Diogenes and the banker buddy are chatting over drinks in the members bar at the Feisty Fisherman. Since The Man’s revelation that he is writing a ‘contemporary memoir’ prior to seeking election as an MP, both have had much to think about.
The banker buddy because he’s angling for a senior position at the Central Bank and is worried about the backlash, and Diogenes because of what he saw and heard while staying with The Man’s close friend and business partner in London.
This memoir could be a Pandora’s box with a short fuse, said the banker buddy. It would only take one gung-ho investigative journalist digging into our CatAstrophe fund, and that’s exactly what it would be for both of us.
But you know more about The Man than I do, he said, what with you and your father and those undercover tuk-tuk deliveries and everything. What do you think we should do?
Diogenes sipped his Cuba Libre. Well, he said, for a start, it’s not only CatAstrophe. This London friend lives close by Heathrow Airport, and he’s hatching plans to smuggle who knows what into and out of Sri Lanka.
Now I’m not saying that’s necessarily a bad thing, but the friend likes to party, and the odd people I saw coming and going at odd hours of the day and night, and the odd things they got up to…
So the question is: is The Man involved and, by extension, us? Not that it matters, because whatever he’s up to or not up to, this memoir is a very bad idea, and we need to talk him out of it.
Which will be easier said than done. Once he gets a bad ‘good’ idea in his head it’s not easy to remove. And if he believes it will help him get elected, which it actually might do, that leaves us with precious little in the way of leverage.
What if he, well, you know, just disappeared, said the banker buddy. Diogenes jerked upright, spilling his drink. Don’t even think about it, he said. If he were to get even the slightest hint of what you’re hinting at, it’s us who would be disappeared, pronto and without trace, never to be seen again!
No, he said, what’s needed here is a persuasive argument from someone he knows and trusts—and I know just such a someone…
Two minutes later he’s on the phone to Madam Moonbeam, the renowned west-coast astrologer famed for advising politicians on the most auspicious times to pull the wool over the eyes of the electorate.
We need to talk urgently, he said, on a matter of utmost importance. The stakes are high. It will require tact, diplomacy and steely resolve on both our parts. When can I see you?
Not tonight, said Madam Moonbeam, because a senior minister is coming to find out what’s on the cards for his future role in government post elections. Be here tomorrow morning at eight. And bring $1,000.
To be continued.