Project: Evil - Bidders' Conference part 3

Project: Evil Chapter Nine - The Bidders' Conference part 3

‘Look, it doesn’t sound like we have a lot of use for double glazing, but our crocodiles are suffering from hunger pains.  If you can’t suggest what you can do for us, and quickly, then I suggest you join the crocodiles for lunch,’ he said. Bill juggled with his glasses, somehow making them less straight than before.

‘We can offer you glazing-free frames at BOGOF rates, plus,’ he said, glancing back at the tender document, ‘we will bid to supply the antimatter.’  He stood with the tender dangling in front of him, his glasses nearly falling off his head, somehow perching as if defying gravity.  Brian was stunned by the offer.

‘You’re in a position to supply antimatter?  You are the same NoDangerStyle UK that’s on the TV?’ he asked.  Bill nodded vigorously in-between listening to a briefing from his side-kick.

‘Only if O’Feld Industries can dispose of the waste products.  We don’t have a consent from the Local Authority to dispose of any waste, let alone antimatter waste.  Our proposal is that we deliver as much antimatter as you need along with the waste matter associated with it,’ Bill said.  Brian shrugged, once they controlled the planet, they could do what they pleased with the damned stuff.

‘See me after the conference and we can talk,’ he said, scanning the room for any other questions.  Daw leaned into him to whisper into his ear.

‘What is the waste product of antimatter?’ he asked.  Brian shrugged, they didn’t go that deep into particle physics in catering management college.

‘Matter, I suppose,’ he guessed.  Daw seemed satisfied and started to sit down, halting part of the way to his seat.

‘What happens when they mix?’ he asked.  Brian knew this; it was in one of his research comics.

‘They cancel out, you get nothing,’ he said, realising that it was obvious.  Daw continued with his attempt to sit.  Brian looked around again and caught sight of Dodgy and Flaky sat in the corner.  Dodgy had his hand up.

‘I get most of the specification, particularly the launch sandwich spec, but I don’t understand the last page,’ he said, adding, ‘kebabs are a specialist food, I can’t do them for that price,’ he said, waving page four hundred and three.

‘That’s supposed to be the specification of a warning system,’ replied Brian.  Dodgy looked at the page with distain.

‘Using kebab meat as an early warning system?  That’s gross.  Do you expect me to fit a strobe light on the top of the rotating meat?’ he asked.  Public sector man looked up at the questioning, slipping his sandals on.

‘That’s not the specification I agreed to,’ he said, standing.  Brian turned to the Irate Procurement Specialist, as he now liked to be referred to.  His contract simply called him a Procurement Specialist, but he’d insisted on the Irate prefix.

‘It’s a printing error,’ Brian said, passing the tender document over, holding the final page open.  Public sector man scanned the kebab advertisement swiftly before handing it back to Brian.

‘It could work,’ he agreed, ‘if we take the whole kebab shop and staff with us.  They’re very industrious, these people; and keen to work extra hours.  If they keep a watch rota going outside of their kebab duties we could have a manual system,’ he said. 

‘What, no klaxons?’ asked Brian, incredulously.  Public sector man shook his head.

‘Of course we’d have klaxons, what would a secret South Sea lair be without pointless klaxons?  It’s just they’ll be manually operated by itinerant, poorly educated and demotivated kebab operatives illegally smuggled into the UK instead of reliable automatic sensors.  Should only add another fifty percent to the installation costs,’ he added, making Brian wince.

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