Happy Days

 

Winter was summoned to breakfast at Sandown Road.  Mackenzie’s  house was a big red-brick Edwardian villa with huge windows and an upstairs glimpse of the sea beyond the tennis courts at the end of the road.  Bazza and his wife Marie had been living here for a while now,  his most visible downpayment on a new life amongst Southsea’s monied professionals.  Regular dinner parties and summer barbeques had fattened his address book and - according to Marie - he’d recently treated himself to golf lessons at a pricey resort complex on the mainland.

Winter had phoned Mackenzie earlier,  demanding an urgent meet,  and when Bazza had inquired why he’d just laughed.  For nearly a year now,  there’d been only one subject to justify this kind of conversation:  money.  The Mackenzie empire,  beseiged on all sides by the recession,  was leaking funds at an alarming rate.  The company accountant,  a talented refugee from the Inland Revenue with a finger in all kinds of city pies,  had long been telling his boss that he had to start selling assets but Bazza was temperamentally incapable of throwing the corporate gearstick into reverse.  Making any kind of retreat simply wasn’t his style.  You got richer by taking risks.  You survived by holding your nerve.  One day,  hopefully soon,   the market would turn.  In the meantime,  you manned the battlements,  laid in stocks of boiling oil,  and repelled all boarders.

The big family kitchen was at the back of the house.  Winter skirted the swimming pool and stepped in from the rain.  Marie was laying the table.  The smell of grilling bacon put a smile on Winter’s face.

"Who else are we expecting?"  There were four places at the long wooden table.

"Leo.  He’s been with Baz for a while now."  She nodded towards the door.   "He wants you to join them."

Winter shed his dripping raincoat and made his way through the adjacent living room to Mackenzie’s den.  It was still early,  barely nine’o clock.  It wouldn’t surprise him if Leo Kinder had moved in,  sparing himself the near-daily commute from his trophy cottage out in the country.  Misty was right.  The world of politics had gone to Bazza’s head.  Only last week he’d described it as the new cocaine.  Only better.

Kinder was a sleek thirty-something with a passion for designer jeans and crisp white collarless shirts.  Most days he affected a hint of designer stubble and just now,  to Winter’s alarm,  he occupied the leather recliner Mackenzie reserved for special guests.  This,  as Winter knew only too well,  meant that Bazza’s political guru,  the company spaniel,  had emerged from the long grass with something especially tasty.

"Listen to this,  mush."  Mackenzie waved Winter into the other chair.  "Leo’s come up with a media strategy for the big one.  He’s got the mainstream lot sorted already.  Remember the stuff we had in the Guardian?  The Telegraph?  Lots more of that to come.  But here’s the kicker.  We go into social media.  Big time.  We blitz it.  We tie the whole fucking city up in knots.  We get in their face.  We go undercover.  We go viral.   It’s votes,  mush.  It’s all about votes.  We set up these wierdo sockpuppet accounts and invite all those monkeys out there to join the party.  Not any old party.  But my party,  our party - "  he broke off suddenly and shot a look at Kinder.  "Sockpuppet accounts?  Have I got that right?"

"You have,  Baz."  Kinder granted him a nod of approval,  then switched his attention to Winter.  "It’s a group thing on Facebook.  You make up a name and an e-mail address,  plant whatever seeds you like,  and then step back and let it happen.  You have to keep control,  of course,  but no one has a clue what you’re up to or who you really are.  In my game you need to boss the agenda.  This is one way of doing it."

"There are others?"

"Lots.  Twitter.  Getting stuck into the big aggregrators.  Digg.  Reddit.  Targetting specific forums.  How much time have you got?"

Winter shrugged,  aware of the blaze of light in Bazza’s eyes.  Switching him on had never been a problem,  as Leo Kinder had quickly discovered.

Mackenzie was sitting at his desk.  He swivelled towards his PC,  and reached for the keyboard.

"Take a look at this,  mush."

Winter found himself staring at a logo.  The distinctive silhouette of the Spinnaker Tower reared out of an eye-popping wash of yellows and reds.  Put it on a bottle of crap lager,  Winter thought,  and you might just risk a mouthful or two.  Mackenzie bent to the keyboard again.   Two words appeared beneath the same image:  Pompey First.

"Brilliant,  or what?"   Bazza shook his head in admiration.

Winter was still gazing at the screen.  He’d heard this phrase before in muttered conversations between Kinder and his boss but had always ignored it.

"This is some kind of political party?"

"An aspiration,  Paul."  It was Kinder.  "We’ll need to badge the campaign,  give it punch and presence.  Starting a political party from scratch is a nightmare."

"Yeah."  A vigorous nod from Bazza.  "All kinds of bollocks.  Right,  Leo?"

"Right.  This way we get round all the nonsense from the Electoral Commission.  Baz will be campaigning as an Independent.  That’s exactly what it’ll say on the polling slip.  But as far as the rest of it’s concerned,  Baz is Pompey First.  That’s the way it works.  That’s the retail offer on all the stuff we’re going to be putting out.  That’s what we’re selling here."

"Pompey First?"

"Exactly.  And seventy thousand voters is a nice place to start."

Winter nodded.  His knowledge of the local political scene was rudimentary.  The city was divided into two constituencies,  Pompey North and Pompey South. 

"So what are you going for,  Baz?  Where does all this stuff of yours end up?"

"Pompey North."  He gestured towards the window.  "I’m a Copnor boy,  remember.  It’s home turf,  my patch,  and Leo thinks it’s winnable.  You know what MP stands for?"

"Tell me."

"Mr Pompey."  He grinned.  "That’s me,  mush."