'Are you OK man?' asked a fellow student employed as car wash and
yardman, and who had been witness to the cruel and unnecessary
assault. Being a nodding acquaintance at the uni he couldn't stand
by and do nothing, even though it might cost him his miserable job.
'It's Tim Pike isn't it?' he enquired, for want of nothing much
else to say.

'Yeah on both counts.' came the reply as he painfully eased himself
into a sitting position and onto a cleaner patch of shaded concrete
to lean back against the shiny bumper on one of a long line of
display cars. 'You're Eric Dutton aren't you, arts council and on
the Guild?' he grimaced feeling the bruising already beginning to
swell.

'Guilty.' Dutton said, sneaking a look back over the bonnet of the
car to check the salesmen or big Lucky weren't about to come over
and investigate. 'God I detest that fat bastard! If I wasn't so
desperate for the money I'd tell him to stick his rotten job. He's
been stiffing people with wrecks for years and getting away with
it. Even The Investigators couldn't touch him. I don't know how he
gets away with it, but he always does somehow.'

'Well I sure don't blame you for wanting to quit man, but big Lucky
boy needs a sharp lesson in good manners, to say nothing of
business ethics,  and in order to achieve this noble goal I could
use your help' Pike looked his confederate in the eye and went on
as the plan began to unfold at the speed of light. 'Wan'na see some
payback?'

'Sure thing! Nothing would give me greater pleasure than seeing
that pig get his comeuppance. What do you want me to do?'

'For a start don't let 'em see us talking. This has got to be
really cool. Here's my address. It's not too far from here. I'll
try to get that old bomb to the wreckers.' replied Pike, nodding at
the troublesome old Holden parked across the street. 'It might make
it that far. Meanwhile see if you can swipe me some of his letter
headed paper and get me all his fax/modem and phone numbers?'
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