The fans outside might not be able to see in but they weren’t insulated from the cacophony of boos and jeers rolling down from the stands at the hapless home players.
Pete nodded.
‘No thanks,’ said Erasmus.
Ted poured out two large glasses of whisky and passed one to Pete. He then crashed back into his chair and let out the sigh that comes to all men of a certain age when they return to a sitting position.
Erasmus decided he had wasted enough time here. He hated football and so far the cruel pettiness and barely restrained violence he felt had done nothing to change his view of the sport.
‘So, I know that you instruct one of the magic circle firms for your corporate and transfer work and you use a local firm, Cuff Roberts, for the smaller stuff just so you can boast you support local businesses, so why in the world would you want to instruct us?’
Erasmus noticed Pete suck in his bottom lip.
Ted stared at Erasmus for a second during which Erasmus wouldn’t have been surprised if he had told them to get out right away. Then pointed out at the pitch.
‘Look,’ he said.
Erasmus turned and watched as the final whistle went and the players in red held up their arms. The Everton player’s body language told him everything he needed to know – hunched shoulders and downcast eyes – as they trudged slowly off the pitch. The booing and jeering was of the kind usually reserved for child killers as they sped off in a van from court.
‘Fuck, we lost,’ said Pete.
‘Again,’ said Ted. ‘Do you know what this means?’ He didn’t wait for answer. ‘This means we are second from bottom in the week before Christmas and do you know how many football teams have been second from bottom at Christmas and then not been relegated? Well, you won’t know Erasmus so I’ll tell you. None.’
‘It’s Wayne’s fault,’ muttered Pete.
Ted took a large slug of his whisky.
‘If we are relegated this club won’t survive. We will lose £125 million, be forced to sell our best players and we will be as welcome in this city as a Mancunian Tory.
Erasmus felt his thinner than most patience start to give.
‘So, what has this got to do with me and Pete? Other than Pete’s obsession with a football club.’
Pete shook his head and smiled ruefully.
‘You’ll never understand this place, Raz.’
Ted licked whisky from his lips.
‘Pete was right. It’s Wayne Jennings. Something is wrong.’
Erasmus considered for a second and then decided that, yes, on balance, he had heard him right.
‘OK, I have no idea how a small, two-man firm of lawyers can help one of your poorly performing footballers. Care to enlighten me?’
There was a glint of rage in Ted’s eyes and Erasmus guessed he was used to being given what he considered due respect when holding forth.
‘Wayne Jennings is the greatest thing that ever happened to this club. I believe your colleague Pete can give you his history.’
Pete smiled.
‘Youngest ever goalscorer in the Premier league, youngest and quickest player to reach thirty goals in a season, England cap at seventeen, England hat-trick at eighteen. Voted Europe’s best young player at eighteen. A local boy, a Scouser and the future and hope of this club.’
‘And what is he playing like this season?’ asked Ted.
‘Like a drunken paraplegic.’
Erasmus shot Pete a glance.
‘Nice.’
Pete looked at his feet.
‘Well he is, Roy needs to drop him.’
‘Roy?’ asked Erasmus.
‘Our sorry excuse for, and soon to be, between you me and the whisky, unemployed manager.’
Ted drained his glass.
‘This club is worth what, say £80 million. We had a bid last summer from Real Madrid for Wayne. They offered £65 million. Wayne is this club; he is the most valuable asset we have. It’s no secret that the club has borrowed against him and now he is playing like he’s never seen a ball before.’
‘Is he injured?’ asked Erasmus.
‘Our doctors say he has never been fitter.’
‘I don’t know what to suggest. Sports psychologist? A trainer? Again, how can we help?’
Ted filled up his tumbler with more whisky. This time he didn’t offer any to Erasmus or Pete. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. He looked at it.
‘Lawyer client confidentiality. I need to know that applies here.’
‘It does,’ said Erasmus, ‘unless you tell me you’re about to commit a crime.’ He smiled.
‘I was sent this three weeks ago.’
Ted handed the piece of paper to Erasmus. It was an email printout. The recipient was Ted. The sender was [email protected]. Erasmus read it.
Wayne has become sick on The Flesh at the Blood House. Stop him or he will never play again.
He passed it to Pete.
‘A classic of its oeuvre,’ said Pete. ‘It’s a shame though that email has all but made extinct the fine art of cutting out newspaper print and gluing it to paper. A real shame.’
Erasmus shrugged.
‘Yes, but no request for payment, which is unusual if it is an attempt to blackmail? Have you asked Wayne about it?’
Ted shook his head.
‘I can’t and neither can the manager. Contractually we are forbidden from raising any non-football issues with Wayne directly. They have to go through his agent, Steve Cowley. I asked him and he said he would take care of it.’
‘Take care of it?’ repeated Erasmus.
‘That’s exactly it. If it was rubbish he would have laughed in my face. Like you say, these things are ten a penny. But he didn’t, he said he would take care of it. There is an “it” and I want to know what “it” is!’ He slapped his palm down against the rich mahogany. ‘Something’s happened and I think it’s the reason Wayne’s form has dipped. He’s a sensitive kid and something is bothering him. When normal teenagers are troubled you get dirty sheets and late nights, with this one, he could bankrupt the club. I want your firm to find out what’s going on. I need to protect my asset!’
‘But why us?’ asked Erasmus, although he already knew the answer.
‘You are lawyers, you can’t go running to the press, and well I know your history, Mr Jones, I know how far you will go.’
Ted looked directly at Erasmus.
‘You want us to find the blackmailer?’ said Pete.
Erasmus shook his head.
‘No, that’s not it. You want us to get Wayne scoring again, isn’t that right?’
Ted placed both hands face down on the table.
‘Will you do it? Peter explained your hourly rates. They are not a problem.’
Erasmus hesitated for a second. He didn’t like this environment, didn’t understand it, but wasn’t it ever thus? Wasn’t it always the appeal of the unfamiliar that attracted him, that usually ended up nearly killing him?
He