The Last Collection (7 page)

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

I
t 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

A
rtie 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

A
n 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?”

Solly the Hawk gave several almost imperceptible nods and said nothing. He kept his eyes fixed on Big Moishie who continued to talk.

“So what I'd like to know is, why don't you want to do this piece of business?”

The Hawk leaned his head in his hand for a moment. He wanted to answer his partner honestly and in such a way that he wouldn't hurt him or insult him. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. He had thought about it long enough.

The Hawk lifted his head and turned towards Big Moishie. “A few munts ago . . . I dunno, maybe four, five, six munts ago . . . maybe even longer, I started tinking about tings. Like fer twenny years I could never talk about my work wid Helen. For twenny years my own wife doesn really know exactly what I'm doing. As far as she knew, I was in de finance business. Mind you, she knew. She knew I wasn't legit, but she never said nutting; but I could never talk to her . . . or my daughter eidder. If dey asked me, ‘How did it go t'day at de office?' what could I tell dem? It was fine. T'day I put a mooch in de hospital fer two weeks. He paid up right away. It was a good day! You know whad I mean, Moishie?”

Moishie Mandelberg nodded slowly.

“A whole part of my life I could never talk ta dem about. An also when de kid was growing up I was always worried dat she would like hear somewhere. You know, like from a school friend or somebody, about whad her fadder did. . . . Mind you, today I'm sure she knows dat what I do isn't exactly kosher. I mean, de kid's not dumb. She's a smart kid . . . an a good kid. . . . Anyway, like I say, I started tinking about alla dese tings. Dey boddered me . . . a lot. I mean, de kid's twenny already. Any day she could come home an tell me she's getting married. I mean, I don even know why I started tinking dese tings. I jus did. Like I was tinking, I'm getting old. Okay, I could live ta be a hunnert an ten, but I could also pop off like next week. You know? Look at de guys we know. Dere popping off like flies. Right?”

Big Moishie nodded.

“So whad did I do wid my life so far? I asked myself. I mean, I was tinking dat I wanna do someting different. Someting good. Ta give, not ta take. You know what I mean, Moishie?

“Yeah, I know,” Big Moishie replied.

“I mean, money I don need. I got enough so I don hafta worry. I could sit on my ass for de nex fifty years jus on de intrest. I'm not a big spender. I was tinking I'd like ta have time ta travel wid de family, ta be closer wid dem. Ta do someting good. De more I tot about it, de more depressed I got. It was making me crazy. Dats why I wen away to de Concord. . . . Maybe you noticed I didn look so hot at de time.”

“I noticed,” Big Moishie replied with a wry smile on his face.

“I had ta tink it out. Ta look at it like from all sides. Ta figger out what ta do. Anyway, I knew I wanted ta get out. I figgered I would come back an discuss it wid you an maybe we could get inta someting legit . . . tagedder like. Anyway, I was tinking, tinking, tinking. It was like driving me crazy because I didn know what else I could do if I got out. Also maybe I figgered you weren't gonna give up dis business so after twenny-two years I would be on my own. I was mixed up. But, anyways, after a few days I decided for sure dat I was gonna get out. Like I felt I jus couldn cut it no more wid gaffing and wid shylocking. I jus couldn.

“So den jus when it looks like I made up my mind, I meet Saltpeter in de bar. I tell you, Moishe, like I didn have even de slightest notion ta ace dis yotz; but de minute he opened his mout, it was like I saw red. I wanted ta take him. I wanted ta squeeze him like a liddle bug. I didn even care about de scratch we would make. I jus wanted ta break him because he was a mooch. De more he talked, de more I hated him. I couldn figger it out. I started ta wonder why I hated dis guy so much. After all, what'd he want? Money. De same as everybody. Dats what I wanted too. Anyway . . . I set em up in spite of de fact dat I kept tinking dis is not what I should be doing.

“Den when I got back ta town, I started tinking it over again. I decided dat if I really wanted ta get out, ta make a new start, den I shouldn do dis ting. Den he calls me an de minute I heard his voice again, I wanted ta break him. Dats when I filled you in on him an we started ta set up de office wid Lemay.”

Big Moishie nodded and dragged on his cigar.

“Den I started tinking about when I was coming up. I wanted ta make it. I woulda done anyting. Even t'day I would do anyting if I was broke. If I was broke, I wouldn have such fancy tots about going legit. If I needed de scratch, if I was choked, I wouldn give it a seccun tot. His money would already be in our bank. Dats when it hit me. I like saw someting in him dat made me realize dat in my own way, I was a mooch too; dat maybe everybody was a mooch in dere own way. De only difference between me an him was maybe dat I could control myself a liddle better.

“Den I tot, but maybe I'm really even more of a mooch den him because look what I did ta make it. I went into a business dat was dangerous. I was ready ta risk my life ta make it. Anyway, I knew dat inside me dere was dat same mooch like in Saltpeter, an I didn like it. An whatever I didn like in me, I saw written all over his face.”