The Daughter's Manumission

Twenty-Nine Years Ago - Klempner

Twenty-Nine Years Ago - Klempner

“So, what’s he like? This Conners that we’re meeting?”

Bech sniffs. “Pretty much what you expect for the type….”

“The type?”

“The profession then. Well-turned out. Slick. A bit glib.”

“And we’re not meeting him at his office?”

“No. I checked out the business address he lists. It’s just a PO Box. I’ve met him three times so far. Each time was in a hotel. For the second meeting, he’d booked a conference room.”

“So, low budget? Or just careful would you say?”

“Not sure yet. I asked around in the trade; the other property agents in the area. He has a good reputation in the trade.”

*****

The meeting has been arranged in a hotel bar. A man is waiting in there, standing as we enter. Bech gestures me forward. “That’s him.” Then, “Mr Conners, I'd like to introduce you to my employer. Frank Conners. Lawrence Klempner.”

“Great to meet you, Mr Klempner.” Conners offers his hand, his smile large and apparently sincere.

“You too.”

Smooth manner….

Goes with the job….

Good suit….

…. and shoes….

The smile is large and toothy, with an all-American look about it. And it matches the square chin, the broad shoulders and the solid build. He’s not overly tall, but there’s a lot of him. If he were American, he’d be a football player. If he were Brit, it would be rugby.

“Please, take a seat.” Conners waves to a seat by a low table spread with plans and maps. “I thought you might like an overview of the site before I walk you around.”

Thorough….

“Good idea. Thank you.”

“Coffee? Is it Lawrence or Larry?”

“It's Mr Klempner,” growls Bech.

I shoot him a look. “Calm down, Bech. There's no need to be unfriendly. It's Larry. And yes, I’ll have a coffee. Just black.” Bech turns away with a sour expression as Conners first serves me a cup and then another to Bech, adding milk but no sugar to his….

Already knew his preferences…

Notices the details….

…. then adds milk and spoons three sugars into his own. “May I ask what it is you want to use the site for? Mr Bech here wasn’t very forthcoming.”

I sit back in my chair, hands clasped, legs splayed. “Bech was doing as I asked him. I don’t want it splashed everywhere until and unless we make some forward progress.”

Conners’ brows rise. “Sounds intriguing.”

“I want to open a shelter home. There are so many in need of safety now, children from abusive backgrounds, women in need of refuge, both sexes and all ages from war zones. My aim is to set up an organisation where these people can find a safe harbour until they can take control of their own lives again.”

Conner absorbs that….

Will he go for it? Take it at face value…

No reason he shouldn’t….

He tugs at his chin. “That’s a helluva target you’ve given yourself there,” he says. “Do the City authorities know about this?”

“Not yet. I’ve been looking for an appropriate site for some time. I didn’t want to say anything until we had the pieces of the jigsaw in place…. Why do you ask?”

Conners muses, “Well it occurs to me that’s just the kind of project that ticks a lot of boxes for the pencil pushers. If they know what you’re doing, you might well get some help with the funding.”

Bech turns away to look at some distraction, trying to hide a smile….

A smile on Bech’s face seems somehow unnatural.

“Funding?”

Conners continues. “Sure. There are all kinds of grants out there for this kind of thing: charity for the kiddies, the ethnics and so on. You could probably get financial help with the capital purchases at least.” He waits for his words to take effect. “Perhaps we’re running before we walk. Let’s take a stroll around the site. I’ll show you the general layout then you take a look yourself without me hanging around your neck.”

The site is everything Bech promised and more; the old factory plant, warehousing and outbuildings, the services are dilapidated but fundamentally there….

“The owners bricked up more of the ground and first-floor windows against squatters,” says Conners. “Most of the doors too, so it looks pretty grim right now….” He manhandles a huge bunch of keys, sorting through until he locates one to fit the padlock on the steel-reinforced front entrance. The key is wrestled into the lock, which sticks, groans, then gives. “…. But it wouldn’t be a huge job for you to open up the windows again and let some light in.”

“I'm new to this area,” I say. “Can you recommend the contractors we would need for the works?”

“Oh, sure. No problem at all. Whatever you need. Plumbers, electricians, builders, joiners. I know them all around here, including the ones to avoid.”

“Sounds good.”

We stand in a hall. Conners punctuates his words with gestures in various directions. “Along there, office space, the doors to the cellars along the end there and if you go upstairs, you’ll find the old factory floor spaces. I’ll turn on the electric for you, then you have a wander. I’m going to leave you to it for a while. I’ll wait in the car if you have any questions.”

*****

“So, what do you think?” Conners puts three beers down, slopping froth over a corner of the rolled-out site plan, then sits and takes a long draft from his glass.

“I’m interested,” I say. “Very much so.” He nods as I speak, downing more of his beer. Bech watches in that pressed-mouth silent way of his, his drink untouched. “However, there are a number of considerations and I need time to think.”

Conners nods. “Of course.”

I tap the plan. “Can I keep this?”

“Absolutely. That's your copy. In fact…” He turns to pick up the cardboard tube he has leaning against the table, opens it and extracts another document…. “… I made a spare copy for you, so you have a master and one you can work with.…”

Efficient...

Delivers what's needed. Not just what's asked for.

Conners finishes his beer. “Suppose I leave you with it for a couple of days to think it through. You can call me if you have any queries and you’ll find my fax number on my card….” He pushes a business card across the table to me…. “and in any case, I’ll give you a call, say, the day after tomorrow?”

“That’s fine. Call Bech to set up a meeting.”

“Great to meet you, Larry.” He stands, offering me his hand. “Mr Bech,” and Bech replies with a curt nod back.

After Conners leaves, Bech, his drink still untouched, says, “Do you need anything else from me, sir? I should be getting back.”

“No, that's fine, Bech. You go. I’ll be in touch.”

I examine the plan Conners left.

Perfect.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” The waitress hovers, looking bored.

If you don’t like the job get another one….

“Coffee.”

“That’s all?”

“Just coffee.”

I work my way through the plan, making sure that the site delivers what I’m looking for. Not that I’m short on cash, but my pockets aren’t bottomless. I scribble a few notes, marking out nearby areas to check the ownership with Conners.

Across at the next table, a small child in a push-chair starts squalling. His bright red face screams around a set of vibrating tonsils. A vapid female in a floral dress tries to quiet the brat.

Milk...

Toys...

Warmly dressed….

His mother there….

What’s he got to scream about?

A fist....

Da... No....

I shake myself back to the present.

The door swings open, letting in a cold draft as a man enters, smiling at the woman and, for some reason, down at the squawking child. He actually sounds pleased. “Darling…. A good morning?”

She sounds strained…. “It would be if Theo would calm down.”

The man leans in on the baby, still beaming, arms outstretched. “Here, give him to me.”

She plucks the toddler from the stroller, passing him to the man. “Look, Daddy's here.”

He bounces the kid up and down. The red face fades to pink and the kid starts gurgling and smiling back at his father.

The reek of beer….

The fist...

The blow.… sending the boy skidding across the tiles….

Again, the fist raised….

Crying from the floor.... No, Da.... Please….

…

…

Fuck this….

I rummage in my pocket, tossing a handful of small change onto the table, roll up the plans and head out into the evening.

*****

A couple of days later, Bech calls. “You want me to arrange a second meet-up with Conners?”

“Yes. Anytime over the next few days is fine. There’s a couple of points about the site I want to clear up.”

*****

Conners sits, pen in hand hovering over a notebook. “So…. Questions?”

I tap on the areas I have outlined in red. “Who owns these? The properties and plots adjacent to the site?”

He sucks air through his teeth. “Well…. That’s a long question. That area….” He stabs his pen at one of the outlines, is owned by City Hospitaliers….” He sees my look. “Hotel company,” he explains. “There was a rumour about them opening something there but so far as I can tell, it’s come to nothing….”

He scans the plan, chewing the top of his pen, then takes a packet from a pocket, offering it to me.

“Cigar?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“You mind if I do?”

“Not at all.”

He lights up then surveys the plan again. “That one there…. I happen to know is a private individual. An old guy who was a friend of my father. He’s ten years older than God and they’re just counting the years….”

He draws a swathe over the north edge of the site. “This area I believe belongs to the City authorities. If you offered them the right price, I daresay they’d sell. As to the rest….” He sucks the top of his biro…. “I’d have to check.” He eyeballs me. “What’s your angle on this? You want to buy the outlying plots too?”

“If they’re at the right price, probably yes. Just now, I’d like to know who my neighbours would be.”

“Understood.” He jots a note then, “Can I take it you are interested in the site?”

“You can. But I’m looking to reduce the price.”

“Of course you are,” He raises a finger. “Look, I can tell you, the vendors are keen to sell. It’s a family that owns it. They got greedy with the price to begin with and I know they’ve no takers. You’ll be able to knock it down by ten percent without blinking, and if you’re happy to play hardball, you’ll get more….”

“You’re on a commission I assume?”

He displays a shark-grin. “Course I am. But any sale is better than no sale, and the owners were being unrealistic about what an abandoned site in the middle of a derelict area are is worth.” He takes a breath, eye-balls me…. “Can you give me proof of funds? It’ll strengthen your case for a quick sale.”

“Anytime you like. It’s cash in the bank. I’ll fax it through to you.”

Conners beams. “I like the sound of that. Leave it with me.”

*****

“I think this calls for a celebration.” Conners pops the cork and pink foams spews over the table, carpets and ceiling.

Someone at the bar gets the wrong message. Mind-curdling muzak suddenly blares up with ‘Happy Birthday to You….”

God save us….

…. and Conners shrugs apologetically before splashing the champagne into glasses….

…. then looks sidelong. “You do drink? Yes?”

“Some.”

He pulls a face and passes me the glass. I take a sip for the sake of appearances.

Frank knocks his back, refills his glass, then offers to top up mine. I cover it with my hand. “I’m fine.”

He shakes his head. “Sheesh, let your hair down, why don't you. You don't smoke. You barely drink. What do you do?” Then his eyes roam the room. He jerks his head across the bar. “Hey, Larry, you’re single? Right?”

“I’m single, yes.”

“Which one do you fancy?” As he fills his glass again, his eyes roll to two bimbos at the bar, one blonde, one not, both giggling mindlessly as they see Dom Perignon splash over the flutes….

Still, they're not bad looking.

Wonder what they look like when they take the makeup off?

They're obviously already drunk but still working on it, leaning into each other, whispering and tittering mindlessly.

They look as though they've been around the block a few times.

Can I be bothered…?

How long has it been?

Why not?

“Does it matter? Take your pick.”

For a moment his triumphant smile fades. “One piece of ass is much the same as another, eh?” Then the grin blooms again. “I'll take the blonde then.”

“Fine.”

Bottle in hand, he strolls across to the giggling pair then stands between them, flinging an arm around the shoulder of each. “Now then, ladies, what can we get you? Would you like some of this?” He brandishes the bottle, then shouts across to the bar. “Another one over here, please.”

The barman deposits another bottle in the ice-bucket while Frank cracks off-colour jokes. The brunette doesn’t seem to have the basic intelligence to get the punch lines, but she follows her friend’s lead with a laugh like a dentist’s drill.

How much contact do I want with either of them?

“Excuse me. I’ll be back in a minute,” I say.

In the bathroom, I stick a coin in the slot and pocket a pack of rubbers.

Frank winks at me as I return to the bar. “Cassandra and Bev have rooms upstairs. They’ve invited us back for coffee.”

“Is that right?”

*****

In the elevator, the attendant stands rigid. His eyes flick briefly to the two tittering sluts hanging on Frank’s arm, and then to me….

Mind your own f*****g business….

He flushes, then stares determinedly forward.

*****

I button up my shirt. The little brunette tart lies sprawled in the sheets, still asleep...

Asleep? Or unconscious from alcohol?

Hardly matters….

Christ, but that snoring's loud.

Conners is in the next room with his blonde slut.

Should I disturb him?

No need….

What time is it?

I check the clock. Three am.

I need air.

A walk in the night. Just the thing.

As I step out onto the street, a group of youngsters in hoodies look my way and strike a pose which I assume they think will intimidate. I pause and look back at them. After a second or so, they find something else to interest them.

The City is cool, dark and empty, with that thin mist that somehow makes the streets sound hollow. Buildings, roads, even grass and trees are painted from a monochrome palette; the only colour is the sodium yellow glare of the streetlights and the amber of the back-lights of the occasional passing vehicle.

The sound of my footsteps rises over the dim hum of traffic and the occasional siren, echoing back from stone walls and high tenements as I pace back to my hotel.

Darkness folds around blind windows and locked doors and the night air clears my head. Alone, I leave behind the fake celebration.

*****