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no good. He couldn't satisfy their sense of injustice. The wrath of these people could only be extinguished by the words of their boss. He reluctantly allowed himself to be ushered out of the building with jeers and catcalls ringing in his ears.
    ***
    Sam leaned against the Jag, oblivious to the cold air nipping at him. He was fuming. Jimmy, the lad who may well have rescued him from a lynching, had gone back inside. With a sympathetic smile, he had told Sam not to take it personally. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jimmy had overheard the way Sam had talked back to Starkey earlier. He told Sam anyone who stood up to that bully was a decent bloke.
    When Carl came out a few minutes later, Sam's anger had subsided a few degrees. He still gave Carl both barrels, though.
    'What was all that about, Carl? Letting me walk around telling them I was your new driver when you'd just sacked a load of their mates?'
    Carl looked sheepish.
    'Sam, what can I say? I hold my hands up.'
    He did as well, high into the air.
    'I hadn't thought it through properly...how they'd react...'
    Sam looked at him. With his hands held up in submission, Carl resembled a sad puppy awaiting execution. Sam found it impossible to stay angry at him.
    'Too bloody right, you didn't. Now, put your hands down, Carl. You're embarrassing me even more, if that's possible.'
    ***
    'So, did they have a good moan at you?' asked Sam. 'That's one unhappy group of people you've got back there.'
    He had changed his mind about packing the job in but only because of the money. Now, having gladly left the factory in his wake, he was driving Carl to a meeting in Ashbury, a town twenty miles out of Bursleigh. A conference for local business owners.
    'Yeah, they had their say,' replied Carl, absent-mindedly flicking through some paperwork. 'I told them I'd talk to the entire workforce in the morning. I'll smooth things over. Tell them you're working voluntarily or something. My contribution to the unemployed.'
    Sam laughed despite himself. Carl Renshaw had some brass. An unerring ability to bounce back and turn things to his advantage. One more hard-nosed trait that had helped him to success.
    'That's if any of them return tomorrow,' said Sam mischievously.
    'Sam, business has its ups and downs,' explained Carl, all chirpy again. 'Right now, things are a bit slow, but it's nothing to worry about. I've been here before. It'll pick up again. When it does, those people laid off will get their jobs back. In the meantime, the rest of them need the money too badly to cause a fuss.'
    Don't we all, mused Sam.

Chapter 10
    In the warmth of the foyer, Sam watched a young man outside struggle in vain with his umbrella. An almighty gust of wind suddenly took hold of it and blew it inside out in spectacular fashion. The man stared at his wrecked umbrella, threw it in the nearest bin and stomped off in disgust.
    Sam stretched out his legs and turned his attention back to the newspaper he had picked up off the table. He gave it a cursory glance. The meeting had been going on for two and a half hours. Carl had told him it shouldn't run over three hours. Sam yawned. Another thirty minutes. He tried to quell his complete and utter boredom by consoling himself this was the life, sitting around drinking tea for a living. It took him back to the slow shifts on the force. Another lifetime ago.
    The entrance door was pushed open and a blast of cold air entered the foyer. A woman in a grey business suit hastily smoothed down her bedraggled hair and looked over in Sam's direction. Noting the settee opposite him was free, she strode over and sank gratefully into the chair.
    'Christ, that wind!' she exclaimed, folding her arms and gazing at him. 'It's a nightmare!'
    Sam told her it was indeed. He yawned again. The woman looked at him with some pity.
    'Have you been sat here all this time waiting for them?' she asked, nodding in the direction of the closed meeting-room doors.
    'Yeah, and