Shmucks (3 page)

A few moments later, as he was waiting for his friend to answer the ring, he heard a slight knock on the booth glass. He turned to face the shit grin of the medical examiner. Pelzic hung up the receiver and followed the doctor back into the building. He spent the next three years in the infantry.

Recalling that incident, Pelzic saw it as typical of his whole life. Sometimes he put his failures down to a lack of aggressiveness, of follow through; but mostly he blamed bad luck. In fact, often it seemed to be the case that he was simply plagued by bad luck. He didn't like to think that. Bad luck was something one had no control over, lack of aggressiveness could be overcome.

The fact was he didn't feel he suffered from lack of aggressiveness. If he had been aggressive in Romania, he was even more so in Canada. When he came to Canada, it was like he was suddenly seeing the world with new eyes. He immediately felt he understood the country, the people, the economy, better than anyone.

He sensed what appeared to be a certain naivety in the people, a kind of childlike trust and simplicity in their general attitude. This seemed to carry over everywhere into all walks of life including the business community.

He felt it would be so easy to take these simple types for a ride. He knew there were large sums of easy money to be made. It was simply a matter of establishing a small base from which to operate. He would get a job which would provide for his basic needs while he investigated in detail those areas of the economy which could be most easily manipulated.

His first job was as a shipper in a clothing factory. He lost that after two months when he was discovered leaving the factory at lunch hour with a hundred feet of tweed cloth wrapped around his midriff under his sweater. Then followed a succession of jobs, the longest of which lasted a year. After six years, he still hadn't found the key and broken the system; and he was tired of working for other people. He managed to save some money to buy a taxi license and went into that full time.

It was while working on the taxis that he heard about Iggy Retzic and met Murray Schmecker. Iggy Retzic was also a Romanian. The only difference was that Iggy Retzic was a success. He had come to Canada at the age of fifty, arriving five years after Pelzic; and within a year had made himself twenty thousand dollars without having worked for more than a week. His name had become almost a household word among the Montreal Romanian and Hungarian community. People would talk about “pulling off a Retzic.”

When Pelzic first heard about him, he was consumed with envy. It had always been his ambition to be famous in the way Retzic was. He had been trying now for six years in Canada and Retzic had done it in one year. Retzic, he discovered, had concentrated his energies in the insurance field. He specialized in throwing himself against moving vehicles. In his first attempt he had relieved the insurance people of twenty thousand dollars. In spite of his envy, Pelzic had to admit that the man had a certain class and courage as well.

A man had to be pretty quick on his feet for that game. Pelzic thought about it but decided it was not for him. Then he met Murray Schmecker. Murray Schmecker was one of those types whom Pelzic had met from time to time who actually enjoyed driving a taxi. At the same time he worked, like Iggy Retzic, at successfully frapping out the insurance companies. They used to meet for coffee each morning and Schmecker would relate his successes.

“Look, so I'm driving around right. I'm watching right. I'm looking for some utzpay who's not looking where he's going. Okay? So den if I'm lucky, I see him. Maybe he's riding on my ass, maybe he's sticking out a little too much from where he's supposed to be stopped for de stop sign. Den I give it to 'im. Whack! Let's say for instance he hits me in de ass. Okay? De minute I'm hit, it don't matter how hard, I act. You gotta be always ready. You know what I mean? So he hits me. What do I do? Very simple. The minute dat I'm hit, I make a yell. I mean a loud yell like as if someone kicked me in de beezalls. Den, I trow up my hands in de air an I trow myself outa de car onto de ground. Den I lay dere until de police come. I lay dere an I don't move a muscle until dey send for an ambulance to come an take me away. I don't move even in de ambulance. Like I remember one time I'm lyin in de ambulance an like normal I'm making a few noises like someting's hurting me somewhere; you know like I'm having pain somewhere. Also I'm breeding hard like I'm having trouble catching my brett. So dis shmeezuck attennant in de ambulance makes like he wants to help me; he wants to give me first aid. So he's stinkin a mile a minute, like he ain't had a batt in two years and trying to gimmie artificial respiration like you know, breeding wid his moutt into my moutt, an me like a putz I gotta lie dere an take it. But usually dey don't bodder you. You jus lie dere an don't move a muscle.

“Like when I get to de emergency I start like moving a little bit at a time. You know, a hand here, a foot dere. If dey ask me where de pain is, I tell dem it's in my back an my neck. Sometimes I tell dem also in my head. The ting wid de back is dat nobody knows from nuttin about pains in de back. Even if de exray don't show nuttin dey believe you if you put on a good show. It's de same ting wid de head. It works real good. I took dem last time for four grand. In de last tree years I frapped out dose insurance mooches for close ta ten gees. I'm good fer tree, four gees a year. De more I do it de better I get. Every year I make more. De insurance game, my friend, is de only one to play. You just have to keep your eyes open an remember, make a loud scream, trow de hands up high, trow yourself outa de car onto de ground an don't move a muscle.”

Pelzic had listened intently. He had wanted to learn.

“But first you must make a big accident, no?” Pelzic had asked.

“What accident! Whadda ya talking what! You don't need no big accident. Even if a guy only touches me wid his car, I jump out and scream. Sometimes I get a little hit. It don't matter. I'm outa de car like a flash. The passenger is in de back seat like nuttin happened an I'm on de ground yelling. He's sittin like he don't know from nuttin an I'm on de street screamin like someone just gay me a shot in de neezuts. Give it a try sometime, ya got nuttin to lose.”

Pelzic agreed. He really did have nothing to lose. He began driving around looking for accident situations. The first week he was searching so anxiously that his driving suffered. Perhaps it was because he was new at the game or because he was trying too hard, but when he did finally manage to get into an accident it was his fault. He ended up in a showroom window of a St. Catherine Street furniture store, successfully demolishing an entire bedroom suite and pinning a clerk against a wall. He was so traumatized by this experience that he decided not to do it again . . . at least for a while. However, he remained sold on the idea of accident claims in general.

A little while after the furniture store incident, he sent his wife to a downtown medical building with instructions to jam one of her high heels into a grating in the building lobby. Pelzic trained her how to fall and yell once the heel became lodged in the grill. Unfortunately, her heels were not thin enough to fit into the grillwork; and while she was trying to force her heel into it, she somehow managed to break the grating; this done under the dumbfounded gaze of the building security guard. She was arrested immediately, and Pelzic, who had been watching from a vantage point in the lobby, was forced to bribe the guard with a ten-dollar bill to obtain his wife's release.

After that, he decided to dispense with his wife's services in his attempt to frap out the insurance companies. Finally, he arranged for an accident with Murray Schmecker. It was Schmecker who thought out the plan, and it was essentially a simple one. They had discussed it one morning on the street next to the taxi stand.

“It's so simple, Pelzic, dat it's beautiful. You take your car an you drive it to de corner of Crescent and Sherbrooke Street. Okay?”

Pelzic nodded.

“Dere's a no-parking zone dere, so I don't tink you'll have trouble to fine yourself a spot. If dere's a guy already dere in your spot, give em a deuce or even a finsky, so he should move. Park de hack maybe fifteen feet from de corner. Before we set it up, we'll make like a kine of countdown to sinkernize our watches. So let's say it's gonna be like nine-turdy, right? Okay. You park your hack at nine-turdy. An den whaddo I do?”

Pelzic shrugged and then started to answer but was cut off before he could open his mouth.

“It's so simple. Dat's de beauty of dis kine of gaff.”

“Yes, yes, please go on,” Pelzic said anxiously. “What do you do, Murray?”

“If you'll stop like interrupting me here for a minute an maybe lemme get in a word or two endwise, I'll tell you,” Schmecker said in an exasperated tone as he grimaced peevishly at Pelzic.

“I didn't talk,” Pelzic protested.

He should have known by now that Schmecker always asked and then immediately answered all his own questions. He'd been around him long enough to realize that, but somehow he was never quite sure if at times Schmecker wasn't perhaps expecting a reply.

“Okay, now listen,” Schmecker continued. “You park at nine-turdy. Right?”

“Yes.” Pelzic nodded his head vigorously.

“An den at nine-turdy-one, or maybe nine-turdy-two, or nine-turdy-tree, I come inta de picture. How do I come inta de picture?”

Again Pelzic found himself reacting instinctively to Schmecker's question. He was about to reply that he didn't know, but he managed to restrain himself.

“Well?” Schmecker said. “All of a sudden you can't talk anymore?” He raised his palms upward in a gesture of futile exasperation. “I ast you how do ya tink I come inta de picture, an all of a sudden you can't talk.”

Pelzic shrugged.

“Okay. So admit it. You don know, right?”

Pelzic nodded.

“Okay, big deal, don worry about it. It's nuttin to feel ashamed of. Look, I mean I didn't learn what I know in a day. It didn't come to me like overnight like dat.” He snapped his fingers. “I spent a lotta time learning de ropes about frapping. It's like a science to me, if you know whad I mean.” He paused for a moment. Pelzic wanted him to get on with the explanation of the plan.

“Anyways, so you don know, so I'll tell how I come inta de picture. You're listening?”

“Please continue, Murray. I'm listening,” Pelzic replied.

“Okay, so you're parked dere near de corner at nine-turdy. Right?”

Pelzic nodded.

“At let's say nine-turdy-two I come like bombing in my hack from around de corner like I don know from nuttin. An–whaddo I do?”

Pelzic's mind whirled as he tried to calculate if Schmecker expected an answer from him. He decided “yes” and started to reply. “I—”

He was immediately cut off by Schmecker. “Again you're interrupting?”

“I didn't inter—”

“Look, Pelzic, I'm trying to set up someting here, right?”

Pelzic bit his tongue so as not to make a reply.

“So lemme do de talking an you do de listening, an dat way maybe we'll boat make a few bucks. When I want you should talk I'll give you a signal, okay?”

Pelzic simply nodded as he tasted the blood from his tongue.

“So where was I? Oh yeah, I was telling about what I do–so I come bombing from aroun de corner an I smash like full force into de back of your car.” He paused for a moment. “Den, Pelzic, whaddo
you
do? Okay, gimme an answer.”

“I throw out my body from my taxi and I fall on the ground. Yes?”

“Yes Pelzic, but remember, make a yell–a loud yell an make wid de hands in de air.”

It was a great idea, Pelzic thought. In spite of his sometimes overbearing manner, Schmecker was indeed a genius.

“If you put on a good act like I explained you, we'll make maybe fy, six gees. Of course de insurance on my car will go up automatic, like maybe a c note a year for tree years, but if we're lucky we'll get a few grand a piece from dis gaff.”

“It's a very nice idea, Murray,” Pelzic said ingratiatingly.

“Yeah, I know. Now lemme hear you make a yell an show me how you'll trow yourself out from de car.”

“Here?” Pelzic asked, looking around him. “Now, in the street?”

“Why not? Who's gonna give a shit?”

“Maybe the police?” Pelzic asked haltingly.

“Whadda ya boddering what. Dose shlemiels don't know from nuttin. Dey know from bubkas. G'wan, make a yell.”

Pelzic shrugged. If Schmecker thought it was all right, who was he to think different? “Alright. I'll do it,” he said.

“Sit in de car an when I say ready, trow open de door an trow yourself to de ashphelt.”

Pelzic got into his cab, and when Schmecker said “now” he flung open the door and hurled his body to the pavement, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Okay, enough. Stop wid de noise. It's great, but when you hit de ground you stop an don't move a muscle. Don't jump around so much.”

“I cannot help it,” Pelzic protested. “I am thinking I just broke my tumb.”

“Great!” Schmecker yelled excitedly. “It's perfect. When we pull our gaff you'll claim for de tum also. We'll get plenny for de tum alone. An if dose insurance boys tink de tum was bust in de accident, dey'll believe anyting you tell dem about your back or your head. It's hard to break a tum, ya know. It's a perfect deal.”

Now, as Pelzic stood in the shower thinking back, he remembered that he had been inclined to agree with Schmecker. It was a perfect deal.

On a Monday morning at 9:30 a.m. Pelzic pulled his car into the no-parking zone on the corner of Crescent Street. He huddled down low in the seat, waiting for the collision which would occur within the next minute.

Instead, he heard a knocking on the window and looked up to see the stern look of a hard-nosed motorcycle cop. The policeman motioned for Pelzic to open the window. Pelzic rolled it down.