Silas Bream (Part 2)

The Makepiece family had occupied a handsome double fronted residence overlooking the town for over a hundred years. A successful mill owner's tribute to endeavour and accomplishment, it stood slowly marinating in generations of its own self confidence.

Silas steered his ageing Jaguar through the two imposing stone pillars and along the driveway, coming to a halt beside an unfamiliar white seven series BMW. Behind the steering wheel sat a stocky, completely bald man who reminded Silas of Oddjob in the Goldfinger film. Oddjob was watching something on the media screen in the centre console and paid no attention whatsoever to the new arrival. Silas felt even more unsettled as he climbed the steps and pressed the imposing brass doorbell.

The stained glass panel in the centre of the heavy Victorian front door darkened as a figure approached from the bowels of the house.

'Mr Silas Bream, as punctual as ever. I knew you wouldn't let me down.'

'How could I resist such a compelling request Jed? It's not often I get an invitation to enter the hallowed portals, I just couldn't resist.'

Jed Makepiece, large in stature and pugnacious by nature, grinned, turned and led Silas along the impressive Minton tiled hallway and into a sitting room at the rear of the house. The room was graceful and imposing, with a huge window looking out across manicured lawns and well tended borders. It had been furnished over the decades with solid, comfortable sofas and armchairs, items that had staked their claim on the house. Items which would continue to offer their services to residents and visitors alike with unfailing confidence in their longevity, style and durability. In one such chair sat a handsome, expensively dressed Asian man in his mid thirties, whose dark brown eyes were subtly scanning Silas.

'Silas, I'd like to introduce you to Naz Kashani, a close business acquaintance of mine from Bradford. Naz, this is my very good friend and long time legal beagle, Silas Bream.'

'How do you do Silas,' said Naz as he stood gracefully and shook hands. 'May I compliment you on such a wonderfully Dickensian name.'

'Well thank you Naz, I owe it to my father who was an avid reader of Dickens. He always said that with a surname like Bream we were already halfway there. He just had to add the Silas.'

Naz smiled and reseated himself in the opulent leather wing chair. The horsehair seat cushion gasped in acknowledgement.

'You must be a Dickens reader yourself Naz to make such a comment. Not something I would expect of an Asian upbringing.'

'Asian heritage Silas, but public school education and then PPE at Cambridge, an institution I am given to understand you know well yourself.'

Silas paused for a split second, surprised that his new acquaintance was in possession of such information. Without responding or waiting to be offered a seat he slid cautiously into a matching wing chair opposite Naz and aimed an enquiring stare at his host. Jed smirked at Silas's unease, brushed aside the silent enquiry and walked towards an imposing drinks cabinet dominating a large part of one wall. Silas's discomfort increased a notch as he turned to face Naz. Naz had the look of a man who knew things that he didn't.

Jed crossed the room with two cut glass tumblers, each containing a large measure of malt whisky. He handed one to Silas and then seated himself in a third wing chair which made up a stage managed grouping around a central circular coffee table. It seemed, by implication, that Naz did not drink.

'Your favourite tipple Silas, a twelve year old Speyside malt.'

Silas was determined to appear relaxed.

'Your very good health gentlemen,' he said as he took his first sip, 'now perhaps you could tell me why I have been summoned here this evening?'

Jed smiled, looked across at Naz and then at Silas.

'We have a business proposition for you Silas, one which I can absolutely guarantee you will find yourself unable to refuse....,' Jed took a sip from his glass and smiled, '….even if you wanted to.'

Silas's unease instantly transformed itself into mild anxiety and he struggled to
keep the evidence from his face. Jed had always frightened him, ever since they were boys together in the playground and Jed was more than aware of this. Silas shifted his anxious look across to Naz.

'I know you are a man who likes to take risks,' said Naz in a rather inappropriate avuncular manner, ' and what we had in mind should excite you and eventually, if things go to plan, make you a wealthy man.'

'I don't think I've ever been a risk taker Naz. I'm a conscientious and well respected solicitor and taking risks doesn't fit that stereotype.'

'You may have been at one time Silas,' snapped Jed, 'but now you're a compulsive gambler, an embezzler of your clients' funds and seriously in debt to my friend Naz here.'

Jed sat back with the look of the villain who had just lobbed a hand grenade into the police station.

The grenade exploded between Silas's ears sending his mind spinning out of control. His hand shook as he attempted another sip of the malt and his shock refused to allow him to form any sort of response. Silas was suddenly exposed and defenceless.

'I have a statement here for you Silas,' said Naz pressing home their advantage. He reached into his jacket pocket, 'a statement of the amount you now owe the High Roller Casino. As you will see, that amount, with accrued interest, now comes to just short of eighteen thousand pounds.' Naz placed the document on the coffee table in front of Silas.

'As you may now have deduced, I own the High Roller Casino. In addition, my friend Jed here has a statement from Martins Bank which details a number of recent withdrawals from the account of Miss Jenny Walters. Miss Walters has been a client of yours for many years and gave you power of attorney some years ago to deal with her financial affairs. She is extremely infirm and a resident of the Valley Retirement Home here in the town. My good friend Jed here owns the Valley Retirement Home. We have therefore taken the liberty of assuming that a thorough examination of your books would reveal that Miss Walters' account is not the only one being....how shall I put this.... ....enthusiastically over managed.'

Silas's heavy whiskey tumbler slipped from his grasp and its contents instantly disappeared into the crotch of his grey worsted suit. Jed Makepiece laughed out loud.

'Sorry about that Silas, too much information for that antique brain of yours to process. I'll get you a brandy for your nerves while you dry your soggy trousers. This is going to be a long night and you'll need all the courage you can muster to get you through it.'

Silas sat motionless, staring into the room, his senses neutralised.