Old Traders Never Die

Chapter 15

'Calm down, will you', Peter said as the nine of us sat round the circular table in Michael's office. It was after work near to Halloween, and the rest of the traders had left for the evening.

'I can't fucking believe you got me into this', Tim complained, 'Haven't we got better things to do on a Friday night ?'.

'Look Tim, if you're not into it, then fuck off', I exclaimed, 'Peter's got powers. But all your negativity will put him off', I continued as I gently kicked Peter under the table, and tried to stop myself laughing.

'It's not me he'll put off', Peter said all-knowingly, 'It's the spirits. They won't show up if there are too many doubters. You'll have to try and keep an open mind, Tim'.

'Can we try and get in contact with someone specific', asked Trudie.

'Who do you have in mind ?', I asked.

'Her hero - Jade fucking Goody, of course', Tim laughed.

'Fuck off, Tim', Trudie replied, 'No, I want to connect with some of my family, that's all'.

'It doesn't work like that anyway', Peter interjected, 'Whoever comes through, comes through. Now, can we focus please ?'.

All went quiet. Even though I knew that this was a put-up job, I felt the tension. Although there had been a lot of mickey taking, everyone seemed to be on edge - just in case there was something in it. And Peter was really up for it, hamming it up big time.

'Someone's has broken the circle', he exclaimed, 'I can't make contact if you break the circle. Please hold hands and clear your minds'.

We settled back down.

'Is there anybody there ?', Peter asked dramatically. 'Is there a friendly spirit who wants to come through ?'

Nothing.

'We are your friends', he continued in his deep rich voice. 'We want to make contact. Is there anyone there who has something to say to the living ?'

Still nothing.

I looked over at Peter. Wasn't this about the time that the IT guy, who was hiding in Michael's cupboard, was supposed to set-off the sound effects ? Peter returned my quizzical stare and shrugged his shoulders.

'Fucking IT', I said under my breath. 'Typical'.

Playing for time, Peter suggested that we grip each others hands more tightly, and try closing our eyes.

'What was that ?' Andy asked, as we heard a thud coming from the direction of the cupboard. All eyes were in that direction.

'Shhh', Peter ordered, 'It's starting. Someone's here'.

'Who ?', Andy asked, his enlarged eyes betraying that he was nervous.

'Probably the Head of Compliance', Tim joked.

'He's not dead, stupid', Trudie pointed out.

'Well he'd certainly have a heart attack if he examined some of my recent trades!', Tim retorted.

And just as Tim had broken the ice with that gag, an empty glass appeared to jump from a small cabinet on the other side of the office, and ended up in two pieces on the carpet.

'Fuck', said Andy, 'Did you see that ?' We did. Well, at least we heard it hit the carpet. 'Shit', Andy continued, 'We're all holding hands. It can't have been a trick. No one touched it'.

'Calm down, Andy', Tim said, 'It just fell off. It's no big deal. It was just too close to the edge'.

And then Trudie screamed, and pointed to the painting above the cabinet. 'It moved', she said breathlessly. 'The fucking thing moved'. It was a weird painting anyway. But it had been in that office ever since I'd been at the firm, outlasting all its occupants. It was a picture of a male witch being burned at the stake, surrounded by a baying mob. I'd always hated it. It gave me the creeps.

'Fuck off, Trudie. It did no such thing', said the ever-sceptical Tim.

But move it did. And it moved again. We all saw it. Fuck me, I thought. This was impressive. I never thought that Peter could set this up so convincingly. I was scared shitless (and I was in on it). How the hell must the others feel ?

And just as we were freaking each other out, there was a loud knock on the door. Trudie screamed again, although this time for longer and even louder.

I looked over at Tim. He wasn't cracking jokes anymore. It looked like he was the one going to have the heart attack now! 'Who the fuck's there ?', he shouted.

'Alistair Darling. And I've come for your bonuses', Michael said as he entered his office. 'And what's all the racket ? What's going on ? And as for you, Tim, you look like you've just seen a ghost!'.

Michael entrance couldn't have been more timely, and we all quickly made our excuses and left. Most of us were just pleased to get out of that room.

'Well that was fucking impressive, Peter', I said as we gathered up our belongings and made to exit the building.

'Yes, it was', he replied. 'But I can't take the credit. It was that IT guy. He really delivered'.

'The IT guy!', we both cried in unison, and rushed back to Michael's office.

Fortunately, Michael had left too, so there was no-one else there. We rushed to the cupboard.

'Fuck, it's stuck', I said as I tried to open the cupboard door.

'Shit. I locked him in', Peter said. 'I didn't want anyone trying the door and finding him. The key's in my desk. I'll run back and get it'.

The door finally open, we saw the IT guy slumped against the back wall.

'Is he dead ?', I asked, convinced that he was.

'I hope not', Peter replied, 'That'll be a bit embarrassing. I don't even know his name'.

'You don't know his name ?', I repeated incredulously.

'Well, do you ?', he asked.

'Eh, he's the fucking IT guy, ain't he ?', I conceded.

'The dead IT guy, by the looks of it'.

But the IT guy wasn't dead (we never did find out his name). It turns out that he was claustrophobic (something he forgot to mention), and had simply passed out in that confined space. We soon revived him, and he went off on his way.

'So what the fuck happened in here, then ?' I asked. 'It can't have been the IT guy, coz he was sparko'.

'I don't know', Peter replied, as he picked up the broken glass and replaced in on the cabinet. I looked over at the painting that several of us had earlier swore blind had moved. It looked fine now, exactly in its proper position. Maybe we'd just imagined it. Mass hysteria, or something.

'You shouldn't muck about with things you don't understand', came the voice from just outside the office door. Peter and I almost wet ourselves.

It was the cleaner. An old guy I'd never seen before, but whose face seemed strangely familiar.

'What's that ?', asked Peter, recovering his composure.

'You shouldn't be messing with things like that. You don't know what you're going to disturb. Leave all that alone. You'll find out what's on the other side soon enough'.

'It was just a bit of fun, that's all', I replied.

'This place was built on an old execution site, you know', the cleaner continued. 'You can't imagine what horrors happened here. They used to burn people at the stake here in the 17th century, you know, thinking they were witches. People died horrible deaths'.

I hadn't heard that before, but I was starting to get really freaked out now.

'And anyway', the cleaner carried on, 'You should never do something like that without protection'.

'Protection ?', I repeated.

'Yes. You need a cross, a cross blessed by a priest. That will ward off the evil spirits'.

'Well', said Peter after a few moments reflection, 'I guess we'd best be on our way. Have a good weekend', he said to the cleaner as we brushed passed him on our way out. The old man nodded and went back to his duties.

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'That old cleaner sacred the shit out me', I said on Monday morning, as a few of us sat in the canteen drinking our first group coffee of the week.

'Did you know that people were actually executed on this site ? Burned at the stake as witches', I continued.

'Who told you that ?', Michael scoffed.

'One of the cleaners on Friday night', I replied.

'Well I don't know anything about that', Michael said, 'But I do know that you must have been mistaken about the cleaner. They don't work on a Friday. They come in on Sundays'.

My heart jumped into my mouth. I looked over at Peter, who had gone strangely quiet and was clearly deep in thought.

'Oh well', Peter finally said, 'I'm going upstairs. Got some work to do. Come on', he said to me.

'I've got to check something out', Peter said as we went up in the lift. 'It's been bothering me all weekend. That cleaner. He looked real familiar....'

'Yeah, I replied, 'That's what I thought, but I just couldn't place him'.

I followed Peter back to the trading floor, and into Michael's office. He walked up to look at the painting that had spooked us all out on the Friday. He stood there staring at it, saying nothing. I looked up at the painting too. It was the witch. The one being burned at the stake. There was no doubt. His face was clearly visible. It was the old man who had warned us off messing with the spirits. The man who had appeared to us as a cleaner.

Chapter 16

It was a late Friday afternoon, and most of us were truly pissed off. All trading had stopped, as we set to work complaining about the most important thing in our lives - our annual bonuses.

The big problem this year was that we were now part of a major banking group which had been bailed out by the US government, and as such we had certain compensation restrictions. Under pressure from US lawmakers, the bank that owned us had amended its compensation policy earlier in the year, and that meant that the majority of our bonus payments were going to be paid in deferred equity, which vested in up to 5 years. For us, this was a disaster.

We as a firm had never got involved in trading mortgage debt, so we had managed to dodge the subprime bullet. All through the financial crisis we had remained profitable (that was why US Bank decided to take advantage of our low stock price and acquire us), but now, through no fault of our own, we had been dragged into all the political nonsense and were facing the prospect of a practically cashless bonus this year-end. And mutiny was in the air.

'Fuck it', Tim said, 'Why are we even having this conversation ? We knew that no good would come of this fucking takeover. It's been nothing but aggro. US Bank is one bureaucratic nightmare, and now this. And we didn't even get retentions when they bought us out. It's a fucking joke!'.

'That's right', Adrian agreed, 'We know that ICAT is after us (that was the firm that had expressed a keen interest in hiring most of our front office staff). Let's go talk to them again. We could get huge salary increases, a big sign-on, and they'd buy out this year's stock award in cash. It's a no brainer'.

Even I had to agree. 'It's probably worth treating their overtures more seriously', I said, 'After all, what have we got to lose ?'.

'What's the matter with you guys ?', Peter interjected, 'Can't you see how lucky you are ? Tens of thousands of people have lost their jobs in our industry over the last 2 years. Firms have gone bust, failed. US Bank may not be what we signed up for, but it has mostly left us alone. And Michael's a good bloke. He's looked after us. You can't just walk away. Where's your loyalty ? Can't you see that you are all just acting like the greedy devils we are portrayed to be in the media ? It makes me sick. Don't you have enough cash ? Don't you have good jobs with a decent company ? Take a look outside. Take a look at what's happening back home where you live. Shops are closing, people are suffering. For fuck's sake, stop complaining and thank your lucky stars you're in the the position you are'.

'Nice speech, Peter', Tim replied, 'But all that loyalty thing just doesn't cut it. There's no such thing as loyalty now. US Bank would fire us tomorrow if it suited 'em. And they wouldn't think twice',

'Let's go to the pub and discuss this over a beer', I suggested, 'You coming Peter ?'.

'No, but you go ahead', He replied, 'I've said my piece, and anyway, I've got some stuff to clear up here before I leave'.

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I was the first in the following Monday. Or at least I thought I was. I'd done little else all weekend but think about the possibility of leaving the firm, and Peter's little rant. I walked across the trading floor to my desk, and was surprised to see Peter already at his desk.

'Bloody hell', I said, 'You're early, old chap'.

He said nothing. Surely he couldn't still be pissed off about us all thinking of leaving ?

'Come on, Peter, don't be mad at us', I said as I walked over.

He still didn't move, so I put my hand on his shoulder, and he slumped forward in his chair. My heart jumped, and I panicked.

'Peter!, Peter! Jesus Christ!', I shouted, 'Will someone help me!', I screamed, knowing full well that there was no-one else on the floor.

I felt his head, then his hand, frantically trying to find a pulse. But it was too late. He was obviously dead.

As the tears fell down my face, I dialled the emergency services and explained the situation. An ambulance crew arrived in minutes, just as the trading floor started to fill up. The Coroner arrived soon after, and told us that it looked as if Peter had been dead since Friday. It seemed that he must have had a heart attack soon after we left for the pub. Quite how the cleaning crew missed him when they came in on the Sunday, I'll never understand.

Everyone was shocked about what had happened, but life (for the rest of us) clearly went on. The market was open, so we traded, although only a few traders really had the stomach for it. I left early and went to the pub that had become Peter's favourite 'watering hole' (as he liked to describe it). I sat in the back, right where we used to sit, and slowly downed a pint in tribute to him. Back at work, Tim and some of the others guys decided to pick up where they left off with ICAT, and remained highly confident that they would soon be on their way to bigger things. And then there was the funeral to look forward to.

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I don't think that I've ever seen so many people crammed into a church. Certainly not for a funeral. Peter had worked in the markets forever, and the church was full of the who's who of the City. I was amazed at the some of the senior guys that attended the ceremony, and surprised to learn that Peter had started many of them off on their roads to success. And none of them had forgotten him, gladly coming to pay their respects. One surprise, however, was that Peter didn't seem to have any family, or at least there didn't appear to be any present.

After the service, during which Nigel gave a moving eulogy, a group of about 50 of us moved outside to witness the burial itself, and participate in that service.

The rain had started to fall, and it was quite muddy. We stood on the grass as they lowered the coffin into the ground. I'd never witnessed anything like this before, and I could feel a lump in my throat. I was going to miss the old fellow. I clearly had my doubts all those months back, when Nigel first introduced him and told me that Peter would be on my team. At first I thought it was a joke, but Peter ended up winning most of us over. They don't make them like Peter any more, and I guess we'll never see his like again. At least not in the City.

Tim's laughter brought me back from my thoughts about Peter. He was waving his job offer in his hand, and, in my view being totally disrespectful. But that was Tim. I was fed up making excuses for him.

'Keep it down, Tim', I whispered as I sidled up to him, 'Have a bit of respect, will you!'.

'Fuck off, Dave', he said loudly, 'You're only jealous because I've got a new job. And if I'd have listened to that old sod (he said pointing to the coffin), I'd not have this fucking whopping contract!'.

With that, I lost it. I grabbed Tim by his collar, and smacked him in the mouth with my other hand. He buckled immediately, and fell to the ground. And to my horror, he rolled straight on top of the coffin.

'Oh my God', I said, 'What have I done now!'.

'Don't worry', Nigel said as he came up to me with a smile across his face, 'Peter would have enjoyed that. He came to think that Tim was nothing but a jerk, anyway'.

I smiled back at Nigel, looked over at Tim's listless body on top of the coffin, and turned and walked away.

Who says 'old traders never die', I thought as I walked passed the cemetery gates. They do, of course they do. But some of them will never be forgotten.

Source: Here Is The City (hitc.com)