The Last Collection (12 page)

“Estelle told me she wanted to get married. She figured that's what I needed to straighten me out. She said she couldn't take the kind of relationship I was offering her. Either I loved her or I didn't. If I did, I would stop fucking around and marry her. Anyway, I thought about it and finally I said no. I wasn't ready to get married. She said goodbye. I remember when she left I was sure she'd be back, ready to accept me on my terms. But she never came back.”

Kerner stopped talking. The doctor was making soft snoring sounds as though he were in a deep sleep.

Kerner now recalled the depression into which he had fallen. A few months after their parting he heard that she had married an accountant from New Jersey. Now, as he sat thinking in Dr. Lehman's office, he realized with startling clarity that it was not long after Estelle left him, perhaps only weeks, that his sickness started.

The doctor stirred in his seat. “Are you leading up to something, Mr. Kerner?”

“Yes. I don't know how important it is, but I just realized that it was right after our break-up that I started this crazy buying thing.”

“Ah ha!” the doctor said exultantly. “So you see the connection?”

“Yes, I think I do,” Kerner replied.

“You think you do? Either you do or you don't. Now which is it?”

“Yes, I do. Yes, there is a connection.”

“Are you saying that just to appease me? I don't like suckholes, Kerner.”

“I'm not a suckhole. I really believe there must be a connection.”

“Why? Why do you believe that? . . . Because I said so?”

“No, I just sort of feel it!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How sure?”

“Very sure.”

“How sure is very sure?”

“As sure as I can be.”

“How sure is that?”

“That's very sure,” Kerner replied, taking a deep breath.

“I'm not so sure. How do you know that's very, very sure?”

“I just know.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know!”

“But I don't know.”

“I know you don't know, but I know.”

“So what if you know. I have to know too, Mr. Kerner.”

“Why?” Kerner asked.

”No, no,” the doctor said, smirking sardonically, “I ask the questions, not you.”

“That's fine with me. I'm just trying to make you believe me.”

“Okay, okay, I believe you. Yes, I really do, Mr. Kerner. We've made some good progress here today. There's just one other thing I'd like to know before we finish.”

“Yes?”

“It's about this great pussy addiction of yours.”

“Pussy addiction?” Kerner asked, confused.

“Your great sex drive which you were bragging about a minute ago.”

“I wasn't bragging,” Kerner protested.

“Just answer the question,” Dr. Lehman snapped. “Has your present buying addiction affected your craze for cunt?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I haven't thought about it very much. I am . . . well . . . I haven't really been very interested in it lately. But, you know, until now I didn't even give it a second thought. I just haven't been very interested.”

“Don't you think that's strange, hm?”

“Yes, I do,” Kerner said. It was very strange.

The doctor looked at his watch, then turning towards the door, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “I'll be with you in two minutes, Mrs. Griff!”

Then, turning back to Kerner, he said, “Well, why don't we end on that note for today, huh?”

Kerner nodded and stood up. The doctor got up as well and walked over to Kerner. He patted him on the back. “Don't worry, Mr. Kerner. You're completely fucked up but I'll cure you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I said so, didn't I?” Dr. Lehman said angrily. “So why are you questioning me?”

“I wasn't questioning you. I just wanted some assurance. I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

“Okay, okay. Don't start,” Dr. Lehman said with a sullen look on his face. He opened the door to the waiting room and walked out, followed by Kerner. “Hello, Mrs. Griff,” the doctor said.

She returned the doctor's greetings as Kerner slipped out into the corridor. Inside he could hear the doctor saying in an angry voice, “That shmuck Kerner. He always argues!”

Kerner walked quickly away.

Chapter Thirteen

I
t was after eight in the morning when the Hawk left his home, got into his car and began heading for Artie Kerner's apartment. As he drove he tried to draw a mental picture of the man he would soon be confronting but he was unsuccessful.

The file which Morrie Hankleman had sent over the previous evening had listed only the essential facts about the debt itself and nothing about Kerner. It contained nothing about his appearance, his habits, or anything that might have given Solly even a slight insight into Artie Kerner's personality.

In the very early days of his career, when the Hawk was still a novice in the field, everything had been done on sheer nerve. Solly would be given a name. He would immediately go and visit the person and do what had to be done. It was only later that he had begun to be more sophisticated in his operations in an attempt to make things easier and safer for himself.

He realized that it was often useful to find out something concrete about the person he was going to see, and he always tried to do so, even if it meant putting a tail on the individual for a day or two.

One never knew what might turn up through a little prior investigation. Sometimes it was a piece of information which would provide the Hawk with an extra edge and give him the necessary leverage to turn a job over quickly and painlessly.

Along with this procedure of prior investigation, Solly had also begun to use various other methods to help him in his work. The idea of using visual aids to facilitate collections had come to the Hawk after watching an audio-visual demonstration given by a cousin who was in the real estate business. This cousin used a film strip to help sell orange grove acreage in Florida.

“A picture is sometimes worth a thousand words,” the cousin had said and Solly had agreed with him.

It was then that he had decided to have his own visual demonstration made up. This consisted of five 8″ x 12″ photographs which Solly carried around in a leather-bound folder. The photo on the first page showed a man sitting behind a desk with a smile on his face. The caption below the photo read
Before.

The photo on the second page showed the same man standing beside his desk. It could be clearly observed that the man had only one ear, whereas in the
Before
picture he'd had two. If there were any doubts in the mind of the observer, these were quickly eliminated by picture three which showed Solly and Big Moishie standing next to the desk. Both were grinning and Big Moishie was pointing down at the desk top. A solitary ear on the desk surface was the object of their attention.

On the fourth page was a picture of the same man as seen on page one. This time he was shown to have no ears. The caption below the picture read
After second visit.

On page five was a photo in which the earless man was seen handing a fistful of currency to Solly the Hawk, who at the same time could be seen handing the man back two ears. The caption below the picture read
Final visit.

The Hawk smiled to himself as he recalled the effectiveness of these photographs. They had certainly saved him a lot of unnecessary words over the last few years, but, in the final analysis, if the dice were rolling against him, nothing would help him. Neither prior investigation nor pictures nor anything else. A person could never have all the angles figured and an element of uncertainty always existed in the collection business, as it did in life in general.

The Russel Royt collection was a case in point. The Hawk had done a great deal of research prior to making contact. He had found out all about Russel Royt's habits and idiosyncracies. His likes, his dislikes. However, what the Hawk did not know at the time was that Russel Royt owned a trained orang-utan.

During their discussion Royt had suddenly shouted a command which brought the ape bounding out of the kitchen to attack Solly who had then been forced to knock the creature out and to beat up Russel Royt as well.

Yes, the potential for unexpected danger always existed no matter how careful a person was.

Once he had gone to collect from a man who, upon seeing Solly for the first time, immediately began accusing him of having seduced his wife and attacked the Hawk with a two-foot-long electric vibrator. There again, as in the case with the orang-utan, Solly had been forced to knock the man out. All his prior checking had been useless. No matter what a person did, the possibility of violence always existed.

The fact that he had been attacked only seven times in twenty years in the business was sheer luck, Solly thought. What was even more amazing was that in all these years he had never had to initiate the laying on of muscle.

He often wondered what he would have done had he met up with someone who refused to meet his commitment in spite of all threats. Would he have been able to really injure that person without being attacked in advance? Maybe or maybe not. It didn't really matter. The Hawk did not pride himself on being callous or ruthless. The one thing he had always prided himself on was his nerve. He had never been afraid to go up against anyone or anything. That's why he had succeeded in this business.

Now as he pulled his car into the parking area beside the McGregor House, the Hawk realized that he was looking forward to meeting with Artie Kerner, and the fact that he was going in cold like in the early days made it even more exciting.

He could feel the nervousness in his stomach as he got out of the car. He turned and headed for the front entrance of the McGregor House. He could feel the old excitement rising in his belly. He hadn't felt it that strongly in years and he enjoyed it. It was better this way. It had to be done this way. Just a name and an address. Like in the old days.

The job would be done on sheer nerve. That's the way he had done the first collection and that's the way he would do the last collection.

He pulled open the door and walked into the foyer of the McGregor House.

Chapter Fourteen

K
erner had slept fitfully. Some time around eight in the morning he awoke. He tried to doze off but was unable to. A great feeling of emptiness was threatening to overwhelm him. He sat up in bed and threw a few switches on the console next to him. The room was illuminated.

He let his eyes travel slowly around the room. He got out of bed, aware that his body was rigid. He took a deep breath but he couldn't fill his lungs. He walked over to the wall where he had hung the new lithograph and stared at it. He could feel his body begin to shake and he tried to steady himself. An image of the girl he had been with during the night came into his mind. He winced and tried to push the empty feeling out of his body. He began to shiver.

He looked at the bare section of wall directly beside the lithograph. As he stared at it, he could feel the beginnings of nausea stirring in his stomach and chest. His head began to throb. Again he thought of the girl and winced painfully.

He went into the living room and looked around. His eyes took in the entire room and then went slowly from object to object. He observed each item of hand-crafted furniture, every piece of sculpting, each lamp and vase, every painting, the two large tapestries. He felt no relief. The pain in his head was now almost unbearable and he knew he was about to throw up.

He ran to the bathroom and leaned over the toilet bowl, trying desperately to control himself. The nausea dissipated but Kerner knew it was only temporary. He washed his face with cold water then swallowed two 292s.

He turned and stood in the doorway of the bathroom. The blank space on the wall beside his newest possession glared out at him. He could feel the heaves coming. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub beside the toilet bowl and rested his head in his hands. Again he thought of the girl who had been with him during the night.

What did I do to deserve this? Kerner wondered as tears began to flow from his eyes. He had never hurt anyone. Why couldn't someone help him? Why couldn't Dr. Lehman help him? He felt a sudden surge of anger for the doctor.

He looked up at the blank patch of wall. He had to fill it. He knew exactly what had to go there. It had to be another lithograph by the same artist. A mate for the one he had purchased the previous day. Kerner's heart began pounding. He pressed his elbows down on his knees to try to stop the tremors in his arms.

He glanced at his watch. The stores wouldn't be open for another hour and a half. He pictured himself in the store taking possession of the work. His heart was pounding. He glanced up at the wall. He wanted the blank space filled now! He cursed the art dealer aloud. Why did they have to open so late? Some stores were ready to do business at eight-thirty. But those bastards had to open at ten. Arrogant sons of bitches. He tried not to think about the litho, but in spite of his efforts his eyes were inexorably drawn to the wall. He could feel the wave of sickness coming. He turned and threw himself towards the toilet. On his hands and knees in front of the bowl and gripping the edges with both hands, he began to heave. He prayed for relief.

Again the wave of nausea was momentarily dissipated. He leaned his head down on the edge of the toilet bowl. He looked at his watch again. Why did the time pass so slowly? Maybe today Walton's gallery would open early. He stood up slowly, dragged himself into the bedroom and began dressing as quickly as he could. As he dressed he tried to keep his eyes averted from the wall. He threw on his jacket and headed out of the bedroom.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Kerner froze and held his breath. The knock came again. Kerner exhaled as slowly and quietly as he could.