Definitely -Maybe. Fron the forthcoming novel, Pseudonyms

Definitely Maybe

Thomas Warren sat back in his leather desk chair and narrowed his eyes. Ivan sat opposite looking sweaty and uncomfortable. Between them on the desk sat twenty thousand pounds in used notes. 'Have you had the plumbers in, Ivan?' said Thomas Warren.

Ivan shuffled in his chair and missed the connotation. Thomas Warren drove home his point. 'You definitely need to get one because it appears you have a big fucking leak.'

The colour began to drain from Ivan Ward's face. Sean Mitchum got up from his place on the sofa at the far end of the room and walked heavily over the polished Victorian boards. He opened the drinks cabinet and poured himself a Makers Mark.

 'Sean knows his way around a length of pipe.' said Warren. 'He could have a look at your plumbing for you; tighten a few nuts, make a few bends?' 

Sean Mitchum sipped his drink and smiled at Ivan. 'No problem, Tom. My tools are in the car.'

The message was clear. Ivan began to stutter. 'There's some outstanding this month, Tom, but it's all regulars and they are good payers.' He fumbled for a smoke. 'I'll chase them up, I promise.'

Thomas Warren gathered up the money from his desk top and placed it in a yellow money bag. 'I'm very glad to hear that, Ivan. I value our relationship and I would hate it to become unworkable.'

Ivan Ward scurried down the stairs like the rat that he was, and out on to the high street. He needed to think what to do. Things were getting out of hand. With this month’s short fall he was looking at nearly ten grand. Bands often charged their gear to the studio bill so he had to wait for the label to settle the invoice. Tommy fucking knew that. Girls World had just been in for a week and about two grand of the bill was gear. He jostled his way up the high street, his eyes wide, his mind turning over too fast to capture anything. He passed the bridge by the lock and glanced around to make sure he couldn't spot a familiar face before darting into the massage palour. He needed to think. He needed to relax to think. Yvonne would be working today. As long as he had coke there was no need for money.

Sean Mitchum sat back down in the sofa and lit a cigarette. Thomas Warren pushed back his chair and placed his brown suede brogues on his desk. 'What do you reckon, Sean?'

Sean Mitchum didn't stir and continued to flick through the channels. 'He's fuckin' skimming, Tom. You know it and I know it.'

Thomas Warren knew Mitchum was right. Ivan was getting way too high on his own supply and the figures had been out for the last three months. He was placing 15 grand a month with Ivan and the return should have been 25. You could allow 24, or even a bit less, but it was getting fucking stupid. Thomas Warren stared at the ceiling fan and considered his options.

Ivan Ward had been a good find. A velvet voiced public school boy with hair like Krusty the Clown. He was charming but the only sex he was ever going to get had to be paid for. His inheritance had enabled him to open Mega City One Studios and Thomas Warren considered this establishment on his turf. Recording studios were where musicians and rock stars gathered, and they liked to take drugs when they worked. It had made sense to open a satellite shop. Of course, some bills were added to the studio invoice and took a month or so to settle, but Ivan was running close to ten grand and the situation needed to be addressed. It wasn't just Ivan's balls on the chopping block. South of the river were asking questions.