Read Online The Last Collection by Seymour Blicker - Free Book Online
Authors: Seymour Blicker
Ads: Link
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 couldnât 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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 didnât, 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 Hanklemanâs 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. Heâd 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 didnât 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 oneâs friends
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 didnât 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 wasnât 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 didnât, 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 Hanklemanâs 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. Heâd 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 didnât 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 oneâs friends
Similar Books
