The Last Collection

by Seymour Blicker

  Big Moshie had never had the slightest compunction about pulling off that kind of deal where the big machers were ripped off. In fact, he’d never had any reservations about conning anyone who was stupid and greedy enough, nor had Solly; that is, until now.

  Big Moishie had noticed him changing over the last year. It had come slowly. It was nothing he could put his finger on but there had been a change. He couldn’t define it, and if someone were to have asked him to explain himself, he would have been at a loss for words. Quieter, more subdued? Yes and no. He still talked as much as ever; was still forever telling stories. But . . . He couldn’t put his finger on it.

  If not for the telephone gaff, Big Moishie probably wouldn’t have given it much thought. It was Solly’s indecision about concluding the telephone gaff which convinced him that the Hawk had changed.

  Two years before, they had bought a large tract of land some seventy miles north of Montreal, after it had been brought to their attention by a very knowledgeable individual that the provincial government was seriously considering that particular site for a new university which would eventually accommodate forty to fifty thousand students and would be spread over as much as five hundred acres.

  They moved fast to buy up as much of the area as possible. Most of the land was barren and off the beaten track and was worth at most about $200.00 an acre. However, because the land was owned by many individuals, it took them a while to put it all together in a block and, as they went from one prospective seller to another, the word got around that someone was buying up land and the price rose so that, by the time they had made their final purchase, their cost averaged out to around $250.00 an acre. But they weren’t unhappy, knowing that in the not-too-distant future they would easily turn the land over for at least three or four times what they had paid for it. A cousin of Claude Lemay’s acted as front man to buy the land.

  There was an old farmhouse on the site and Lemay’s cousin moved in there rent-free and did a bit of truck farming. A back-to-back deed locked away in the safe in Solly and Big Moishie’s office showed that Lemay’s cousin had sold the land to them and that they were in fact the real owners.

  Unfortunately, things didn’t work out as they had expected. After a year had passed, the government announced that they had been planning a great university in the Laurentians but that this project was now postponed indefinitely. The Hawk and Big Moishie decided to unload their land. They weren’t interested in holding onto it now, especially when they could be putting their money into something with a fast return. The problem was that when they put the land up for sale, they not only couldn’t get their price but they couldn’t even make back their original investment.

  This, coupled with the fact that they had originally been hoping to make a substantial profit, disturbed them. It bothered them so much that, after receiving a few ridiculously low offers for the land, they decided to take Draconian measures to resolve their situation. They discussed it as they did all of their ventures, trying to come up with an idea, an approach, a solution.

  Then Solly decided to take a week off and go down to the Concord in the Catskills. It was there that the Hawk found what was to be the answer to their land problem in the person of Marvin Saltpeter.

  Marvin Saltpeter was a man looking to make a fast buck. He had money. Black-market money that he had made from his motel just outside of New York City. He was looking to get into something, preferably in land and preferably in Canada. He heard there were some big deals to be made in Canada. Americans were buying up land like crazy in Quebec. Solly let him talk. Occasionally he would drop a word here and there about land dealings. Saltpeter kept talking.

  Solly continued to drop the odd hint here and there, suggesting that he was more than knowledgeable about the real estate situation in Quebec; that he had access to sources which, if properly used, could make a man wealthy overnight. Saltpeter kept talking. Yes, he heard you could shmear in Quebec. That was a big thing in Quebec. Just like in South America. A little greasing in the right place and you could be a made man. Saltpeter’s eyes were bulging as he began to question Solly about everything. “He looked like he was going to shit in his pants,” was the way Solly had described Saltpeter’s excitement to Big Moishie.

  The Hawk hadn’t really planned to con Saltpeter, but the more Saltpeter talked, the more his greed became apparent. He seemed like a gigantic leech ready to suck up anything and everything that he could latch onto. Who did Solly know? Who could be reached? How? He’d show Solly his appreciation. He’d look after him. He loved land deals. He wanted a land deal. He needed a land deal. He had lots of money. Money was no object. Who did he have to talk to? Who did he have to shmear? When Solly finally made the decision to take Marvin Saltpeter, he felt a warm glow spread through him.

  Every man was greedy about something at one time or another, and most men, given the opportunity for unlimited gain, would take it without serious question, but the Hawk was a snob. Men could be greedy but they should at least have the class to keep it under control a little, to disguise it. He always felt that those who could not were potentially capable of the most evil acts and deeds.

  He set Marvin Saltpeter up for the kill. “Yes,” Solly told him. He knew the head of the Quebec Roads Planning Department. With the proper introduction, he could be reached. They were now planning a major extension of the Laurentian Autoroute. Solly had already bought up several sites over which the new road would pass. He’d see what he could do for Saltpeter. He would call him if he could set things up. That was the basic groundwork.

  Back home in Montreal, the Hawk and Big Moishie began to think how they would handle their fish now that they had him hooked. Finally, after many days of talking it over, they decided on a plan. The Quebec Roads Planning Department was located in the Confederation Building on Bleury Street. This government agency occupied the entire second floor of the structure. They inquired and found that there were a few small vacant offices on the third floor. Using a shell company, they rented one of these spaces on a month-to-month basis.

  Then they brought in an ex-Bell Telephone technician by the name of John Sanky. Sanky’s first job was to locate the main telephone conduit for the building. Once done, he found the cable leading to the main switchboard of the Roads Planning Department. He cut into this line and linked it up to a master console in the office on the third floor. This meant that any call destined for the offices of the Roads Planning Department would ring first on the master console in the office on the third floor.

  The idea then was that Solly would call Marvin Saltpeter in New York and tell him that he had set up a deal whereby Saltpeter would get certain inside information for a fee. Solly would say that he wanted to stay out of it and that Saltpeter could do the deal himself; that he had already spoken with the Chief of the Roads Planning Department who was expecting a telephone call from Saltpeter. Saltpeter would come up to Montreal. The clincher would be the telephone call. If Saltpeter had any doubts, he would look up the address and telephone number of the Roads Planning Department. He would see that they checked with the address and phone number given to him by the Hawk. Solly and Big Moishie were certain that this simple fact would erase any doubts in Saltpeter’s mind.

  He would call the number and ask for Mr. Guy Gervais, the head of the Department, identifying himself as Mr. Marvin Saltzman from New York. Waiting in the office on the third floor would be a woman usually used by Claude Lemay as part of his call-back system in his bookie operation. On the day when Marvin Saltpeter was to phone the offices of the Roads Planning Department, she would take all incoming calls. She would then pass all those calls, except Marvin Saltpeter’s, through to the main switchboard downstairs where the receptionist would deal with them in her normal manner.

  When Saltpeter called, Lemay’s woman would pass it off to a second phone next to her which would be answered by another female employee of Lemay’s. After all, someone in Guy Gervais’ position had to have his own private secretary. It
wouldn’t appear good if the call went directly to Lemay-Gervais. During the brief time that the receptionist and the secretary were on the phone with Saltpeter, a tape recorder would be playing, giving off background noises of a large bustling office—typewriters clacking, people, voices, etc.

  After the secretary answered the second phone, she would pass the call to a third phone, simultaneously shutting off the tape so that Saltpeter would get the effect of sudden quiet such as one would unconsciously expect in the office of a high government official.

  To carry the effect all the way through, Lemay would answer in French and carry on for a bit in that language even after Saltpeter had identified himself. After the preliminary introductions, Lemay would arrange a meeting at a rented house in the country. The house would be properly set up to suggest that it was the home of an important planner. One room would be set up as a work area, with drafting tables, large wall maps, graphs, aerial photographs and other relevant items.

  Lemay-Gervais would demand a relatively small payment up front of $4,000.00, and a document signed by Saltpeter stating that once he had sold off the land which he would purchase through Gervais’ tip, he would deposit ten percent of his profit on the transaction to an offshore company in Grenada. The idea was that the relatively small up-front payment would not get Saltpeter’s back up and give him any doubts about being ripped off immediately. However, if the small size of the initial payment gave him any doubts, these would be dissipated by the knowledge that he would have to make a substantial payoff after the land was sold.

  All in all it was a good plan and both Solly and Big Moishie had no doubts that it would work.

  Everything was set up and it remained only for the Hawk to call Marvin Saltpeter and get the ball rolling.

  And then suddenly Solly decided to hold off on the plan. He came into the office and said that he was having his doubts. He didn’t think it was a good plan. He didn’t think it would work and it was too risky.

  Big Moishie suspected—no, knew—that these were not the real reasons that were suddenly causing Solly to have second thoughts. Not only was it a good plan, it was an excellent plan. Any gaff of that general type was as good as the degree to which it hooked a sucker, and Marvin Saltpeter was hooked and hooked good. Before Solly had left Saltpeter at the Concord, he had given him an unlisted phone number in the event that Saltpeter wished to make contact. This phone was situated in another room, five floors above their business office in a space which had been rented for them by a front man so that it could never be traced to Solly or Big Moishie. A telephone answering device received all messages automatically, and it was checked daily.

  Saltpeter had been calling every day. He had the money; he was ready to shmear. Did Solly set it up yet? When could he come up to Montreal and meet Solly? Just give him an hour’s notice and he’d be up in a flash. Just give him the word.

  Then Solly would call back and tell him that Mr. Gervais, the head of the Roads Planning Department, was either out of town or sick or he wasn’t ready to deal as yet, or some other excuse.

  The more Solly delayed, the more eager Saltpeter became. Big Moishie had listened to all of Saltpeter’s messages. Those that had come in during the last few days were semi-hysterical pleadings of a man who sounded like he was at the end of his rope. By the very tone of his voice, let alone his actual words, Big Moishie knew they had a classic mooch on the hook. They had a man who was certain that he was about to grab the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Their plan would work all right. It would work all by itself; and as far as the risk was concerned, it was minimal. In any event, they didn’t argue about Solly’s temporary reluctance to proceed. Big Moishie figured that Solly had his own reasons and eventually would make them known to him. He had decided not to force the issue, and if not for the fact that Solly had suddenly taken on the collection for Morrie Hankleman, Big Moishie would have let things lie. But now he was bothered to the point of distraction. He couldn’t figure it but he knew there was something wrong somewhere.

  Chapter Six

  It took Morrie Hankleman only about ten minutes after leaving the office of Solly Weisskopf and Moishie Mandelberg to begin regretting that he had hired them. He had become over-anxious. He should have persisted in his efforts on his own for a little longer and it would have paid off. He just knew it.

  Suddenly he was no longer impressed with Solly Weisskopf. He didn’t seem particularly clever. There were probably a thousand hoods in town who were just as smart and just as tough.

  Now he was going to be out almost five thousand dollars. The more he thought about it, the more upset he became. Why had he been so afraid of hiring a few hoods for a hundred dollars? That was what he had originally thought of doing. That was what he now knew with certainty he should have done. Why should this unimpressive little man be more effective than a couple of six-foot musclemen?

  Morrie Hankleman could feel his ulcer acting up. Five thousand down the drain, he thought. But maybe it wasn’t too late. If he could get to Kerner right away and threaten him with the name of a real person, Kerner might cough up all the money immediately and no one would be the wiser.

  There was a good possibility that Kerner might recognize the name of Solly Weisskopf or, if he didn’t, he would probably check it out and be informed of his reputation.

  Weisskopf had said it would be a day or two before he contacted Kerner. He would be waiting for Hankleman’s file on him before moving in. Well, he would send the file but, at the same time, he would go and see Kerner immediately. If he was successful and Kerner came up with the money, he would simply call the Hawk and tell him the deal was off. If he was unsuccessful, he would just have to let things ride.

  Morrie Hankleman felt his ulcer biting at him. It was as though he had Artie Kerner inside him, gnawing at his guts. Hankleman accelerated the car. One way or another, he was going to shit him out.

  Chapter Seven

  Artie Kerner sat alone in his office, feeling that there was no hope left for him.

  He looked wearily around and felt the silence of the office weighing him down. Not too long ago there had been activity in those surroundings. He’d had a secretary, a bookkeeper, a general manager and a crew of six in the shipping department. Now there was no one. They were all gone and soon he would be completely finished.

  He felt tired, tired enough to put his head down on the desk and fall asleep. But he knew that would solve nothing and eventually when he awoke, everything would still be there and he would still be faced with all his problems.

  Maybe it would be better if he went to sleep and never woke up, he thought. He was overwhelmed by a panic so great that he was instantly drenched by a cold sweat. He found himself gripping the edge of the desk.

  He had an urge to leap from his seat and run but he didn’t know where he would run to. He got out of his chair and went quickly outside, drawing in large breaths of air. Cold sweat was still forming on his forehead and he could hear his heart pounding in his rib cage. Kerner put both hands to his head and squeezed them against his temples, trying to control himself. He wanted someone to talk to; someone who would understand and care; a friend; but he had no friends.

  Why had he never made any friends? Was it by choice or by chance? . . . Or neither. Maybe it was because he had never trusted anyone. Someone had once said that it was better to trust and take the chance of being deceived by one’s friends than to shame oneself by not trusting them. Maybe that was why he had no friend to comfort him now.

  As he thought this, he suddenly heard the words of Dr. Lehman, the psychiatrist, sounding in his head.

  “You’re a shlepper, Kerner! You have no faith!”

  Artie Kerner went back into his office and dialed the number of Dr. Lehman.

  Chapter Eight

  An hour after Morrie Hankleman had left the office, Big Moishie was still aggravated. He disliked everything about Hankleman. For some reason, the fact that Solly had agreed to take on the collection job for
him infuriated Big Moishie—particularly since he was still undecided on finishing their deal with Marvin Saltpeter. The more he thought about it, the more angry he became. He glanced over at the Hawk who was busy scanning the morning newspaper. The air had to be cleared, Big Moishie thought to himself, and the time to do it was now.

  “Solly,” Big Moishie said.

  The Hawk looked up from his desk. “Yeah?”

  “We got to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About you.”

  “So let’s talk,” the Hawk said.

  The big man began to nod his head. “Okay . . .”

  The Hawk waited expectantly. He was quite certain he knew what his partner was about to discuss and he was glad.

  “For twenty-two years there’s been no bullshit between us. Right?”

  “Right,” the Hawk said, giving a short emphatic nod.

  “As a matter of fact, even when we were kids there was no bullshit.”

  “Dats true, Moishe.”

  “But now I don’t feel right. . . .”

  “You mean, because of de Saltpeter deal?” the Hawk asked.

  “Yes, that’s it. I can’t figure it out. You tell me it’s no good, it can’t work, he’s not hooked.”

  Solly nodded slightly and didn’t interrupt.

  “I have too much respect for you and too much faith in you to believe that you really mean that. . . . I know he’s hooked and because I know it, then I know that you know it too. Which is why I can’t figure it out.”

  Solly lit up a cigarette as Big Moishie went on.

  “You heard the last call he made. The man was hysterical. He was begging you to set the deal up. He sounded like he was ready to crack up. We could do anything we want with him. We could take him for every cent he’s got. You know it and I know it. Am I right, Solly?”