The Last Collection (26 page)

Hankleman put his hand to his breast pocket to reassure himself that the envelope with the four thousand dollars for Gervais was still there. He had withdrawn the money right after his brief chat with Gervais that morning. Tomorrow Gervais would have the envelope and its contents and he would have the plan of the land slated for purchase by the government for its autoroute extension.

Gervais had sounded very sincere on the phone—as sincere as anyone could sound under the circumstances. He had assured Hankleman that the particular tract of land which he was concerned with was available for purchase and that it could be bought for very little without any problem.

Hankleman knew that there was always a chance that complications could develop when it came to actually buying the land, but he decided very quickly that it was a risk well worth taking considering the potential returns.

The major unknown factor was Guy Gervais himself. Could he be trusted? Putting himself in Gervais' shoes, Hankleman reasoned that as head of the Roads Planning Department, Gervais could not afford to play games with him. If he burned Morrie Hankleman, Morrie Hankleman could burn him much worse. Yes, Morrie Hankleman felt very good about the whole thing. Again he put his hand to his jacket and touched the bulge in his breast pocket.

He smiled and turned onto his street. His smile faded quickly as he saw his wife's car in the driveway.

He was not really surprised. Since she had walked out, he had given a lot of thought to what her future actions might be. It had occurred to him that she might return contrite, but this did not seem likely based on his knowledge of her.

As far as he was concerned, there would be no reconciliation. He had tried to visualize the two of them together again, and each time he felt himself growing tense and angry. He knew he couldn't take being married to her any longer. The very idea of it made him ill.

He was sure she was there to take possession of the house which he'd originally registered in her name. He knew that after she had thought about it, she would realize that the house was hers. This fact was obvious and even his wife who wasn't all that bright would see it eventually; and if for some reason she didn't, the various members of her family would point it out to her.

Morrie Hankleman stepped out of his car and went up the walk. He tried the door. It was unlocked and he walked in not quite knowing what to expect. As he closed the door behind him, he saw at once that she had returned with a vengeance.

Stacked in a large pile at the front of the hall were all his clothes and personal belongings. Hankleman smiled weakly as he stared down at the heap in front of him.

“Hello,” he called in a loud voice.

His wife came out of the den and stood near the doorway with her hands resting against the jamb.

“There's your stuff,” she said, pointing at Hankleman's things.

“Yeah, I see. So?”

“So, you can take it and then please go,” she said icily.

“I was wondering when you'd be back,” Hankleman said.

“Surprised?” his wife replied.

He shrugged and snorted. “I got the letter from your lawyers.”

“Good,” she replied, drumming her fingers on the door-jamb.

“Where's the kid?” Hankleman asked.

“Upstairs, sleeping.”

Hankleman nodded thoughtfully.

“And don't go up there,” his wife added.

“I'm not interested in going.”

“Good.”

“I've seen more than enough of him.”

His wife said nothing.

“Every time he sees me he starts screaming, anyways.”

“Do you blame him?”

Hankleman's mouth twisted into a sneer. He had the urge to stride over to his wife and let her have the back of his hand across the face but he controlled himself. There was no way he was going to hit her. He turned and stared down at his pile of belongings. “Is this all of my stuff?”

“Everything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“I don't see my movie camera.”

“That was mine.”

“Bullshit it was.”

“You gave it to me, if you remember.”

“I don't remember.”

“Well, you did.”

“Keep it. It was a crappy camera anyway.”

“Like everything else you ever gave me.”

“Oh really. I suppose your diamond wedding ring is crap.”

“For all I know, it's glass.”

“Well, if it's that crappy, I'll take it back,” Hankleman said.

“Hah,” Gail Hankleman retorted.

“And I suppose your car is crap too, huh? And your fur coats are crap, eh? And all your other jewellery? You sure have a lot of expensive crap.”

“Would you go, please,” Gail Hankleman said.

“You're going to get nothing from me,” Hankleman said.

“I already have the house.”

“We'll see.”

“There's nothing to see. It's my house. I own it lock, stock and barrel.”

“What if you find out that you don't?” Hankleman said with a leer.

“Don't waste your time playing games, Morrie. You know it's mine, I know it's mine and my lawyer knows it's mine. So do you mind taking your things and getting out of my house.”

Gail Hankleman left her position near the den door and moved towards him, pointing at the pile on the hall floor.

“Take your things and go.”

“I guess you're in a hurry to get downtown and do some shopping for some more crap with my crappy money.”

“Yes, that's right, as a matter of fact.”

I'd love to smash her but there's no way I'm going to allow myself to do that, Morrie Hankleman thought to himself.

“Now please go,” Gail Hankleman said, pointing at the front door.

“Or maybe you're in a big rush to get to your tennis lesson . . . or is that tomorrow?”

“Today and tomorrow,” his wife replied, coming closer to him.

“Or maybe I'm keeping you from visiting your lesbian friend Martha . . . or I should say, Martie.”

“I'm seeing her later, tonight,” Gail Hankleman replied.

Morrie Hankleman could feel a pain in his stomach. His arms were pressed rigidly against his sides.

“You'd really just love to hit me, Morrie . . . wouldn't you?” his wife said.

Hankleman laughed. He knew she was right. He knew she knew she was right. He knew she knew he knew she was right, which all meant that he would have loved to bash her. The only thing that was holding him back was his realization that she would derive as much satisfaction from seeing him lose his cool as he would from bashing her. No! She was not going to get that satisfaction.

“Wouldn't you, Morrie?” she repeated, a suggestion of a sneer at the corners of her mouth.

“Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't hit you if you paid me. It wouldn't be worth the effort.”

“That's true. You never were . . . very energetic,” Gail Hankleman said with a smirk. “Except maybe in your business things,” she added, her eyes gleaming.

“Lucky for you I was energetic in my business things, as you call them, or you wouldn't have a pot to piss in,” Hankleman said, stepping forward and wagging a finger under her nose.

“Get that finger out of my face,” she said angrily.

“Why? Does it bother you? It's only a finger.”

“Just get it out of my face.”

“Don't tell me what to do with my finger.”

“I'm not telling you what to do with it, I'm telling you what not to do with it . . . and that is, not to wave it in my face. If I told you what to do with it, I'd tell you to stick it up your nose.”

“I'll stick it where I want.”

“Stick it up your ass if you want to but don't stick . . . don't wave it . . . in my face.”

“If I want to, I'll stick it up my ass and then stick it up your nose,” Hankleman said angrily.

“In a horse's ass you will,” Gail Hankleman said coolly.

“No, in my ass I will!”

“Maybe in your ass but not in my face.”

“Why not? That's a good match-up. My ass and your face.”

“Your ass and your face, you mean,” his wife retorted.

Hankleman's mind went blank. He couldn't think of a reply. He stood there staring at his right index finger which was still raised in front of his wife's face.

“You were always very good with your finger,” she said. “Unfortunately that's all you were good with.”

“It's the only thing that didn't scare you,” Hankleman replied with a leer, feeling a surge of satisfaction at his remark.

“I was always scared of soft, limp things,” said Gail Hankleman.

A retort flashed through Morrie Hankleman's mind. He was going to say, ‘Then your tits must have frightened the hell out of you,' but instead he hauled off and clunked her on the head.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

A
t eight o'clock that evening, Artie Kerner went for supper at Solly Weisskopf's house. There he met the Hawk's wife and daughter. Moishie Mandelberg was there with his wife as well.

After supper the three men retired to the privacy of the Hawk's den where they discussed the progress of their plan and exchanged compliments on how well things were working out.

After a while, the Hawk produced a red architectural cylinder which contained the plan that was to be fed to Morrie Hankleman. This was given to Kerner along with the address of the house where Claude Lemay would transact his business with Hankleman. The Hawk also gave Kerner a photo of Claude Lemay and a password which Lemay was to utter before the plan was handed over to him.

As soon as he had taken possession of the cylinder, Artie Kerner became anxious to get home. He felt tense in the way he usually did just prior to being overwhelmed by an attack of buying madness; but he knew somehow that in this instance he would not be forced to indulge his sickness as in the past. He had been ill all day without having lost control.

He had felt tense and irritable when he awoke that morning, and after his session with Dr. Lehman he had become even more upset. He could sense a dull aching anger growing inside him.

Kerner looked at the red cylinder in his hand. The Hawk was saying something but Kerner couldn't concentrate on the words. His thoughts drifted back to his earlier meeting with Dr. Lehman. The psychiatrist's suggestion about not becoming involved in the screwing of Hankleman came to mind. Artie Kerner winced as a wave of nausea swept through him. He pushed Dr. Lehman's words out of his mind and brought his attention back to the talk in the den.

The Hawk and Big Moishie were still discussing and laughing over their soon-to-be-accomplished coup.

Kerner joined them in this for another half-hour, then thanked everyone, said goodnight and made his exit. He drove quickly back to his apartment, knowing that only sleep would relieve his pain and give him any peace that night.

Chapter Forty

M
orrie Hankleman sat at his table at Georges with Eugene Carlin and the two women that Carlin had come in with. He kept thinking of the look on his wife's face as he landed the haymaker on her head. He wondered if she really would go so far as to take out an assault charge against him as she had threatened after regaining consciousness.

Probably not. If she did, he'd go back and knock her on her ass again. Next time though he would hit her harder because it was obvious she really knew how to take a punch. She was out only for a second or two and then she bounced right back on her feet ready to fight. Hankleman had then locked her in the hall closet while he loaded as many of his belongings as possible into the car and took off.

Getting her into the closet hadn't been easy. He was amazed at her strength. While he was struggling with her, she had somehow managed to get him in a headlock and then after he had broken that hold with some effort, in a full nelson, from which grip he had been able to escape only by giving her an elbow in the stomach. That had weakened her hold enough so that he had been able to hook his right foot behind her right ankle and trip her. She had fallen backwards with his full weight on top of her. That old judo trick had knocked the wind out of her completely and allowed him to finally get her under control and into the hall closet.

He had quickly gathered up his belongings and headed straight downtown and taken a room at the Mount Royal Hotel. He knew he would be best off there for the next few days. After he had finished teaching Weisskopf and Mandelberg their lesson, he would look for an apartment.

Morrie Hankleman took a sip from his fifth glass of Scotch. It was his aim to get good and drunk. He had no intention of going into his office the next day, and since his appointment up north with Guy Gervais wasn't until the late afternoon, he knew he could sleep in late and deal with his hangover. He felt a tingle of excitement as he thought about the meeting with Gervais. He began to smile. He glanced at his watch. It was eleven o'clock. Another eighteen hours or so and he would snatch a valuable piece of land right out from under the noses of Weisskopf and Mandelberg. Oh, the satisfaction! he thought and his grin became even wider. He would get Kerner too. He was going to have Kerner put in the hospital. He had made up his mind about that. Then he would send him flowers and a get-well card. Hankleman laughed out loud at this thought.

“Let us in on the joke, Morrie,” Eugene Carlin said, leaning forward across the table.

“It's nothing. It's nothing,” Hankleman said, shaking his head and still grinning.

“I think you're getting a little high, Morrie, aren't you?” the young woman named Linda said.

“No, no, I never get drunk,” Hankleman replied seriously. “I can drink all day and all night and nothing happens.”

“Do you ever get a hangover?” Linda asked.

Hankleman shook his head. “Never. . . . I don't know what a hangover is.”