'You sure?' said Joe doubtfully.
'Certain,' said Endor. 'Anyway, it's worth a try. You can do anything if you don't let the bastards grind you down. Look at me. Started with nothing, now I'm farting through silk. All down to hard work and clear thinking. Set yourself a goal and go for it, Joe. Like Zak before a race. She don't just fink she might win, she's bleeding sure she's gonna win!'
They sat in silence for a while, watching Zak flow round the track beneath them. Endor might be a Cockney blow-bag, thought Joe, but that didn't mean he was stupid. On the contrary, Joe guessed he used his self-made kid act to lull you into a false assessment. He glanced at his watch. His grand plan was at some point to head back to Sycamore Lane on the pretext of picking up his donkey jacket and having a casual chat with Mrs. Oto. But she wouldn't be back till after lunch, which Joe proposed taking in Daph's Diner which wasn't a million miles from Penthouse Assurance.
He finished his coffee and rose.
'You'll have to excuse me,' he said. 'Got a date with my insurers.'
Thirteen.
The Penthouse Assurance building was a monument to the affluent eighties, rising like a lighthouse out of a sea of lesser commercial development, much of which had clearly drowned in the depths of the post affluence depression. But Penthouse had survived and prospered and its dayglo concrete seemed to create a kind of force field which left it untouched by the squally rain.
All the visitors' parking spots were full, so Joe slipped the Magic Mini into a four-space bay marked CHAIRMAN, between a wine-coloured Bentley and a white Merc. How the shoot could one man come to work in four cars anyway?
The foyer was tastefully carved out of pink marble with artificial windows through which streamed artificial sunlight. Better than real windows through which you could see real rain? wondered Joe. Not that there was a shortage of your actual water here. Down one high wall ran a cascade tinkling into a fern-fringed pool in whose depths gleamed silver and gold.
Joe smiled at the receptionist and said, 'Thought they'd have got a mermaid.'
For a moment she almost smiled back, then recalling the dignity of her position she said, 'Can I help you?' in a tone which didn't sound optimistic.
'I'd like to see Mrs. Airey in your Claims Department, please.'
'Is she expecting you?'
'If she's got any sense,' said Joe.
The receptionist let this pass and went on, 'Because I know she's very busy. Perhaps I could get one of our claims clerks to ...'
'No,' said Joe, who wasn't a naturally assertive person but knew that with certain types, like Jehovah's Witnesses and shop assistants keen to sell you an expensive tub of gunge to clean the shoes you just spent your last farthing buying, you had to be unwaveringly firm. 'Has to be Mrs. Airey.'
'Well, I'll see ... it is about a claim, is it?'
Nor was Joe a naturally sarcastic man, but at times the temptation was very strong.
'No, it's about a crime,' he said, taking out one of his dog-eared cards and laying it on the desk. 'I think she can help with my enquiries.'
The young woman did not look persuaded but she picked up her phone and spoke into it. Then, after a moment's listening, she said, 'Mrs. Airey says to go on up. Fourth floor. Room seventeen.'
'Thanks,' said Joe, smiling again, in a conciliatory manner. He didn't like having to lean, even if ever so gently, on kids guilty of nothing more than a slight lack of manners.
Mrs. Airey was a different kettle of fish. Despite the fact she was so thin even her ear lobes looked anorexic, you could lean on her till your shoulder ached without getting any movement.
Knowing from experience there was no room in that narrow ribcage for a heart, Joe aimed his puny attack straight at the wallet.
'This is offensive,' he said, waving the cheque. 'I've got a notarized statement from my mechanical adviser testifying to the first-class condition of my car plus affidavits from collectors' clubs confirming its market value.'
That pretty well exhausted his legal jargon.
Mrs. Airey smiled and said, 'Naturally we'd be interested to see them, Mr. Sixsmith, but I doubt if they will materially change our assessment.'
'Oh, you'll be seeing them all right. In court.'
'In court?' She stopped smiling without actually starting to quake in her boots. That's your prerogative, of course, but you must be aware that in civil cases the plaintiff, if he loses, can end up being responsible for the defence costs as well as his own, which may themselves be considerable. You would be well advised to think hard before embarking on such a perilous course. Unless you have private means.'
Meaning, man who can't afford a decent car certainly can't afford justice.
'Oh, I've been well advised,' said Joe, getting angry. This new law which says British lawyers can do like the Yanks and take on no-win-no-fee cases, that's going to apply here. And no fat cat lawyer's going to take that risk without he reckons he's on a certain thing!'
He sat back to observe how Endor's ploy was working out. Mrs. Airey hadn't yet fallen off her chair.
'Really?' she said. 'And may I ask which law firm takes such an unlikely view of things?'
Joe guessed that the Bullpat Square Law Centre wouldn't send her reaching for her smelling salts. So he heard
