The Shift of Numbers by David Warrington

stock can be b ought by anyone. There’s nothing Bill can do about it , I’m sure…sorry , ” said Gordon feeling pity for the sad- looking man. The 3 of them stood in silence for a couple of seconds until the cogs in Bill ’ s brain understood the situation from his practical point of view.
    “Do you have a job?” asked Bill.
    A tear ran down Pete’s cheek as he looked at the only man who had offered him any hope for a while. “I’m no t sure that it will help much. All is lost I think, ” Pete said , sadly , but in no small way grateful.
    “Come on , squire. L et me buy you a drink and we can talk it over. Good honest work can’t hurt, can it? My advert ’ s on the television later as wel l. L et ’ s go . ” Bill pronounced television, tele-vis-ee-on, like it was a new invention. He put his arm around Pete roughly and marched him to the pub.
     
    *
     
    “Richard, RICHARD! Look at me…” s aid Tim for the 10 th time in the interview, “…do you even remember working for Shure Stock?”
    “I thought I could see it all, but I can’t, I can’t see anything.” Richard’s head slumped again, his voice deflated.
    “You were a stockbroker. D o you remember that?” asked Tim gently .
    “Do you know where my glasses are?” replied Richard almost in tears.
    “I don’t know where they are , Richard. Do you have any idea w h ere you are?”
    “I’m not at home , am I?” he answered slowly with a puzzled look on his face. “W hat happened to the green animals and the nice man?”
     
    *
     
    Pete , unused to drinking anything but tea for the last 30 years , had found the experience of Topshire’s local bitter a real eye opener. In the pub , the excitement of Bill’ s television debut was growing. Bill kept checking the TV on the wall t o see if it was still working. I t was. In the enthusiasm , no- one noticed that Pete had disappeared. He found himself in a grubby- looking toilet , then outside in the darkness of the car park. Before long, and as if observing himself from some third person perspective, he noticed his body was walking unste adily back towards the farm.
     
    *
     
    Richard’s f iancé e walked back up to the desk in the MSD building. S he decided to use guile , as waiting around seemed a waste of time. S he figured they may not even let her see Richard.
    “Hello, I have a meeting with Tim from investigations,” s he told the man behind the desk in her most confident tone.
    “Tim Cord er o ?”
    “That ’s him, yes , ” she said, looking the man directly in the eye.
    “Wait one moment .” T he man dialled a number on the phone next to him , then replaced the handset.
    “He’s busy at the moment. Y ou will have to wait.”
    “I know he is busy. H e’s interrogating a suspect in the Shure Stock case. I have the information he asked for.”
    “I see,” said the man, less sure of himself.
    “I can wait if you want. I’m just not sure how happy Tim will be about it.”
    “ Okay, I’ll buzz you through.”
    “What’s Tim’s new office number?”
    “16, floor 3 . ”
    “Thank you . ”
     
    *
     
    “We are not getting anywhere,” Tim sighed. “L et ’ s leave him to rest for a bit, at least till the drugs start to w ear off. ” He gazed over the table at Richard, his head slumped forwards into his chest. Another high-pitched snigger came from Carl’s direction and then he exploded.
    Before Tim could react , the chair Carl was sitting on slammed noisily into the wall behind them as he stood up rapidly, his left hand grabbing a fist full of Richard ’ s hair and pulling him upright. In the same fluid motion , his right hand slapped Richard fearsomely across the face.
    “TELL US WHAT WE NEED , YOU MAGGOT,” shouted the red face of Carl, covering the prisoner’s terrified face in spit. Now Tim reacted, jumping out of his chair and grabbing Carl ’ s right wrist and twisting it around in a kung fu style move until he had let go of Richard’s hair and a look of