The Last Collection

by Seymour Blicker

  “How come?” Solly asked, his face showing no expression.

  “How come? Because he won’t pay up.”

  “So why dontcha sue em?”

  “Sue him?”

  “Yeah, sue em. If somebody owes you money, you sue em. Right?”

  “Well . . . normally yes; but in this case I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well . . . you see . . .”

  “Look, what’s de story? Are you a shylock?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “What sort of? Eidder you’re a shylock or you’re not a shylock. So whad is it?”

  “Yes, I guess you could call me that. Yes. Yes, I am. I mean, I just started off in the business.”

  “Okay, so you lent a mooch money an he don wanna pay up. Is dat right?”

  “That’s right. Artie Kerner. That’s his name.”

  “How much does he owe?”

  “Approximately thirteen thousand dollars.”

  The Hawk smiled inwardly. It was a nice amount.

  “So how come he won’t pay?”

  “I don’t know. He says he’s good for the money but he needs more time. He was supposed to pay me back a month ago.”

  “How much interest are you charging dis guy?”

  “Well . . . that’s sort of personal . . . I mean.”

  “Throw him out,” Big Moishie grunted suddenly without bothering to look up.

  Solly raised his hand as though to calm his partner. “Mr. Mandelberg is very sensitive about being trusted by everyone who we take on a job for,” the Hawk said quietly.

  “So Mr. Weisskopf asked you a question. What rate of interest did you charge this Kerner?” Big Moishie said gruffly.

  “Twenty percent a month,” Hankleman said grudgingly.

  “Five points a week. So he was paying you like aroun five hunnert a week vigorish?”

  “No. It was a closed-end type of deal. I loaned him $9,000.00. After thirty days he was supposed to pay me back $11,000.00. But he said he didn’t have it. Now it’s almost two months, so he owes me about $13,000.00.”

  “He didn’t offer ta give you nutting?”

  “No. He’s trying to burn me. I know it. When he first came to me, he told me that he had just made a big loan from the bank and that they wouldn’t extend him any more credit. He has a small chemical business that he started a few years ago. He told me he made the bank loan to enlarge his warehouse but he needed a little extra which the banks wouldn’t give him. I believed him. I checked him out. On paper he looked good. I got a credit report on him from Canada Investors. They said he was solvent; that he had a going concern. It looks like he paid someone off there to give him a good rating because, a little later, I found out he was in big trouble. Right now I hear he’s on the verge of bankruptcy. For all I know, he’s getting ready to blow town. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “If you were smart, you would have had him pay you interest each week,” Big Moishie said matter-of-factly.

  “Yes. Yes. I know,” Hankleman replied.

  “So why dontcha do dat now?” the Hawk asked. “Let em start paying you five, six hunnert a week.”

  “No, I just want the whole thing right away.”

  “Maybe take a piece of his business,” the Hawk suggested.

  “No, he wouldn’t go for that. And besides, like I said, it’s not worth anything anyway. He’s probably going to fail. I just want all that he owes me right away. I know he can come up with it.”

  “How do you know?” Big Moishie asked.

  “I know the type of person he is. He’s got money stashed somewhere. He’s just trying to burn me.”

  “You tink he was planning ta bail out even when he made de loan from you?”

  “To bail out?” Hankleman said.

  “To go bankrupt.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Probably. I heard that at one time he had a good business. Now all of a sudden it’s supposed to be worth nothing. So he must have been pulling a lot of money out.”

  “In my experience, Mr. Hankleman, de kine of person what goes to a shylock does not go to him wid de idea of shafting him.”

  “I’m not saying he initially planned to rip me off. I’m just saying that he’s trying to do that now.”

  “Does he gamble, dis Kerner?”

  “I don’t know. I hear he’s something of a playboy.”

  “He goes for de broads, eh?”

  “That’s what I heard but I don’t know for certain.”

  “Has he got a family or something here?” the Hawk asked.

  “Not as far as I know. You can be sure if he had any family I would have gone to them and put the pressure on them. I would have threatened the ass off this Kerner through his family if he had one.”

  The Hawk shrugged. He knew if he glanced over at Big Moishie he would find that he was steaming. It was an unwritten but well-understood rule that they never involved a debtor’s family in any of their collections. They would never try and get to a man through his family even if he was the most vicious bastard.

  “You know dat we usually only do our own collecting, Mr. Hankleman,” the Hawk said.

  “Well, I heard that you sometimes did some free-lance work.”

  “Yeah, I used t’do a liddle but lately nutting much. I’m not so young like I used to be. Anyway, whadda ya need somebody like me. You could get a couple of boys ta do what you need.”

  “No, I need someone who knows what he’s doing. I can’t afford any flack, if you know what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” Big Moishie asked gruffly.

  “Just what I said. I need someone who can collect my money efficiently,” Hankleman said, turning towards Moishie Mandelberg.

  “Just for the record, Mr. Hankleman, I want you to know beforehand that, in spite of anything you may have heard, we don’t lay a finger on anyone.”

  “Of course. Of course. I understand,” Hankleman said quickly to Big Moishie.

  Solly could see the slightest suggestion of a knowing smirk at a corner of Morrie Hankleman’s mouth.

  “That’s why I wanted Mr. Weisskopf to do this job.” Hankleman turned back to face the Hawk. “I heard that if anyone could collect without causing any waves, it was you.”

  Solly the Hawk just stared at Morrie Hankleman.

  “Look, I just started in this business,” Hankleman said, a slight whine in his voice. “I’ve got to collect this fast, otherwise the word might get around that I was taken. Then I’ll be finished before I even started. I can kiss my ass goodbye in this business.”

  For a long moment the Hawk just stared at Hankleman who fidgeted slightly in his seat. The Hawk glanced over at his partner who looked away, picked up the phone and began dialing.

  Solly looked back at Hankleman. “Okay, I’ll take dis ting on. My fee is turdy-five percent of whatever I collec from de mooch.”

  “Thirty-five percent!” Hankleman gasped. “That’s almost $5,000.00!”

  “Throw him out,” Big Moishie suddenly muttered, slamming the receiver down.

  “Wait . . . wait. Take it easy,” Morrie Hankleman said loudly, raising a conciliatory hand. “Look, I’m new to this game. All right, I accept those terms. It’s a deal. It’s better than nothing, I guess.”

  “Better than nothing!” Big Moishie shouted, jumping out of his seat. “Don’t do us any favours, my friend. I don’t need you here to insult us.”

  “Who’s insulting? Look, all I meant was . . .”

  Big Moishie cut him off. “You go after this Kerner yourself and you’ll end up with a pile of dreck in your hand.” He sat down slowly.

  “Look. Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to insult anyone here. It’s just that it’s a lot of money,” Hankleman said, attempting to sound contrite.

  “It’s a lot of money, but $13,000.00 is even more, so if you think thirty-five percent is too much, the door is over there” Big Moishie said, pointing behind Hankleman.

  “Look, I apologize. It’s
a deal,” Hankleman said.

  “Outside you’ll find lots of hooligans,” Big Moishie continued. “For fifty bucks apiece they’ll do whatever you tell them. You want a head broken, they’ll break you a head; you want an arm broken, they’ll break you an arm; you want two, they’ll break you two. But I don’t have to tell you what will happen to your money. If you’re lucky and they don’t kill him, maybe, just maybe, you’ll get something back. But the chances are you’ll end up talking with the police and you’ll be up shits creek without a paddle. Solly Weisskopf is an artist, my friend. The Picasso of this business, for your information. You should be thankful it’s only costing you thirty-five percent.”

  The Hawk raised a hand as though to pacify his partner whose face was now puffed to twice its normal size. Big Moishie calmed down and continued talking in a more tempered voice.

  “To collect money in this business takes brains, not brawn, Mr. Hankleman. This is what separates the men from the boys, the artist from the journeyman, the Hawk from the shleppers.” The big man sank back in his seat.

  “Look, I apologize. I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I understand what you’re saying. That’s why I came to you. I know you’re the best. That’s why I’m here. Thirty-five percent is great. I’m sorry if I . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” the Hawk said with a wave. “We’ll take it on. But deres like a few conditions dat we have.”

  “Sure. Sure. You name it,” Hankleman said eagerly.

  “Number one. We got turdy days to deliver de goods. Of course, dats wid de unnerstanning dat if it should take dat long den we get dis guy Kerner ta come up wid an extra amount equal to de twenny percent interest.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Hankleman said, nodding.

  “I mean, who knows. Maybe I’ll be able ta deliver like in a week, but in any case I need turdy days maximum. Okay?”

  “Sure. Sure. That’s fine.”

  “Number two. From dis minute on you gotta have nutting ta do wid dis guy. You jus like lay off. Don call em; don talk to em. Don send em no letters. Okay?”

  “Sure,” Hankleman replied. “I’ll leave it entirely in your hands.”

  “Dats good,” the Hawk said. “So we got a deal here. We don’t need no papers. Our word is our agreement.”

  “We don’t even have to shake hands on it,” Big Moishie said.

  “Right,” the Hawk added, remembering Hankleman’s hands. “We don even gotta shake hands.”

  “That’s all fine with me,” Hankleman said, smiling.

  “Now have you got anyting like a file on dis Kerner guy?”

  “Yes, I have a file on him. It’s nothing much.”

  “Send it over to me. It could give me a liddle edge to make tings easier. Ya never know.”

  “Sure, I’ll send it over.”

  “Once I know a liddle bit more about dis guy, I’ll like pay em a liddle visit an have like a liddle talk wid em. I can’t promise you nutting but usually I deliver.”

  “That’s great, Mr. Weisskopf. Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  Morrie Hankleman stood up and extended his hand to Solly. The Hawk winced as he took the wet, sticky hand in his own. Hankleman released Solly’s hand and started towards Moishie Mandelberg’s desk with the same sticky, wet hand extended, but Big Moishie had already pretended to have dropped something on the floor and was now hunched below the desk as though searching for it.

  “We’ll be speaking to you, Mr. Hankleman,” Big Moishie said, showing no inclination to come out of hiding.

  “Yes. Well, thank you, and I’ll wait for your call.”

  Hankleman turned and went out. Solly wiped his hand on his pants’ leg.

  “He got you, eh?” Big Moishie said with a laugh as he lifted himself back into his seat.

  “I couldn’t get away,” the Hawk said with a chuckle.

  “We should each keep a fake hand in the office for when he comes around. Every time he comes we slip the fake hand up our sleeve and let him grab it.”

  Big Moishie began to laugh and the Hawk joined him. After a moment the big man grew serious.

  “I don’t like that guy and I don’t trust him.”

  “Nutting to worry,” Solly the Hawk said.

  “He’s a mooch. I smelled him out the minute I saw him at the party last night.”

  “Nutting to worry,” the Hawk replied. “It could be like a very easy five gees.”

  “Just be careful when you talk with him again, and make sure to find out the whole story about this Kerner.”

  “Don worry. I’ll check him out careful like.”

  “Yes. Be careful.”

  “You know I’m always careful.”

  “This time be extra careful. I just don’t like this deal. I don’t know why. I just don’t.”

  “Nutting to worry,” the Hawk said laconically. “Nutting to worry.”

  Chapter Five

  When Solly the Hawk said there was nothing to worry about, he meant it, and the one person who knew to take him at his word was Big Moishie Mandelberg.

  They had been partners for twenty-two years. Moishie had started things off when he had parlayed a fifty-dollar bet at the track into a fifteen-hundred-dollar stake. He decided to put the money out on the streets. Within a few months, he had a going concern dealing mostly with compulsive gamblers, small-time hoods and frappers. A few years later, he hired Solly as a collector on a commission basis. The Hawk was so effective in carrying out his responsibilities that they soon formed a partnership. However, it was not only the Hawk’s abilities as a collector that appealed to Big Moishie, it was also his talents as a thinker. In fact, Moishie knew that Solly’s success was due more to his intelligence than his muscle.

  To the people who knew about Solly the Hawk, he was simply a tough, ruthless man who didn’t take no for an answer; but to Big Moishie who really knew him, he was anything but that. Tough? Yes. Physically there was no one tougher. Even as a boy on City Hall Street there was no one who could beat him. Ruthless? Yes, but only if he was up against a ruthless person. The real truth about Solly and the key to his success as a collector was that he was a master psychologist. The thought had occurred to Big Moishie more than once that had Solly come from a different background, he could have—would have, without a doubt—become a famous man.

  The Hawk had saichel—insight, judgement and common sense. Along with this he had imagination and courage.

  And he applied these qualities when it came time to go out in the streets and collect.

  In the early days when they were first getting the business off the ground and when their clients were of questionable character, the Hawk had to rely more on his toughness and his courage than on his intellect. As the business grew, however, they were able to become more selective in their choice of clients to a point where they were dealing in most cases with businessmen, bookies and people of some means. They were people who, for one reason or another, had gotten over-extended and needed cash in a hurry.

  There were very few problems and, where difficulties did arise, they were resolved in most cases by Solly going and, as he put it, ‘having a liddle talk wid dem.’ A little talk by the Hawk usually cleared things up in a hurry.

  The thing that Big Moishie could never quite understand was why the Hawk enjoyed collecting so much. There were times when he felt that Solly was actually hoping he would have to go out and have a little talk with someone. Big Moishie liked nothing better than to sit in his office and not move a muscle. People would come, people would go. Deals would be made. Big Moishie would sit. They came to him. There was no reason for him to move. If they didn’t come to him, there was always the telephone. Why should he have to get up and run around?

  Solly, on the other hand, was always on pins and needles. He couldn’t stand the office. He had to be on the move. He was always ready to pay someone a little visit; always prepared at the drop of a hat to go have a little talk with someone who was in arrears on a payment.

 
; As their own venture became more successful, Solly had more and more time on his hands. With his partner’s approval, he began to take on free-lance jobs. At the same time, he began concentrating more on various ways to beat the system, which to him was basically corrupt, full of loopholes and run mostly by wolves with voracious appetites. Next to collecting he most enjoyed thinking up gaffs, and over the years he and Moishie had come up with some ingenious schemes for ripping off the system or the players in it. There was a point where they had so many good ideas that they opened a consulting service to sell them for a sizeable fee, but soon stopped when they saw their ideas were often wasted by incompetents.

  Sometimes one of them would come up with a plan that could keep them busy for weeks or even months. The record gaff was one such deal.

  Solly had discovered from a friend who owned a music store that a major record company had a very interesting sales incentive policy. In order to encourage the retailers to carry their label, they offered a plan whereby at the end of the year the retailers could return any unsold records and receive a rebate of $3.00 per disc. The company would then sell these returned records to discount stores or jobbers for $1.00 apiece.

  The Hawk quickly made contact with half a dozen acquaintances in the retail record business to set things up. Then, acting as a jobber, he began buying huge lots of records at $1.00 apiece from the manufacturer. He brought them to those stores with whom he had made arrangements. The store owners then returned them to the manufacturer for $3.00. For his trouble, the store owner kept a dollar; Solly and Big Moishie took two.

  It took almost three months before the record company wised up and that was due only to the greed of one of the retailers who tried to go into this on his own and inadvertently tipped the manufacturer.

  Before it all came to an end, however, Solly and Big Moishie had made something in the vicinity of $28,000.00. This particular scheme was one of their all-time favourites in terms of the amount of satisfaction it had given them. It was a scheme which had taken advantage of a loophole in the system. They had found the loophole and exploited it. And it was all legal.

  It was clean. True, someone had to lose somewhere along the line. Better it be a gigantic record company with a hundred subsidiaries worth a half-billion dollars than some poor shmuck who would get sucked into a deal through his own greed and lose his pants.