Twenty-Nine Years Ago - Klempner
703 Words
Twenty-Nine Years Ago - Klempner
My phone rings…. Conners.
“Hey, Larry. Good news. I tried a cheeky offer. Since you’re a cash buyer, I went in twenty percent under what they were asking. They stalled at that, but I added back five percent and they’ve accepted.”
“Ah, that is good news. Well done, Frank…. What was…?”
He cuts me short. “And I have that info you wanted.”
“Which information are we talking about?”
“You wanted to know who owned the sites adjacent to Blessingmoors. I’ve got most of it in and the rest is on its way.”
He’s good….
“Fast work. Where do you want to meet?”
“Same place? That hotel? I can be there in twenty minutes.”
*****
I survey the spread of information on the table. Conners sits in silence, propping his chin on a fist.
He’s really f*****g good at his job….
“We’re agreed then,” says Conners. “I’ll follow-up on the offer on the main site….” He pencils a note…. “Who’s handling your legals?”
“Can you recommend someone? Someone who will understand any issues on permits and permissions. I’d prefer someone local who knows the turf.”
“Sure. No problem.” He pencils another note. “There’s a couple of lawyers I’m happy to recommend. I’ll have a chat with them about fees and get them to contact you. And do you want me to actively pursue the purchase of the other sites adjacent? To act for you on that?”
“Yes. If you get it right, you’ll get the lot and the commission that goes with it.”
“Splendid.” Conners sits up, rubbing his hands, then casts an eye over the paperwork. “Anything else for now?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Great.” He sniffs. “How do you fancy finding a bar and some female company?”
*****
Two hours later, Frank is tanked on beer. So is the over-made tart hanging on to his arm. And the bottle-blonde friend isn’t much better. Her mouth hangs slack and her mascara’s running, so the cow-eyes she’s making at me don’t appeal.
“Letsh go back to my playshh…” she slurs.
“I’m right with you darlin’” Frank staggers for the exit. “C’mon, Larry.”
I can't be bothered.
I don't want to f**k this little slut….
“I’ll pass. Enjoy your evening.”
“Hey, where are you going?” Frank winks towards Mascara Girl.
“I want an early night. I'll catch you tomorrow.”
He leers at each of them in turn. They giggle and simper back. “More for me. Eh, girls?”
*****
In my hotel, I order a meal from room service then settle back on the bed to watch tv.
I flick through cheap American sitcoms, repeats from the 80s, 70s even the 60s. But you can only watch ‘I Love Lucy’ for so long before your brain curdles.
Trying pay-tv, I flick through a couple of porn channels....
Amateurs...
Might as well do some work….
So, I draft a letter of authority for Conners ready to fax to him the following morning, then set myself up on the narrow desk to mark up the area plan with notes and my thoughts on how to use the site….
The site is perfect….
This is going to make me a f*****g fortune.
….
….
And I can’t concentrate….
What is wrong with me?
Everything’s going my way. I’m going to make a mint out of what’s coming and yet….
And yet….
Air. I need air.
The streets are cool and welcoming. Quiet too, save for the raucous laughter of late-night bars and the bass thumping vibrating out from a club.
An all-night liquor store sells me a half-bottle of whiskey from behind a grid, the attendant eyeing me with the kind of bloodshot expression that suggests he’s tried too much of his own product.
A couple of gulps sitting on a bench over-looking a park warms me as I watch revellers tumbling out from a party; the men shouting and the women squealing.
Feeling better for the alcohol, I walk, seeing no-one except a couple of hobos on cardboard or newspaper. One of them has a black eye and is swollen around the face….
A fist….
Da, no…. Please….
The tramp holds up a hand, squinting into the gloom with his one good eye. Even that is rheumy and yellow. “Spare some change, Guv?” His clothes are tattered rags. His body much the same.
Way beyond useful work….
On an impulse, I glug another mouthful of the whiskey, then pass him the bottle. His face lights up. “Hey, thanks.”
I just nod an acknowledgement and walk on.
*****
- Writer
