n Monday morning I called in sick. This was all going too quickly for me and if I wasn't careful it would spiral out of control. After a relaxed and excellent breakfast produced by Charles, I headed for the bank.
"Just let me make sure I've got this straight," I thought at Charles before we went in. "All I have to do is talk to one of the tellers for a few minute while you do some sort of mental scouting. You'll be able to find out all about our system of money and then we leave."
"Yes," he sighed. "Simple, isn't it? Even a moron like you should be able to do that without messing up. Assuming, that is, that the people who run this bank actually know anything at all."
There was a queue, of course. After five minutes Charles said, "You can leave now."
"But I haven't spoken to anyone yet."
"Doesn't matter. I have what I need,"
"Well, if you're sure."
It looked as though I would be waiting at least another five minutes so I left.
As we walked down the street, I thought. "So you can make bank notes that will be guaranteed okay?"
"Yes. It was disappointingly simple when I found out how it was done. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else. Hold out your hand."
£1,000 in slightly used tenners appeared in my hand.
"Charles, you idiot. What are you playing at? Nobody walks around with that much money in cash in their hand." I stuffed the wad of notes hurriedly into my jacket pocket and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.
With that much money in my pocket I was decidedly nervous and hurried off immediately. I wanted to get home as quickly as possible. As I turned a corner to take a short-cut to the bus stop, I was suddenly bundled up against the wall and given a sharp blow on the head. I reeled dizzily and was pushed to the ground. A hand reached into my jacket pocket and removed the money. It was about to search my other pockets when footsteps could be heard approaching. My attacker leapt up and ran off.
"Are you okay?" a man's voice enquired as I struggled to my feet.
"Yes. Yes, thanks."
"What happened?"
"I… I tripped over something and bashed my head against the wall. I'll be fine. Honestly."
"Well, if you're quite sure…" The man hurried away.
I leaned against the wall for a while trying to calm down. Other than a bump on the head I wasn't hurt but I was trembling all over. My heart was pounding and I was couldn't breathe properly. Eventually I got control of myself and stood up. My initial fright turned to anger. Anger at Charles.
"Well, I hope you're pleased with yourself. You don't think. You don't ask. You're so bloody superior you think you know everything. You produce a thousand pounds right out in the open and, what do you know, I get mugged."
"How was I supposed to know?" he wailed. "I did not sense an attack was imminent. I cannot protect you if I can't read the signals."
"Of course not," I snorted. "You're so busy feeling superior to us primitives that you refuse to learn. Oh, no, you know it all. Whatever it is, Charles knows best. Remind me not to depend on you in a real emergency."
"I admit I failed to protect you. But that person acted in a most uncivilised manner. It was a totally unprovoked attack."
"It wasn't unprovoked; I was standing in the street waving a huge wad of cash. What did you expect - a formal declaration of war? This is the 21st Century and these things happen. When are you going to start listening to me, for God's sake?"
"There's no need to be like that about it. I did admit I failed to protect you. Anyway, you weren't badly hurt and I can make as much money as you want."
"Oh, great. Thanks a bunch. For your information people have been killed for a good deal less than a thousand pounds. And it was no thanks to you I wasn't badly hurt. Get your head out of your arse, Charles."
"There's no more to be said, then."
I hoped his fit of pique was the result of a guilty conscience but, somehow, I doubted it. Never had I come across anyone quite so conceited. I could only hope his powers were as great as his opinion of himself.
I was still feeling shaky when I got home and my head hurt. I could have asked Charles to fix it but really couldn't face another round of sparring with him so I made a cup of coffee the old-fashioned way, took a couple of aspirin and went to bed.
When I awoke early on Tuesday I felt much better. Charles had obviously been thinking for her was all over himself with his apologies. Unfortunately I found these to be almost as tiresome as his arrogance; it seemed there were no half-measures with Charles. In the interests of peace, I resisted the temptation to rub his nose into the fact that he had failed and merely commented that he should regard this as a 'focus point' and keep a look out for anyone wishing to do me harm.
"I am going to try out your money, only this time we'll do it my way. Make me a £10 note. I am going down to the newsagent's to buy a paper."
"Why…?"
"Don't start. Just do it and be quiet."
I deliberately chose the newsagent because the owner was a surly and suspicious old bastard and I knew he religiously checked anything larger than fiver. I handed him Charles's note and he looked at me as if I had given him a poisoned chalice but he gave the same look to everybody who didn't have the right money. After giving it the customary detailed examination, he stuffed it in the till and fished out my change.
Charles, of course, was suitably smug and superior, wondering how I could ever doubt his ability and when would I learn to listen to him. I refrained from reminding him of yesterday's mugging. Actually I was more than pleased for, at least, my ready cash problems were resolved.
"Very good, Charles," I told him, grudgingly. "Now here's how we're going to play it. No more than £50 at any time. Whenever I pay for something, you only make more when I need it and you create it just as I bring out my wallet. Now we need to find an accountant."
We sauntered into town and mingled with the lunchtime crowds. Not surprisingly considering this city is the local financial centre, there were lots of accountants. Unfortunately they all fell into one of three categories; too honest, worked for a large company or didn't have the requisite knowledge. We did find one interesting prospect which he spotted at the same time as I - a very attractive woman in her thirties. Charles was all for using his influence so I could pick her up and then pick her brains after I'd screwed her. I told him it was always a bad idea to mix business with pleasure. At his insistence, though, I followed her only to watch her disappear through the doors of one of the larger accounting firms.
I had all but given up hope when Charles nudged my mind. He had found a real prospect. By outward appearance he didn't look any different from the hundreds of other businessmen in the street: mid-forties, slightly overweight, receding hairline, slightly scrumpled dark grey pin-stripe suit, white shirt and red patterned tie. Charles assured me he was our man.
I followed him while he bought a lunchtime sandwich and returned to a small office in one of the smaller streets on the edge of the business district. After a suitable interval, I strolled up to the entrance. 'Carruthers and Co., Accountants' the sign said. It looked promising so I summoned my courage and went in. The office was on the first floor. A bored-looking receptionist looked up as I entered. She took my details, casually referred to a desk diary and gave me an appointment for Thursday at noon. I felt let down. It had almost been too easy.
On Wednesday I went back to work. Charles was amazed at my office with its banks of work-stations and filing cabinets and computers and started off again about how pathetic we humans were and how could we live in such an inefficient and disorganised manner and so on. I paid a quick visit to the gents where I told him to keep his comments very firmly to himself.
No-one seemed the least bit concerned that I had had two days 'sick leave' and I quickly settled back into the hum-drum routine that is my work. The one difference, and it was a large one was Charles's running comments on the female staff. I was amazed at how many were ready and willing. Some of them I would have guessed but some were quite a surprise. Charles reminded me that it wasn't them, it was me. It was my attitude towards them that dictated whether they would be 'willing'. He asked me, on more than one occasion, why I didn't just pull them aside and 'give them one'. Charles's approach to sex was crude in the extreme, but so was his approach to everything. I tried to explain that it wasn't worth the effort and, besides, if I spent all my day with my cock out I wouldn't get any work done.
The one exception I might make would be the Senior Manager's secretary - an extremely attractive brunette in her late twenties with killer legs. The problem was that, to put it politely, she took her position as the guardian of 'the man' and the most senior secretary in the building very seriously indeed. While most of us were on first name terms, she insisted on being addressed as 'Miss Rich'. Inevitably she was referred to as 'Miss Bitch' by everyone from the post boy to junior management. One day someone was going to slip up and call her that to her face.