The 2084 Precept Read Online Free PDF

one or two of the more brain-damaged punters no doubt. A
jellyfish trap. But it would do nothing to entice people with a
certain amount of intelligence. Such as myself. No sirree.
    No sir. No way. At all. But on the other
hand…come to think of it—and it's a habit of mine to consider all
possibilities, including way off-the-wall ones, makes me a good
consultant—come to think of it, it could possibly be an amusing
little event, another of life's minor anecdotes floating by on an
undulating ocean wave, it would make a good bar tale and a true one
as well.
    And it would be fascinating to hear his ploy
for getting out of the €100,000 promise. Several possible versions
come to mind. So…come to think of it again, why wouldn't I call and
agree to a meeting? I've got the time, life's little adventures
keep you fit, and why throw away a piece of fun when fun is what
life is all about? Some of the time anyway.
    I took hold of my mobile and dialed.
    "Jeremy Parker speaking. How may I help
you?"
    "Hi Mr. Parker, it's me, we met a short
while ago in Curzon Street. I'm curious, I have changed my mind, I
would be happy for us to meet."
    "Ah, well, that's good to hear Mr.
O’Donoghue, indeed it is, yes. And I am sure you will find it
interesting, if nothing else. If Saturdays are not inconvenient to
you, we could meet tomorrow, at my office perhaps, say after lunch,
would 2 o'clock be suitable?"
    "That will be fine, Mr. Parker. I'll be
there. I look forward to meeting you again. Would you like me to
bring anything with me, a résumé or whatever?"
    "Actually, your C.V. would not be a bad
idea. Thank you. Tomorrow at two o'clock then?"
    "Indeed. See you then. Bye."
    I'm looking forward to the bit of fun
tomorrow. Maybe a waste of time but what the hell, it won't take
long. Back down the corridor, "Hey, Susi—sorry, Susanne—have a
great weekend, got to rush, have an appointment, take care." Down
in the elevator, out into the road, smoked a cigarette and then
caught a cab in Curzon Street.
    I asked the driver to take me to the Royal
Strand Towers. I just wanted to check out its exact whereabouts,
It's bad to arrive late for anything and knowing where the location
is in advance gets rid of one of the risks. The building turned out
to be just past the Aldwych turnoff. Fine. The sun was still
shining away, the sky was still blue, a pleasant short walk in the
Covent Garden direction, into Tavistock Street, through the peeling
doorway and up the creaky stairs and into the 'En Passant'.
    * * * * *
    The 'En Passant' is a strange place, pretty
run down, not very clean. I suppose you would have to call it a
chess and bridge café, I've never seen any other type of customer
there, not even a homosexual on the prowl. Open 24 hours, burgers
and sandwiches, coffee and coke available. I walked past the bridge
tables to the chess section at the back. A dozen tables, all laid
out with a chess set and a chess clock, about half of them in use
at this time in the afternoon.
    You can only find an opponent here if you
are prepared to play for money which, unlike prize-money
tournaments, means betting cash on each game. Most of the regulars
have an appearance as dilapidated as the place itself, worn-out
clothes, scuffed shoes, uncombed hair, and some of them not
smelling too good either. That's because most of them are out of
work, adroit specialists in the serious profession of welfare state
manipulation—any system created by elected birdbrains is full of
holes of course—with plenty of time to play chess each and every
day for the rest of their lives if they wish, financed by the poor
British tax-paying creatures. And many are immigrants, mainly from
Eastern Europe, and most of them are also receiving
unemployment benefits, or at least they look as if they are.
    But, make no mistake, these are all good
chess players, some very good in fact, and there is a sprinkling of
masters among them; national masters that is, not international
masters or