What's in It for Me? (26 page)

“He doesn't know me. But it's about business, though.”

She disappeared into an inner office and came out again in a few moments.

“Mr. Nissem will see you. This way, please.”

She held the gate in the wooden railing open for me and I stepped through. I passed her desk and pushed open the door of the private office. A heavy, fat-faced man with satchel cheeks, a tight collar, and a cigar in what could be described as a mouth, but looked more like a two-car garage, glanced up from behind a desk.

“Mr. Nissem?”

He lowered one eyebrow and sent the other up as he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Come in. Sit down.”

I came in and sat down in a chair beside it

“My name is Bogen. I don't know if you—”

“Harry Bogen? Used to be Apex Modes?”

“Yeah,” I said with a grin. “Used to be Apex Modes.”

“Weh-hell!” he said, sticking out his hand. “Glad to know you.

“Glad to know you, Mr. Nissem.”

We shook hands and he leaned back in his chair.

“What's the matter?” he said with a laugh. “In trouble again?”

“No-oh, not exactly. I was just—”

“Who you with now, Bogen?”

I thought he knew everything.

“Yazdabian. Hrant Yazdabian. Know him?”

He nodded quickly.

“Sure do. Fact is I dropped in to see him only a couple days ago. Nice chap. A little old for the dress business, I think. But a nice guy anyway.”

“Yeah. Hell of a nice guy.”

“What are you, selling for him, Bogen? Or are you—?”

“No, I'm his partner.”

He laughed again.

“Well, what'd you do? Get the old guy into trouble, too?”

“No, we're not in trouble. And anyway, what the hell are you kicking about?” I smiled a little on that sentence. “Guys like me being in trouble is your business, isn't it?”

“Guess you're right. What can I do for you?”

“Well, we've got bills to meet and we're running short of cash. So I thought we'd hock a few accounts.”

“Never say hock, Bogen. Say sell.”

“All right then. Sell. We want to sell some accounts.”

He became brisk at once.

“Let's see what you've got?”

I pulled out the shipping receipts and the duplicate charges and shoved them across the desk at him. He leaned over them, scanned them quickly, jotting figures on a pad as he worked. Finally, he looked up.

“Well?”

“They look pretty good, Bogen.”

“Pretty good? Say, we've got some of the best accounts in the country there. We don't sell anybody but the—”

“I know, I know. I know the accounts. They're all good.” He looked at the pad on which he had been scribbling. “A little over five thousand dollars worth. Fifty-two hundred. Right?”

“That's right.”

“What terms do you sell, Bogen?”

“It's marked on the charges. Eight ten E. O. M.”

“Oh, yeah. That's right.” He looked at a large calendar on the wall. “Let's see. Today is March third. That means, according to your terms, we ought to be getting money on these shipments by April 10.”

“That's right. But I've got bills coming due on March 10, so I've got to raise the dough this way.”

“Okay.” He dropped the charges back on the desk. “I can let you have four thousand on these.”

I looked at him in surprise.

“What's that? What's that? Fifty-two hundred in charges, and you say you'll let me have four thousand? What's this, 20% interest for a little—?”

He waved his hand and smiled good-naturedly.

“Now, don't get so excited, Bogen. It's plain you never sold accounts receivable before, or you'd understand—”

“That's true, Nissem. I never sold accounts before. But my God, I don't need experience to tell me that 20% interest is—”

“It's not 20% interest, Bogen. What do you think I am, a crook or something?”

“Nah, nah, nah. I'm not calling you a crook, Nissem. I'm just saying that 20% is a—”

“And I'm trying to tell you it's not 20%, Bogen,” he said irritably. “The interest rate is a regular 6%. We only advance you four thousand on fifty-two hundred in accounts because there are little things we have to take care of, like service charges and so on. And the rest of the twelve hundred bucks over and above what we advance you, the balance of that we keep as an equity. When the accounts are paid up, after we got our interest and our service charge and we got back the four thousand we advanced you, then we turn back to you the rest of the twelve hundred bucks. It's just an equity.”

“For accounts like these,” I cried, “you need security? Just look at the names of those accounts, Nissem. Why, hell, you got accounts there that haven't been a day late, not a minute late, in paying their bills for so many years that—”

“What can I do, Bogen? That's how I do business, and I do it with everybody. So why should I treat you special?”

“All right. But hell, I think it's a—”

“That's the way I do it, Bogen.”

“Oh, well, okay, then.”

He pressed a buzzer on his desk and the girl came in.

“Miss Blau, make out a hypothecation contract on these charges. No changes, just the regular assignment.”

“Yes, sir.”

She went out and her typewriter tapped for a minute or so. Before I could even finish a few preparatory hems and haws, she was back. It was a printed form and all she had done was fill in a few blanks. Nissem scanned them quickly, then placed them on the desk and handed me a pen.

“Here, Bogen, you sign here.”

He was pointing to two blank lines under the typed words “Hrant Yazdabian, Inc.” In front of each line was the word “by.” I signed my name on the first line and added “Secretary-Treasurer” under it.

“All right,” he said. “Now you take them back to your office, Bogen, and get Yazdabian to sign them. And I'll draw you a check for the four thousand.”

“That's all right, Nissem. Yazdabian is out of town, but one signature is enough.”

He looked doubtful and I lit a cigarette carefully.

“One signature? Well, I don't know, Bogen, we—”

“He's out of town on a selling trip. But I'll tell you what you can do, Nissem. You can call up our bank and speak to an officer there. That'll verify that one signature is enough, won't it? We have only one signature on checks, and it's—”

“Yeah, that'll do it. Where do you bank?”

“Mercantile Trust. Thirty-seventh Street branch. Wait, I'll get you the number.” I took the phone book from his desk and skimmed through the pages till I got it. “Here.” I jotted down on his pad. “You might ask for Mr. Farrell. He handles our account.”

“All right.”

He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

“But listen, Nissem.”

“Yeah?”

“Don't say nothing about I'm hocking accounts, will you? I don't want a thing like that to get around the market, because if it does, we'll—”

“Don't worry, Bogen. I do these things every day. I know how to talk. You just don't worry.”

All right, so I wouldn't worry. Let him worry.

“Swell.”

He spoke into the phone.

“Hello. Mercantile Trust? Mr. Farrell, please. Yes.” There was a pause. “Hello, Mr. Farrell? Say, Mr. Farrell, I wonder if you'd do me a favor. On the account of Hrant Yazdabian, Inc. Yeah, Yazdabian. That's right. Well, I been doing business with them for a long time and I been getting their checks regularly. But today, for the first time, I get paid a bill of mine with a check of theirs and it's only got one signature on it. Mr. Bogen's and not Mr. Yazdabian's. I called up Mr. Bogen and he said one signature was all right because Mr. Yazdabian was out of town. But I'll tell you, Mr. Farrell. Nothing personal, or anything like that, you know, but before I deposit the check in my bank I thought I'd call you up just to—What's that? It is? Fine. Fine. Thanks a lot, Mr. Farrell. Appreciate that. Thanks. Good-by.”

He hung up and turned to me with a grin.

“I told you it's all right.”

“I know, Bogen, but you know how it is in my business. I have to be careful and check up on—”

“Sure, I know.”

“Well, then, I guess there's nothing left for me to do but give you a check.”

“One more favor you could do me, Nissem.”

“What's that?”

“You could draw the check to cash and go down to your bank with me and get the money for me in cash.”

He looked up, surprised.

“Why in cash?”

I put on a fifteen second act of acute embarrassment.

“Well, frankly, we owe the bank a little note and they've been sort of pressing us for it. If they see this check going through our account, they might grab it to satisfy the note and I won't get a chance to pay my bills. Like this I can pay my bills in cash, and the bank'll give me an extension on the note. The way Mr. Yazdabian and I figure, we figure the bank can wait till the money for our spring sales comes in. But the creditors in the market, we don't want to make them wait because we don't want to hurt our credit standing.”

“If that's the way you want it, it's okay by me.”

“Thanks, Nissem. You'll be helping me out of a hole.”

“I should have so many thousands in the bank,” he said with a laugh, “how many guys I've helped out of holes.”

“I guess you're a regular Santa Claus to Seventh Avenue,” I said with as much admiration as I could force into my voice.

“Santa Claus nothing,” he said, getting up with the check in his hand. “I'm a regular life saver.”

“Lemon flavor, I suppose.”

“That's true.”

“Come on, Bogen. We'll go down to the bank.” I took my hat and followed him. “I'll be back in a few minutes, Miss Blau,” he said to the girl in the outer office as we passed.

“All right, Mr. Nissem,” she said.

His bank was on the corner. I stood aside as he endorsed the check and pushed it across the counter to the teller.

“How do you want that, Bogen?” he asked.

“Large bills, please. Hundreds'll be all right.”

He told the teller what he wanted and then turned the money over to me.

“If you run into any more trouble, Bogen, and you need any cash, so long as you keep shipping accounts like that, why, just call on me.”

“Thanks,” I said with a grin. “I hope I don't have to. But if I get into a spot again, you're the guy I'll come to.”

I
GOT OUT OF THE CAB
in front of the house and paid the driver. Then I picked up the heavy bundle and went upstairs. Just as I let myself in with my key, the phone in the foyer began to ring. Before I could answer it, Mrs. Herman came pattering out of the bedroom and saw me.

“Oh, it's Mr. Bogen!”

She stood there, undecided, hesitating between me and the ringing telephone,

“Who's there?” mother cried from the bedroom. “Hershie?”

“Yeah, Ma,” I called. “It's me.” I turned to Mrs. Herman. “You answer the phone please, Mrs. Herman. I'll go in to see my mother. Okay?”

She nodded quickly.

“Sure, Mr. Bogen.”

She walked to the phone and I went into the bedroom.

“Hello, Ma.” I held up the heavy bundle. “Guess what I brought you?”

She twisted her lips disapprovingly.

“Bring yourself a little more often, Hershie. The bundles you could leave downtown with the—”

I bent down and kissed her.

“How's the leg, Ma?”

She shrugged.

“The leg is like a leg. How should a leg be? You let it lay in bed, you don't stand on it, so it doesn't hurt. You—”

Mrs. Herman came into the room.

“Mr. Bogen, the telephone. It's a call from your place.”

I scowled at her.

“My place?”

She nodded several times.

“It's a man's voice. He said I should tell you Eric.”

“Oh,” I got up quickly and patted mother's hand. “Be back in a minute, Ma.” I hurried out into the foyer and picked up the phone. “Hello? Who's this, Eric?”

“Yeah, Mr. Bogen. This is Eric. I wanted to—”

“What's on your mind?” I snapped. “Didn't I tell you I didn't want to be disturbed when I—?”

“But Mr. Bogen” he cried. “You know that big stack of orders you gave me to ship out about ten days ago? You know, the big batch that—?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. What about them?”

“Well, gosh, Mr. Bogen, a funny thing happened. All those dresses we shipped out they're all coming back, almost every one! I just got in four new packages of returns and—”

“All right,” I said sharply. “Listen, Eric.”

He disregarded me.

“But that's not all, Mr. Bogen,” he said excitedly. “I wanted to tell you that—”

“Listen, Eric.”

He went right on.

“The thing I wanted to tell you, Mr. Bogen, was I opened a couple of the returns. And what do you think, Mr. Bogen? In two of the bundles, in two of them, there was a note it said the dresses were never ordered! I can't figure out what!—”

“Listen!” I barked into the phone. “Will you stop shooting off your trap so much and open your ears?”

“What—?”

“Shut up with the whats and listen?”

He calmed down a little.

“Sorry, Mr. Bogen.”

“Don't start being sorry. Just keep your ears open.”

“Yes, Mr. Bogen.”

“Get this and get it now. I don't want to have to go repeating it. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stop opening returns. Don't open any more returns. Just keep your hands offa them and wait till I get down there. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Bogen.”