The Last Collection

by Seymour Blicker

  He had played his cards well in spite of his anger and frustration. He had accomplished what he had gone there for. He knew now, beyond any doubt, that they were playing some game where they would try to make him the loser. They were cute, real cute, he thought; but he was cuter. It was frustrating to have an edge on someone as he did and not be able to use it to any advantage. In terms of the frustration it had caused him, it would almost have been better not to have known about Weisskopf’s strange meeting with Kerner. The only way he could have used his information about that meeting would have been to confront them directly with it. But that would have been foolish and would have accomplished nothing. It would have given him some momentary satisfaction to see their surprise; but what was that worth? Then they would realize that he hadn’t trusted them from the start and they would feel justified in going all out to shaft him. It was better that he had controlled his frustration and said nothing. Let them think he was stupid. In the long run he would get them, and his satisfaction would be far greater when they realized he had been on to them from the very beginning.

  Hankleman reached the men’s room and went in. He went up to the urinal and unzipped his fly. He glanced about the small room and saw that he was alone. Chuckling to himself, he began to urinate on the floor.

  Yes, he thought, Weisskopf and Mandelberg were real cute, but he was cuter. He had shown them that he wasn’t a pushover, that he wasn’t afraid to stand up to them. He had put some pressure on them and let them know who they were dealing with. He had threatened to dispense with their services just to the right degree. Just enough to get them a little nervous and maybe give them some second thoughts about any games they were planning to play, and not too much to force the issue to the point where face saving was necessary, or to the point where they might suspect he was on to them. Yes, he had played his cards perfectly. He was glad he had controlled himself.

  Hankleman zipped up his fly and stepped around the puddle he had made on the floor. He went over to the sink. Now Weisskopf and Mandelberg would have to move fast. Whatever it was that they were planning would have to be done within the next few days and he would be ready for them. He would know what they were up to almost as soon as they knew themselves.

  Hankleman washed his hands then yanked several paper towels out of the dispenser above the sink. He wiped his hands and threw the towels into the sink, leaving the cold-water tap on. He walked to the door, opened it and started to go out. Suddenly he froze. He was certain Artie Kerner had just passed by. Hankleman peeked his head around the corner of the doorjamb. It was Kerner, and he was obviously headed for the office of Weisskopf and Mandelberg. Hankleman watched as Kerner stopped outside their door, buttoned his jacket and went in.

  Hankleman could feel his chest tighten. He began to laugh to himself. He went out into the corridor and headed towards the elevator. Another bit of information to confirm what he was already convinced of.

  It made him feel good to see Kerner go into that office. He was glad Kerner had gone into that office! Hankleman stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the button.

  A few minutes before, he might have had misgivings or doubts concerning his next move but not anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ater Solly Weisskopf had introduced Artie Kerner to his partner, he motioned for Kerner to take a seat on the large leather sofa between the two desks. Kerner sat down and the Hawk joined him. Big Moishie remained at his own desk.

  “Would ya like a coffee, Arter?” the Hawk asked.

  “No, thank you,” Kerner replied.

  “Maybe a tea?”

  “No. Nothing, thanks.”

  The Hawk gave a little nod. “Anyway, I’m glad you came down here, Arter. I tried ta reach you yesterday but I couldn’t. I wanted ta talk wid you some more about your problem wid Hankleman.”

  “Well, that’s why I came down here.”

  The Hawk lifted his eyebrows slightly.

  “I’ve done a lot of thinking since yesterday morning when . . . we met. As a matter of fact, yesterday morning seems like weeks ago. Well, anyway, I’m going to have Mr. Hankleman’s money in about a week.”

  The Hawk turned slowly and deliberately to face his partner. He pointed a finger at him. “Ahh?” he said to Big Moishie.

  Big Moishie nodded slowly.

  The Hawk chuckled gleefully, still pointing at his partner. “I told you de kid had class, eh?”

  Moishie Mandelberg nodded again.

  Kerner’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men as he tried to make some sense out of what was going on.

  The Hawk turned back to Kerner. “I’m really glad t’hear what ya jus told me, Arter; but wid reference to what we discussed yesterday, can I ask like how yer gonna manage it?”

  “Well, I decided to make a big change in my life.”

  “A big change?”

  “Yes, I’ve decided to sell everything.”

  “Everything?” the Hawk said, dumbfounded.

  “Yes, everything.”

  “But it’s gonna make you feel very sick, no?”

  “Yes, I guess so, but I decided to go all the way. I can’t go on like I’ve been doing. It’s really crazy.”

  “Lissen, Arter, it’s not really necessary ta do dat. It might be better ta do it like slower. In fact, dats what I wanted ta talk wid you about. We decided ta do someting here which might make it easier fer you. . . . Ya see, like when we took over dis collection, our end was gonna be turdy-five percent of what we got from you. You unnerstan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dat means our end is like aroun five gees. Right?”

  “Yes,” Kerner said, nodding.

  “But now we decided, me an my partner, for our own personal reasons, which you shouldn bodder yerself wid, dat we’re not interested in our end. You unnerstan?”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Kerner replied.

  “It means dat you only gotta come up wid about eight gees. De rest you can forget.”

  “Jesus! That’s very nice of you,” Kerner exclaimed.

  “It’s no big deal,” the Hawk replied, shrugging.

  “It is,” Kerner replied.

  The Hawk shook his head. “Naw.”

  “Well, I appreciate it. It’s hard to believe. It’s . . .”

  “It’s no big deal,” the Hawk repeated. “But now maybe you should tink about only selling enough ta make de eight gees.”

  “I don’t think it’ll make any difference if I sell eight-thousand-dollars’ worth of my stuff or all of it. Either way it’s going to be hard, but I have a feeling it may be better to go for broke. In any case, what I’m really trying to do is change my whole way of life. I’m selling my business too, for what little it’s worth right now.”

  “Whadda ya gonna do?” the Hawk asked with amazement.

  “I’m going to pack it all in here and move to Israel. I’m going to change my whole life. I’m going to work on a kibbutz and see what it’s like.”

  The Hawk shook his head. “That’s a very big step, a very big step.”

  “Yes, I know. But I’m going to do it. That’s why I have to settle all my accounts here. In fact, that’s why, even though I really appreciate your offer to let me off for the five thousand dollars, I’m going to pay it all back. I owe Mr. Hankleman thirteen thousand and I feel I have to pay it all up. I’m just sorry I caused this whole bloody problem for everyone.”

  “Look, dats life, Arter. Dese tings happen. You know?”

  “Yes, that’s true. I just hope you’re not offended by my wanting to pay it all back.”

  “We’re never offended when someone offers to give us money,” Big Moishie said.

  Kerner turned towards the big man. “I just don’t want to owe anyone,” he said.

  “We unnerstan, Arter.”

  “But I really appreciate your offer. It’s the most generous thing I’ve ever heard of.”

  “Forget it. We had our reasons for it,” the Hawk said.
/>   “What about your business?” Big Moishie asked.

  “I’m going to sell that as well. Mind you, it’s not worth very much right now. I’ve got a few debts which I’ll pay off and then I’ll try to sell it.”

  “How much do you owe?”

  Kerner shrugged. “About twenty thousand. I had hoped to make a couple of big sales in the last few weeks but it doesn’t seem very likely right now. Anyways, in view of my new plans, it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Maybe you should bail out,” the Hawk said.

  “Declare bankruptcy?” Kerner shook his head. “No, I couldn’t do it. I thought about it but now there’s no point. When I sell my stuff I’ll have the money to pay back what I owe.”

  “By the time you’re finished wid your business and wid Hankleman, you’ll be left widout a jit,” the Hawk said.

  “Well, I won’t need it on the kibbutz,” Kerner replied with a shrug.

  “Look, bankruptcy is nothing to feel guilty about. The act was written expressly to help people when they get into a jackpot,” Big Moishie said.

  “I realize that; but I got into this jackpot myself and I don’t feel right about not paying what I owe, especially if I’m going to have the money.”

  The Hawk nodded slowly. “Well, you know what ya gotta do. But if you change your mind, it’s okay wid us.”

  “Thank you. It’s really very generous of you,” Kerner said, rising.

  He shook hands with the Hawk and then with Moishie Mandelberg.

  “Thank you again,” Kerner said. “Thank you very much.”

  “No problem. We’ll see ya around eh?” the Hawk said as Kerner opened the door.

  “I’ll see you. Thanks. Thanks a lot.” He went out, closing the door behind him.

  As he passed the secretary, Kerner glanced down at her, staring directly and unabashedly at her breasts. She looked up, caught his eye and smiled slyly at him. Kerner smiled back.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Kerner,” the secretary said, purposefully moving her tongue slowly along the length of her lips.

  “Bye,” Kerner replied and went out into the hall. As he headed for the elevator, he was suddenly surprised and elated as he realized he had an erection.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Morrie Hankleman sat at his desk trying to work his way through the pile of papers in front of him. To his left were letters, leases and other documents pertaining to his apartment buildings. To his right was a large, black loose-leaf folder with the word ‘Proposals’ taped across the front cover. This binder contained an outline of the various ideas and inventions that Hankleman had been actively soliciting for possible financing over a period of several months. Some of the presentations in the book were quite good. A few were potentially real moneymakers, in Morrie Hankleman’s opinion; and before his problem with Artie Kerner had arisen, he had been close to deciding which proposal to back. After having studied several hundred submissions, he had managed to narrow the field down to three.

  Hankleman pushed the folder away, swivelled his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it. He was almost ready to roll again. For the first time in weeks, he was able to concentrate on something other than his problem with Artie Kerner. Since that difficulty had developed, he had ignored everything else.

  Now, however, as he sat at his desk, he realized that although the anger that had been fuming inside him was still there, it had settled and he was on top of it. He felt calm, almost relaxed, yet at the same time very sharp and lucid.

  He suspected that this unusual state was partly due to the fact that his wife had left. He had known she would leave. He had almost planned it that way. He hadn’t planned to get her pregnant, but he knew that his insistence on her having an abortion would force her into leaving. He felt free—in a way, more free than he had felt after his coup on the stock market. He knew this was it. This time she wouldn’t be back. He was sure a letter or call would soon arrive from her lawyer informing him that divorce proceedings had been initiated.

  For a moment he tried to estimate what he’d have to shell out in the way of alimony. Hopefully, if his accountant and his lawyer were worth their salt, he might get away with five or six hundred a month.

  Yes, his wife’s departure was one very good reason why he was now so relaxed. The other reason was that he knew he would soon have the upper hand with Weisskopf and Mandelberg and Kerner. Another twenty-four hours and he’d be laughing. After he’d finished with them, he would shoot down to Vegas for a week and then perhaps take a little cruise or head for some resort where there were a lot of unattached women. After that he would get back on track again. He had to keep his money working for him. He had to keep things rolling. Just a little bit longer and he’d finish with them. Then he could start moving again. He’d decide on an idea to back and go on to something new. Another twenty-four hours and he’d have the upper hand. He just knew it.

  He sat up in his seat. He didn’t want to work anymore that day. He would go home early and relax. He wouldn’t have to hear the kid squawking. There was no one there to bug him. What a pleasure, he thought. Maybe he’d go out for supper with someone and then check out the action on Crescent Street. He wondered who he would call. At one time he’d had a few friends, but after scoring on the market he had gradually broken off contact with them. The only person he had socialized with since that time was Eugene Carlin, the man who had originally given him the tip on the market. Not that he particularly enjoyed Carlin’s company, but at least they thought along the same lines.

  He tried to think of someone else whose company pleased him but he could come up with no one; and suddenly for the first time it occurred to Morrie Hankleman that there was no one in the entire world that he cared for in the slightest. This thought gave him comfort.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Artie Kerner could feel a tension building up inside him. He had called each of his creditors and informed them that he was going to clear his debt within a few days. From the way they had all sounded, he realized that his decision to sell everything and pay them off had been well timed. They all had given the impression that they were about to jump on him with both feet.

  Kerner sighed despondently and stood up. He left his desk and walked into the warehouse area. It’s too bad, he thought, that the business was a total write-off, but then, so what? He had made his decision, and it didn’t really matter. He was going to pay up and get out. That’s what mattered. He was going to get himself together. If he didn’t have a nickel left when it was all over, that wasn’t important, he told himself.

  He was starting to feel sick. He looked at his watch. It was twelve-thirty. The time was passing so slowly, he thought, but at least he was having some success in controlling himself. Usually by that time he would have already been downtown for a good hour and have made at least one and maybe two or three buys.

  He took a deep breath and walked back into his office. He sat down on the desk top. Yes, he was going to beat his sickness. He was going to make a new start. He didn’t need the business, he didn’t need money. He knew he would be better off without it. No one needed it. It made most people crazy. He thought about Solly Weisskopf’s offer of a few hours earlier. Amazing. Truly amazing. He couldn’t figure it out. How many people would offer to give up almost five thousand dollars without a second thought? Why would he do it? Kerner wondered. In a way, there was something almost unreal about it. He couldn’t figure it out. It was hard to believe but yet it was true.

  It took a superior man to make an offer like that, he thought. It would take a superior man to conquer the sickness that he himself was now struggling with. But he would do it. He dreaded to think of the agony which he would have to go through. But he would do it. He was going to beat it. He would not make a buy today. If only his mind would stop flashing the image of the bronze sculpting he had seen in La Galerie d’Or the other day.

  Kerner could feel a headache coming on. He looked down at his hands
which were now beginning to shake. Soon the nausea would arrive with full force. He was surprised that it hadn’t already overtaken him. Just as he thought this, he felt a light pressure moving from his throat to his stomach and he knew that soon he would not be happy.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Big Moishie was more than a little surprised when the phone rang and he found Mendy Garelick on the line. He had not heard from Mendy Garelick in a long time. Several years before, Garelick, also known as Busfare due to the fact that he had once been run over by a provincial bus, had come to Moishie in a desperate state.

  He had become involved in a major bankruptcy swindle and had been arrested. Fortunately for Busfare, the presiding judge was found to be broad-minded about monetary persuasion. Busfare was given to understand through his lawyer that ten thousand dollars might help considerably in keeping him out of jail.

  He had come to see Big Moishie. Big Moishie had always liked Busfare and considered him a straight type. He had loaned him the ten thousand interest free. Busfare went to trial and was acquitted. Two months later he had repaid Big Moishie in full.

  That had been three years ago and since that time, although Big Moishie had heard about Busfare, he had not heard from him.

  Now, suddenly, here was Busfare on the phone talking as though the last three years had never happened. Big Moishie hung up the phone and turned slowly towards the Hawk.

  “Solly, do you remember Mendy Garelick?”

  The name didn’t register. Solly shook his head. “No.”

  “Sure you know him,” Big Moishie said emphatically. “You know—Mendy! Skinny Mendy Garelick.”

  The Hawk thought for another moment and then shook his head again. “I don remember em,” he said.

  “Of course you do. You know him as well as I do. You remember, when he was a kid he got run over by a bus near de Bullion Street.”