Free Stiff by Shane Maloney Page A

gravel pit. Think, from here you can see a quarter of the country’s population, the most productive quarter, too.’
    Far below I could just make out two figures fishing off a pier. At the periphery of my vision the word MOBIL stood out in letters four storeys high.
    ‘Hard to imagine that most of it is already obsolete.’ Agnelli shook his head and frowned, barely believing how badly the place was letting him down. ‘Technological change, sunrise industries, value-added—they’re the name of the game now. There’s a hundred million fucking Japs out there.’ He jabbed a forefinger vigorously in the general direction of Africa. ‘And every one of them is trying to figure out another way to screw the rest of us. If it wasn’t them it’d be the Koreans or the Taiwanese. Believe me, Murray, if we don’t pull our fingers out we’ll wake up one afternoon and find ourselves sitting on the scrap heap at the end of the universe.’
    He picked up a silver-framed family snap from among the yachting paraphernalia on the credenza and waved it about. ‘And this lot, our dear old home-grown establishment, will just sit back and let it happen if we let them. We’ve got to drag these inbreds into the twentieth century. Show some leadership. Get them off their well-upholstered bums. Offer them incentives to up their game. Investment incentives. Seeding funds. Venture capital. Fast-tracked planning approvals. That’s why we’re here today, Murray. Me to reassure our corporate friend that the government is on the ball, you to show him we’re not on some anti-business witch hunt. Main thing is, just remember your manners, old chap, and we’ll be out of here in a jiffy.’
    Agnelli’s face suddenly contorted with such patent insincerity that I thought he was bunging on a quick demonstration. ‘Ah, Mr Merricks,’ he gushed. ‘So nice of you to agree to see us.’ His gaze was fixed on the door, the picture back in place.
    Lionel Merricks was a rather short, ruddy-faced man in his mid-fifties. He progressed across the carpet with impatient vigour, preceded by his hand. The fact that he was in his shirtsleeves, coupled with his slightly flushed appearance, gave the impression that he had just been interrupted giving himself a bracing injection of capital. I realised with dismay as I took his hand that I already felt obligated to him for his time.
    ‘Five minutes, gentlemen.’ The voice was fussy, half-English, disappointing. So this was the entrepreneurial class, red in tooth and claw. The shareholders of the country’s seventh-largest public company might have found the tone impressive, but I couldn’t see why. I stopped feeling apologetic.
    ‘We at Pacific like to think of our workforce as one big family,’ Merricks began magisterially. ‘And believe me, nobody feels it more keenly than I when there is a bereavement in the family. A situation like this should not be made the pretext for industrial scaremongering. Nor the occasion of a fishing expedition. So if you have information relevant to the conduct of our company’s affairs, I would be pleased to see that it is passed on to the appropriate area. Otherwise I see no need for outside involvement. You are not, I take it, suggesting the company is in any way responsible.’
    Agnelli nearly fell over himself. ‘I can assure you there is no question of blaming the company. It’s not even that we’re expecting any specific problem, sir.’ Sir, yet! ‘But it would be in nobody’s interest if somebody out there went flying off the handle, would it? What harm could there be in having a quiet chat with some of the men? Test the waters, so to speak. All absolutely unofficial, of course. Avoid surprises, eh?’ Chummy, now.
    Merricks nodded noncommittally and turned to me. ‘You have a union background, I understand, Mr Whelan.’ He spoke slowly as if I was a little retarded. After Agnelli’s performance he could hardly be blamed.
    ‘I was with the Municipal