, you are cutting off your nose to spite your face.’

‘Since when did you decide to be honest?’

Eliot S Ball went into the junior partner’s office and closed the door behind him.

‘Harland,’ he said ‘we gonna have to take on that Cuban guy.’

‘Argentinian.’

‘We need the money.’

‘If you say so, Eliot.’

The following day, the second meeting with Dr Ernesto Guevara Lynch was held in mid-morning. Ms Fernandez had seen fit to wear jeans and a T-shirt to work. Printed