“Mr. Satten’s services satisfy me completely.”
“But mine don’t, eh?”
He shrugged.
“You are putting it rather strongly, Mr. Bogen.”
“Maybe our sales didn’t jump. But we’re paying our bills on time, aren’t we?”
“That, of course, is due to the money put into the business, Mr. Bogen. But what good does it do us to pay our bills on time, if we don’t make any money?”
“We’ll make money.”
“When?”
“When we get a line that’s hot. Right now your styles are deader than Kelcey’s nuts.”
“By that time, at the rate you’re drawing against your account, Mr. Bogen, we won’t have very much left of the money you put into the business and we won’t even be able to pay our bills on time.”
“You call two hundred dollars a week a lot?” I demanded angrily. “Why, when I was with Apex Modes, I drew a thousand a week and—”
“And went into bankruptcy,” he finished quietly.
“I told you once before that that wasn’t my fault,” I snapped.
“I’m not saving it was your fault.”
“Then would you mind telling me just what the hell you are saying?”
“I’m saying simply that you told me you were the best salesman in the world and I believed you.”
If I told him I had a coat that wore like iron, he’d probably expect me to show up in a suit of armor.
“Sure, I said—”
“But the figures show just as simply that we have not shipped—”
“That’s not my fault,” I said hotly. “You make me sweat a pint of blood before you’ll sign a check for some entertaining expenses. All my pants have holes in the knees from where I’ve been on the floor like Al Jolson crying to you for a bottle of liquor to send to a customer. By the time I get you to sign a check for a gift to a buyer she’s out in Cleveland already and the next time she shows up in New York she’s buying from Maury Tressler or Teddy Ast or from Blitz-Finkel or from any one of those other heel outfits that don’t know the first damn thing about selling but at least they don’t have a half-Nelson on their check books. If you can’t learn that the way to sell dresses is to—”
“I’ve been in business for twenty years, Mr. Bogen, and I’ve always gotten along.”
“Yeah,” I sneered, “you’ve gotten along. You got along so well that you needed a new partner.”
“I didn’t need a partner. I needed a salesman.”
“Well, you got both.”
“It doesn’t seem so from these figures, Mr. Bogen.” He tapped the report on the table between us. “According to these figures I didn’t get a salesman. All I got was a partner.”
“Well,” I cried, “that’s not my fault. I can sell. I can teach them all when it comes to selling. I sold for Apex. But I sold my way.”
“That sent you into bankruptcy.”
I smacked the table with my fist.
“God damn it,” I yelled, “will you stop crying about that bankruptcy? I told you I was out on the road all the time and my—”
“Why don’t you go out on the road now?” he demanded calmly.
“The road?”
“Of course. We’ve got stock on the racks. We’ve got plenty of merchandise. You haven’t been out on the road since we’ve been in business together. Why don’t you go out on the road?”
“There’s no sense in going out on the road. Selling tactics have changed in the last few years. My buyers are the type that come into New York and I have to be here all the time to take care of them.”
“Oh,” he said sarcastically, “to spend money foolishly on entertainment, Mr. Bogen, to that extent selling tactics haven’t changed. But to take the line out on the road and dispose of our merchandise, to that extent selling tactics have changed, eh?”
“The way you talk,” I said, controlling my exasperation, “somebody would think—”
“I refuse to concern myself with what other people think, Mr. Bogen. I concern myself with what my accountant’s report and my common sense tell me.”
“Maybe that’s why your viewpoint is so restricted,” I snapped. “Times change, Mr. Yazdabian, and—”
The curtains parted suddenly and Miss Eckveldt came in. She stopped short and looked at us in surprise. Yazdabian turned to face her.
“Yes?” he said. “Yes, yes, yes? What is it? What—?”
“There’s a Mr. Nissem outside to see you,” she said awkwardly. “Mr. Leonard Nissem. He said—”
Yazdabians’s face grew hard and his lips quivered.
“Tell him I’m not in!” he barked. “I’m not in! Tell him—”
“Yes, sir,” Miss Eckveldt said in a frightened voice. “Yes, sir.”
“Nissem!” he said passionately. “You hear that? The vultures are on our necks already. The whole market knows. When scum like that, when wolves like Nissem have the nerve to walk into your place of business and—”
I waved my hand at him.
“Aah, don’t get so excited,” I said. “The hell with Lenny Nissem. Those guys are always looking around to drum up business. They come in to call on everybody. What do you want to worry about bastards like that for?”
“I’ve had enough of your advice. I’ve had enough of your telling me what to do and what to worry about. If you won’t make an effort to save this business, I will.”
“Hey, now, wait a minute there, Mr. Yazdabian. That’s putting things a little too—”
“Never mind,” he said coldly. “You just said a few minutes ago that times change. I suppose you’re right. They certainly must change when men like Leonard Nissem can walk into my office looking for business.”
“Listen, now,” I said. “This is—”
He held up his hand.
“Please,” he said. I stopped talking. “Times may change for you, Mr. Bogen. But they’re not going to change for me. I’ve been going out on the road with my own goods for twenty years. And I’ve managed to get along fairly well at it, too. Now that our new line is ready, I see no reason why I shouldn’t go out with it again, the way I used to, before I got you for a partner, Mr. Bogen.”
“There’s no reason for getting sore about it.”
“Oh, I’m not getting sore, Mr. Bogen. Why should I get sore? I merely took in a partner who was supposed to be the greatest salesman in the world and he didn’t sell, that’s all. Hardly enough reason for getting sore, is it?”
“If you’re not getting sore, you don’t have to get sarcastic, either.”
“Perhaps I don’t, But I can’t help it. I’ll go out on the road, Mr. Bogen. You are the world’s best salesman and I am the world’s worst. My tactics may be old-fashioned, as you put it. But I’ll go out on the road and I’ll show you a thing or two about selling, Mr. Bogen.”
“I’m willing to learn, Mr. Yazdabian.”
“I’ll try to provide you with the opportunity. I might even be able to chase a few buyers into New York for you.” The beads were clicking more normally again. “Do you think you will be able to handle them?”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Yazdabian. I’ll know how to handle the New York end.”
20.
ON MY WAY TO THE theatre, I stopped at the garage.
“Abe around?” I asked the man in the little office downstairs.
“Yeah, he’s around somewhere. Wait a minute.” He leaned out of the office and yelled into the dark cavern of the garage. “Abe! Abe Fliegel! Hey, Abe Fliegel!”
There was an answering bellow from somewhere in the back.
“Yeah?”
“That you, Abe?”
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“Come on out here for a minute, Abe. Someone to see you.”
“Okay, I’m coming.”
A few moments later he appeared.
“Hello, there, Mr. Bogen.”
“Hello, Abe.”
I slipped a couple of cigars into the pocket of his ov
eralls.
“Let’s step out here for a minute, huh?”
“Sure.”
He followed me outside and looked at me inquiringly.
“I’m thinking of getting rid of my car, Abe. And I was wondering if I could leave it to you to sort of scout around for a good buyer for me.”
“Well, uh, why don’t you just trade it in when you get the new one, Mr. Bogen?” he asked, surprised. “For that boat of yours, they’d give you a damn nice allowance and—”
“I know, Abe. But I’m not getting a new car. Not for a while, anyway.”
“Oh.”
“I’m thinking of taking a trip for a coupla months. And I figured I’d sell it and then, when I got back, I could get me a new one.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Bogen. Like this, like this you’ll have to sell at a big sacrifice, you know.”
“What do you think you could get me for it, Abe?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Mr. Bogen. Might be able to get five hundred, I guess.”
I looked at him quickly.
“Five hundred? Why, the damn thing cost me thirty-five hundred less than a year ago!”
“You know how it is with cars, Mr. Bogen. Christ, I could get you a second-hand Rolls, good as new almost, for less than what it’ll cost you to buy a lousy little brand new—”
“Well, all right, then. If that’s the best you can get, get it. But do the best you can on it, will you. Abe?”
“Sure will, Mr. Bogen.”
“Because I’m in a sort of hurry. And I’d like it done soon. And Abe.”
“Yeah?”
“There’ll be a little something in this for you, Abe, too. So see what you can do in the way of stepping on it and getting a good price.”
He grinned quickly.
“Oh, hell, Mr. Bogen, you don’t have to—”
“That’s all right, Abe. Business is business.”
“Okay, Mr. Bogen, if that’s the way you want it.”
“That’s the way I want it, Abe.”
I walked the half dozen blocks to the theatre and went in through the stage entrance. It was a quarter after eleven. I stopped at Dumpor’s booth and waved my hand at him.
“Hello, Frank.”
“Evening, Mr. Bogen.”
“Curtain go up on time tonight?”
“Yes, it did, Mr. Bogen.”
“Say, Mr. Bogen, I got something for you.”
“For me?”
“Miss Mills left that for you when she went out a little while ago.”
I glanced at him sharply.
“She’s gone? She’s not in her—?”
He nodded.
I opened the note and read it. “Harry,” it said, “sorry had to rush off like this but my husband’s lawyer showed up unexpectedly and insisted on taking me some place where we could talk. Don’t know what’s up, but will tell you when I see you. M.”
Now, just when everything was beginning to work out, he had to show up and—I stopped and came back to Dumpor’s window.
“Frank,” I said, “I want to ask you something.”
He looked at me curiously and puffed on his pipe.
“Sure, Mr. Bogen.”
“This note.” I tapped it. “When Miss Mills gave it to you, she wasn’t alone, was she?”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Well, Mr. Bogen, I wasn’t exactly—”
“You saw her go out, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I saw her go out, Mr. Bogen.”
“She wasn’t alone, was she?”
He took the pipe out of his mouth and inspected the ash.
“Well, I’ll tell you, Mr. Bogen,” he began slowly, “I didn’t—”
“Wait a minute, Frank. I forgot something.”
I took out the remaining three cigars and handed them to him. He took them and put them into his pocket.
“Thanks, Mr. Bogen.”
“I’ve got a whole box of those at home, Frank. I don’t smoke myself, so you can have the rest, too. I’ll bring them tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bogen.”
I felt like a tobacco salesman making friends for his company.
“Forget it. But don’t forget other things, Frank. She wasn’t alone, was she?”
“No, Mr. Bogen, she wasn’t alone.”
“Who was she with?”
“Well, just before the final curtain, Mr. Bogen, two men came in and asked for her.”
I looked at him in astonishment.
“Two men?”
“Yes, Mr. Bogen.”
What was she doing, going into the wholesale business?
“What did they look—? Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait a minute, Frank. You know Kermit Terkel?”
“The agent?”
“Yeah, the agent. You know him?”
He nodded.
“Yes, I do.”
“Was he one of the two men?” I asked quickly.
He nodded again.
“Yes, he was.”
“And the other man?”
“Well, he was a sort of a little guy—”
“You ever see him before?”
“Once or twice. He’s been here before.”
“Get the name?”
He scratched his head.
“He told it to me once, but I forgot.”
“A little guy, you say?”
“Yes, Mr. Bogen. About that high, with a—”
“Big nose?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“Tight little face? Sharp eyes?”
He nodded, squinting.
“That’s right. That’s right.”
“A lot of fancy clothes?”
“Well, he was wearing evening clothes, Mr. Bogen.”
That would simplify matters. When I got hold of him they wouldn’t have to change his clothes for the funeral.
“He do any laughing around here? You get a look at his teeth?”
“Gosh, Mr. Bogen, I don’t remember now. But—”
“They look sort of yellow and they slope in, like a mouse trap?”
He grinned quickly.
“That’s right. That’s right, Mr. Bogen. Fact is, that’s just what I was thinking when I saw him. His teeth look like a mouse trap. Say, that’s—!”
So that was her idea of making a deal and sticking to it, eh? Well, I’d give her a little lesson in business ethics.
“All right, Frank,” I said grimly. “Thanks a lot.”
“Mr. Bogen,” he said, “you’re not going to do anything that—?”
“Nah, Frank. Nothing rash. Just a little murder, maybe, or something slight like that.”
“Mr. Bogen, you won’t—”
“Don’t worry, Frank. From you I didn’t hear nothing.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bogen.”
“That’s all right. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Mr. Bogen.”
I took a taxi to the Montevideo and stopped at the desk.
“Anything for me, Charlie?”
He glanced at the box behind him.
“Not a thing, Mr. Bogen.”
“Okay. I’m going up. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Mr. Bogen.”
I spent a half hour checking my wardrobe and my finances. Both were in better shape than I thought. Not to mention the way it looked when I wore it. After the wardrobe I went to work on the finances. My bank balance was pretty low, but with the last payment I still had coming to me from the sale of the resident buying business, the check for the sale of the car, and my drawing account with Yazdabian, I had more than enough to carry me until Yazdabian went out on the road and left the coast clear for me.
Just as I finished my calculations, the phone rang.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Bogen. Sorry to bother you at this hour, but there’s a Mrs. Herman on the wire and—”
“A who?”
“A Mrs. Herman.”
“You didn’t tell her I was in, did you?”
; “No, sir. I—”
“I’m not in,” I said, and hung up.
I opened the check book and wrote a check payable to Martha Mills for five hundred dollars. I put it into an envelope and wrote her name on the outside. Then I slipped into my coat and went out into the hall and rang for the elevator. When I reached the lobby, Charlie wasn’t at the switchboard behind the desk, but the big colored boy was.
“Where’s Charlie?” I asked.
“He quits at midnight, Mr. Bogen.”
“You going to be here for a while?”
“I’ll be on all night, sir. I have the night shift.”
I looked around the lobby. We were alone.
“How’d you like to make yourself a coupla bucks?”
“Certainly would, Mr. Bogen.”
“Well, here.” I gave him the envelope. “Put that in Miss Mills’ box. She’ll be coming a little later with an escort, I think. When she comes in, you call her to the desk and tell her that Mr. Bogen had to leave town for three or four days, maybe a week, with the spring line, that he couldn’t wait to say good-by because he had to make a train, but that he’d wire her from his first stop, and he left this envelope for her, which you then give her. Okay?”
“Okay, Mr. Bogen.”
“Think you can remember that?”
“I think so.”
“Then let’s hear it.”
“When Miss Mills comes in,” he said, “if she’s with an escort, I’m to call her over to the desk, tell her that Mr. Bogen had to leave town for three or four days, maybe a week, with the spring line, that he couldn’t wait to say good-by because he had to make a train, but that he’d wire her from his first stop, and he left this envelope for her, and then I hand her this envelope. Is that right?”
I grinned at him.
“That’s perfect.” I pulled out a five spot and slipped it to him. “Here. That’s for your memory and for keeping your trap shut later.”
“I don’t know nothing, Mr. Bogen,” he said soberly.
“You stick to that policy, boy, and you’ll be a big shot some day on Lenox Avenue.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And oh yes. There’s one more thing you can do for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As soon as Miss Mills and her escort step into the elevator to go up, as soon as the elevator doors close on them, you plug in on my phone and just give it three short little rings. Okay?”
“Just three short ones.”
What's in It for Me? Page 16
