Chapter 20 Black Dog - 4

On the evening of August 5th, Zby and Reb went to see a movie, the title of which Zby remembered was Casablanca, starring Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman. "I've seen it, and so has Reb, but he's a cinephile, and the Swedish girl obsessed him, so I backed down as usual." They emerged from the theater at about half-past eleven and started walking back to the To Tsby's little apartment where he and Reber still lived. A car pulls over and two men, apparently armed, get out of the car.They ignored Zby and only spoke to his partner. "Are you Baker? The boss has something to tell you."

"Finnegan?" "Get in the car. The Pole is going too." Reb said slowly, "Come on, Zby. They ain't gonna shoot." Just at this time, a group of Puerto Ricans appeared, about five or six people, male and female.Reber called them in Spanish.They came over smiling. "Quick, get in the car," said the man with the gun. Reber continued to speak Spanish.The Puerto Ricans laughed out loud, and Reb laughed too. He said in English, "O.K., Zby. Everything will be arranged." He leaned over and looked into the car and said: "What do you want, Finnegan? Do you come out by yourself or do you want me to drag you out?"

There was a small commotion in the car.Tsby saw a man of about forty, not too tall but very bulky, with the reddest imaginable red hair. "It's very simple, Finnegan," said Reber in a serene tone. "If your friend shoots me in the back, he'll have to shoot this Pole and my Puerto Rican friends too. I believe it will be an event called Sacrifice in ancient Greece, in English It's the Holocaust. You can't let that happen. There's nothing you can do about 'restoration'... Do you know what that word 'restoration' means, Finnegan? From the look on your face I don't think you can ...

"'Restoration' is to restore the old order. It is to recapture your income of $170,000 a year. Those days are gone, Finnegan. So it's one of two things: either you get out; or you Insist on charging your dollar and fifty cents a day to the newspaper vendors on the south side of Manhattan. You pick. My name is Reb. You make your choice; if you want to do it, you can get out of the car and figure it out Hit me. I'll kill you. Let's fight one on one. You decide, Finnegan." Reber stepped back and spoke Spanish again to the smiling Puerto Ricans.Then he said in Polish: "Zby, he's about to jump on me. Please don't intervene. Everything will be fine."

In the ensuing few seconds, many things happened in quick succession.One of Reb's big bony fists flew out and hit the man with the gun right in the Adam's apple.The man with the gun bent over in pain, and has since lost interest in the battle.Finnegan pounced on where Reb had just stood, only to be punched in the neck by Reb's other hand and kicked in the stomach.He hit his head against the wall, bounced out of there, and turned just in time to catch a mouth on the left and right, two hard hits on the neck (unfortunately his neck was left uncovered), a kick between his legs And five or six hooks in the face.

He collapsed. Leiber smiled at the third man and asked him what he was going to do. "Not much," said the man. "That's enough." "I'd rather be the same," Reber said. "At least someone can take them away. Hope you know how to drive." He stood upright, with a brooding expression on his face.But the third man was right, and neither were Ziby and the Puerto Ricans who suddenly stopped laughing: there was indeed a ruthless murderous look emanating from Reb. The eldest of the Gorzczynak brothers comes from a small town called Wagrowicz, north of Poznan in northwestern Poland.He came to the United States in 1924 and changed his name from Sigismund to Simon, which is easier to pronounce in English.He started selling newspapers less than two weeks after he passed the immigration review.In 1950, at the age of forty-four, he was the undisputed owner of three newsstands, one of which was in the prime location of Grand Central Station.In the small world of Manhattan newspaper vendors, he had made a name for himself.By 1927 he had the strength to sponsor two of his brothers to emigrate to the United States, and it was one of them in Memphis who put Reber in a truck and took him to New York.

It was Simon Gorzchenak who had introduced Reber to Zby Cybulski, and it was he who had been decisive in convincing most newspaper vendors to join Reber in July. On August 6, 1950, around five o'clock in the afternoon, Gorzchenak left his newsstand on the corner of Thirty-sixth Street in Central Park and walked toward Grand Central Station.One witness saw him talking to two people who had just stepped out of a blue Chevrolet near the Church of the Savior.Gorzchenak finally got into the limousine and headed north. He was spotted the next morning at a construction site where the future United Nations headquarters was being built.Every bone in his body had been broken with the utmost care and savagery with lead pipes.Only his face was intact, as if easily recognizable, and a newspaper printed in Polish, German, Italian, and Yiddish was thrust through his mouth and down his throat.

Finnegan died two days later, on August 8.The investigation showed that he had been away from his position as head of the newspaper distribution system for a week, and had spent the night in Atlantic City under an alias a few days ago, accompanied by two other people who were apparently his bodyguards.The two were shot in the back of the neck.Finnegan was found hanging, but not from a rope.Using one of the longshoreman's hooks for planing riveted crates, the steel point was thrust into his mouth, piercing the palate and penetrating the brain. The climate changed around August 20th.First it rained furtively and falsely over New England.The sea began to change shades of purple, the air grew cooler, and even Adolfo and Benito, the two cormorants who used to roost by the pier, were out of their habitual lethargy.In other words, summer is over.

That didn't seem to upset the Taras at all.They both hate heat.If you follow them, it is best to move the country house to Greenland.But they needed a decent postal system to get their books, and Shirley's story for The New Yorker had to be mailed out every week.They had to make do with Maine, hoping that the climate would be cooler and wetter there, a hope that seldom failed. In 1950, at the age of fifty-one, Georges Taras was finishing his third book, in which he asserted emphatically that the Constitution of the United States had copied almost verbatim what Pascale Baucau had written before that. A constitution drawn up by the Corsicans.He hopes to arouse the indignation of experts through the publication of this book.By September 8th he only had to write another fifty pages or so to be done.On this day, he was accustomed to waking up early, had breakfast, and started working.Shirley showed up about seven o'clock when it rained, and the two events had nothing to do with each other.She has to write her article.This couple who have been married for 23 years and have no children, while loving each other, also hold an extremely sharp and ironic attitude towards the whole human being.

Around eleven o'clock, Shirley raised her head and pointed to a window in the direction of the bay, saying, "Someone has come to accompany us." George looked out the window, and five years of his life seemed to have vanished in one fell swoop.The past is vivid in his memory, even the details are unbelievably clear. He seems to have seen Reb Michel Klimrod's every move and expression without moving, and he seems to have heard that unique speech again. sound. Taras' house in Maine was a stone-based wood structure.There was a view of the sea from every side, or nearly every side, and sometimes, if the windows were open, the waves of the Atlantic splashed all the way into the house.It sits on a low headland between Pinobscot and Blue Hill Bay.It was almost three kilometers from the nearest house.

"I have come to return your two books," said Reb Klimrod.He took a copy of Whitman and a book of Montaigne from his cloth bag and handed them to Taras. "There is no hurry," replied Taras. "If you haven't finished it, you can keep it. Would you like tea or coffee?" "Neither, thank you. I love your house. I literally finished both books." The rain has stopped, but it looks like it will start falling again soon.Still, the two men went outside.They chose a path leading to the ocean. "how did you find me?" "By David Setiniaz." "How long have you been in America?" "Almost two months." "Did you speak English before?" "Just a little bit." Taras sat down on one of the rocks on which he had been accustomed for the past twenty years.The mouth of the bay they were in opened to the southeast and was constantly whipped by the wind blowing from the ocean.He looked at Klimrod—or was it Kimrod?No, it was Klimrod,—and found him hardly changed.Taras suddenly realized how absurd the situation was. "My God," he thought, "I've seen about twenty thousand men and women in Europe, also from concentration camps, who have had horrific ordeals, and many of them have been different in more than one way. No. Yet I don't remember ten names; if they had appeared to me, I wouldn't have recognized them. But why remember him?" "I think, you came all the way to the United States, not just to return the books to me?" "No, not just for this matter," Leiber replied with a smile. He wore rope sandals, cloth trousers, a cloth shirt, and carried his bag over his shoulder.Curiosity tickled Taras, but he also felt the shyness he had experienced in Mauthausen, which he remembered vividly. "No, that's not the only reason I'm in Maine," Reber added. He began to describe how he went to Israel after leaving Austria, and then went to various places in the world, but he did not describe everything in detail. "Your English is pretty good," Taras said. "Thank you." His gray eyes stared at the ocean.Then he looked down at Taras a little. "I read a book you wrote," he said. "Legal issues concerning piracy on the high seas. Are you still teaching at Harvard?" "They haven't kicked me out yet. Even though I've tried my best to get that done." "I needed help from someone in a very specialized field," Reber said. "Can you spare me an hour?" "Stay and have lunch with us. That's my condition." They looked at each other and smiled. "Okay," Reber said, sitting on a nearby rock, his long legs stretched out. "Recently," he said in a slow, nonchalant tone, "I've started a few companies. There are dozens of them." "I teach international law," Taras interrupted him immediately, as if by reflex. "I don't know much about the law of societies." "I know. I understand it's two different things. I have some lawyers working for me, drafting contracts and stuff. My problem is on the other side." Only now did his words enter Taras' mind; usually Taras reacted more quickly. "You said you founded 'dozens' of companies?" "There are about eighty at the moment." "They're all in America?" "In the United States and Canada." "How old are you now?" "I will be twenty-two in ten days." He laughed. "Yes, I haven't been in this country for more than two months. But it happened rather quickly. In fact, even a little too soon. I haven't had time to get myself fully prepared." Taras gaped, looking straight at him. "That is indeed the reason for my visit. All these companies are set up on the same principle: that trustees shall replace me as nominal shareholder in all affairs. I suppose that, however specialized your learning may be, you still know the trustees. What's up with the book?" Taras could only nod. Uncle continued to speak calmly. "These companies are in many very different fields: publishing, transportation, distribution, real estate, advertising, food, restaurants. I believe they all have a chance of success. Some of them are already profitable. Do you want to know the number of profits, In order to consider your compensation?" Taras rubbed his eyes. "Wait a minute," he said. "Maybe I'm dreaming, but I can't keep up with you. Is it something I'm hallucinating, or did you just tell me that you've created eight in the less than two months you've been in this country?" Ten companies?" "Eighty-one," corrected Reber, with a slight sneer in his eye. "You've never been to America before?" "Not in this life." "Are you alone?" "In the sense you mean it is." "You don't look like a millionaire. No offense to you. What happened after Linz left? Did you unearth the treasure of Nazi war criminals?" "I came to America with no money," Leiber said quietly. "That of course created some difficulties." Taras moved closer. "You're kidding me, aren't you? It's some kind of Austrian or half-Jewish humor, I suppose, isn't it?" "I am no longer Austrian or Jewish." Immediately afterwards, he said: "As for my actual income, I estimate that it can reach 35,000 US dollars in September. But it will increase soon. Therefore, you don't have to worry about your compensation. Let me be clear first..." "Don't bother with me about compensation anymore, okay?" "After this is clarified, let's talk about the issues that brought me here. The thing is this: All powers of attorney are signed with my real name Klimrod, Reb Michel Klimrod De. k, 1, i. I noticed that you hesitated to have the letter l in my surname." "So what's the problem?" Taras asked, ready to throw in the towel. "I don't exist," Reber said. "I came to your country illegally without any documents. I don't have a passport, not even a driver's license." He picked up a handful of dust. "It's always going to cause trouble." They had steamed lobster for lunch, not a big deal in Maine.Shirley and the young guest ate and talked about painting--a subject for which Georges Bellas was not much interested,--with great enthusiasm, and even got into an argument about a man named Pollock, who was, of course, Polite debate. By the time there were only two men left—Shirley had gone up to Bar Harbor to mail her article—Reber spoke in detail about his wishes...   "What do you want to be?" Taras asked. "A stateless person. I don't want to be a citizen of any country." "You're Austrian. Why is being Austrian so annoying?" "Can you please answer my question directly?" "I could do it, but your idea won't work. Such a thing doesn't exist or hardly exists. Do you really want me to give you all the details? I don't have a book with me, mine is in Boston , I will be there in a week to prepare for the fall semester.” "I would like a tentative answer, Mr. Taras. I can elaborate on it later." "Well. The earliest stateless people in modern times arose from the disqualification decrees passed by the Soviet Union in the early 1920s for diaspora who opposed the communist system; later also by Hitler's Germany and Mussolini's Italy. These have nothing to do with you. Three years ago, in 1947, there were several different peace treaties, if I remember correctly, which contained several clauses on the issue of statelessness. I can't remember the exact clauses, sorry. But one thing is for sure, statelessness is unwelcome and unprotected by the state...” Taras interrupted himself and stared at the tall, skinny, seemingly indifferent young man. "But you may feel that you don't need the protection of the state, am I right?" Smile. "yes." "However, things can become extremely difficult for you, for example, when you want to cross a border. International law in principle only applies to people who have a nationality. Giving up your nationality will make you lose some conveniences, such as reciprocity. Reciprocity...do you understand what I mean?" "yes." "What a stupid question," Taras said. "As an Austrian who comes to America, you get the same conveniences as an American who goes to Austria. As a stateless citizen, you are nothing and have nothing to offer in exchange for what you ask for." convenient……" "Such as the right to form a company." "Exactly." "Will this cause all the contracts I have signed to be null and void?" "It will. It's possible, among other things. If someone does it, if someone really gets on your nerves . . . " Klimrod stood up.The house in Taras was over a hundred years old—a room painted in various shades of red with a fairly low ceiling.Reber's head almost touched the top.He went to the window and seemed to be contemplating the dark island and the jagged coastline. "Do you think that there will come a day when people will no longer need passports, no stamps?" "I should be surprised if so," replied Tacis. "I don't think very highly of men or women, but in stupidity the state far exceeds the people. You should read Proudhon (Note: (Pierre Joseph Proudhon), 1809-1865, French socialist thinker, called "Father of Anarchism").He is a very interesting Frenchman. " "So what's the solution?" "Keep Austrian citizenship, or become an American." "Will not work." "Or get a passport of convenience." "what does that mean?" "I've heard you can pay for a passport. Since Austria, America, France, and a few other countries have bored you to death, in your place, I might as well be Cuban or Argentinian. It can be flipped by a coin toss. Decide on the contrary." "But not the Papuans." "There is no Papuan state yet," Taalas said. "But there's no turning back." He chuckled, "Papuan!" He looked at Reb, right into those gray eyes framed by long lashes—they were so haunting, so deep and serious, they were sparks of wit. A miracle happened: Reb Klimrod also started laughing.He really had a good laugh. George Taras laughed heartily with him, and he will never forget the intense feeling of happiness. Black Dog - 4 Diego Haas was having a good time playing in the pool, and the housekeeper asked him to answer the phone, saying it was from the United States. Momita said, "I didn't know you had friends in America." "It must be Harry," Diego replied. "Who is this Harry?" "Truman. Who else?" Diego claps the hand of a lady named Concepcion (Incarnazon maybe?) or something whose father owns 30,000 hectares.Still, she's pretty darn cute.Haas went to take over the extension phone that the family was holding, smiling at Concepson (or Incarnason) or something.Whatever Diego's mother might think on the matter, he had no intention of marrying the lady. "But I'll be glad to get her into a dark corner so I can peep up her skirts." "Hello! Hello!" he said cheerfully. "I am Diego Haas himself in the prime of his life." For the next few seconds, he felt a chill, a chill down his spine. "Villavicencio," said a distant, serene voice on the phone. "Trucks and a Madonna. An impassable river under a tree. Do you remember me?" "Remember," Diego replied almost breathlessly. "Remember a conversation we had?" "I remember every sentence." "I need you now." "I'm interested," Bianjego replied. "I'm very interested." A frantic rush of excitement overwhelmed him.Through the open door, he saw clearly his future in Argentina, and unless God sent a miracle, he could not escape: this Concepcion or something, with her 30,000 hectares of land, her father's cans The food factory, with her ample breasts and languid stance, and one day Diego would wake up and find himself married to her without knowing how it happened, thanks to some kind of manipulation by Mamita. "You're going to be potbellied, my little Diego," he thought, "walking around the old man's factory or forest development all day long, smoking cigars, stuffing his stomach with overcooked beef and mutton. Fat women with jewels and mouths like octopuses will stare at you with eyes that are so tender..." He said to the phone: "No matter what you want, no matter when, no matter where it is." Then for a long time he listened to that peaceful voice, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dank gloom. "I only need three days at most," he said. He shook his head and hung up the phone.His mother came from a group of ladies, asking for news in a cloyingly sweet voice. "You know Harry Truman, my dear? The President of the United States?" "I know him," replied Diego, "and he always calls me when he has any problems. I guess I forgot to tell you, Mamita." That day, lacking money (Mamita usually only gave money to the moon, hoping to force him to surrender), he sold his platinum watch and a cigarette case encrusted with diamonds—presents for his twenty-ninth birthday.With this money he obtained a passport named Michel Klimrod, born in Buenos Aires on September 18, 1925 (before his actual birth date for three years).Two days later, on September 11, 1950, Diego tweeted to see his uncle who opened a bank in Puerto Blanca, but actually flew to New York. What he didn't realize, of course, was the start of a career that would last twenty-two years for him. Diego Haas was most proud of the fact that he was one of the first to hear the king's call and to respond immediately. The man's name was Sussman, and he was a tailor.He works with his wife, brother, two sons, a daughter and six members of his sister's family.A total of seventeen people were squeezed into two rooms that added up to less than ten square meters.Outside of working hours, from midnight to five o'clock in the morning, the two rooms serve as bedrooms, kitchens, bathrooms, living rooms, libraries, boudoirs and even toilets.He watched Reber over the lenses of his glasses and his Singer sewing machine. "What did you say your name was?" "Saperstein," Reber said. "What I am going to propose to you is very simple." "I understand exactly what you're suggesting. What I don't quite know is how it will benefit you. By the way, you have a very peculiar accent in Yiddish." "I learned it from radio correspondence classes. There is a lot of interference when listening to the radio." "I believe that the day when someone does something that is not good, it will be much hotter than it is today," Sussman said. "What do you get in this deal?" "Let's start from the beginning," Reber said patiently. "You work and live in Brooklyn. You work outside of your house. You don't have a lot of space. You could even say that if someone in your workshop wants to stretch out his arm and measure a piece of material, he has to open the window." "That way they can get a few o'clock wind," Sussman said with a wry smile. "You sell the garments you sew to a wholesale store on Orchard Street in Manhattan. It takes hours to get back and forth ... You want a larger venue, preferably closer to your point of sale, so you can increase your production, There are better living conditions, better..." "And so on," Sussman said. "I don't have to list them all. Now I know that someone has a warehouse near there, and there's four flats above the warehouse. His warehouse isn't useful, and the flat is too big for him. .And he himself works in Bushwick, Brooklyn. He can live in your house, you live in his. He pays your rent. You pay his. You use half the area of ​​the warehouse for your workshop, I pay you the other half of the rent. Of course, you pay more in rent, but this will be greatly compensated by your increased income." "What are you going to do with the other half of that warehouse?" "Open a kosher food restaurant," Reber said. "In the future you won't even have to cook for yourself." Ten minutes later Diego asked, "What do you call this kind of thing?" "Barter exchange. It can also be said that everyone gets what they want." "You just need to rent one end of the warehouse directly from the original owner, isn't it over?" "Tell me, what's the benefit of doing this?" They took the subway back to Manhattan. "Also," said Reber, "I'm doing an internship. I've got a pretty interesting idea..." This "quite interesting idea" is "a fabulously incredible Wall Street move" that will earn Reb Klimrod $3.5 million in two days and $100 million in ten months . Diego Haas arrived in New York on the evening of September 11th.This is not his first trip to the United States.In the past, he had almost never married in America after one Machiavellian maneuver by Mummyta. "She was paranoid that I should marry a wife who was at least as rich as she was," Diego said afterwards. "She set a terrible trap for me, and the bait was absolutely The daughter of the U.S. ambassador to Argentina. I was able to get away by claiming that I was gay. But I weighed the weight of the handcuffs.” He rented a suite in the Waldorf-Astorbea Hotel for two months, Then go to Florida and California with two or three dancing girls. "But Mummy Tower cut off my money." In September 1950, he did not check into the Waldorf Astoria.He lodged in a small room in Greenwich Village, where Reber lived.The rent was ten dollars a week, not much better than a night shelter. He was now on the run at Reber's orders, and always carried out all sorts of outlandish missions to perfection.It was thus that he haunted Klimrod's circle of life, just as Klimrod, having laid the foundations for his initial expansion, was preparing to spread his activities to other states. Diego pointed out that on October 14th it occurred to Reber to trade the Jewish tailor's two rooms in Brooklyn for an insurance lobbyist's standard floor in Manhattan and the space to open his first office. Fourteen restaurants. He believes that October 17, three days later, will be the day when "Operation Huaer" will officially start. "Look," Reber said. Diego looked up and saw the famous front entrance of the New York Stock Exchange. "It's beautiful," he said. "Do you want to buy it, or just rent it?" "Look a little lower. Look under the capitals." Diego lowered his gaze to an open-air stand selling hot dogs, sandwiches, and soda.A group of men in dark suits and ties stood around the stall eating and drinking. "Is it yours?" he asked. "You could say the same thing," Reber said with a smile. "But I haven't put stock in the market yet. I've been selling hot dogs for a few days. Interesting news to hear here. Well, let's go." They came to a building on Pine Street and stopped. "What do you see here?" Diego looked up. "Dear Jesus!" he exclaimed with feigned astonishment, "I'd be surprised if it wasn't a bank, and let the devil put me to death at once! In this part of Manhattan, there are at least a few banks." There are as many as 50,000 to 60,000! I am so stupid!" He pretended to be short-sighted, almost pressing his nose against a large bronze plaque with the words "Hunter Manhattan" engraved on it. "It's one of the biggest banks in the world. But isn't it the best, huh?" "Turn back," Reber said. There is a vacant lot that is fenced in almost directly across the street. "Do you understand, Diego?" "—not at all." "Come." They walked to another street in the district.A man in his thirties waited for them on the sidewalk in front of an office building.Reber made an introduction.The man's name was Daniel Hassendorf, and he was a senior real estate broker with Webster, Ryan, Kalb, which specialized in real estate transactions.The three walked into the office building together and took the elevator up to the fifteenth floor.It was nine fifteen in the morning on October 17, 1950. A man named Norman, who knew Hasendorf, gave him a friendly smile but took the other two, Diego Hass and Reb.Klimrod—looked at him, especially the latter who was still wearing cloth trousers and cloth shirt. He asked, "You want to buy this piece of land?" Reb nodded. "The asking price is $4.55 million," he said, not without irony.His air was a bit like that of the chief chamberlain of Buckingham Palace in England, who was about to kick out a group of American tourists looking for accommodation. "I'm going to pay 4.7 million," Leiber said calmly. "I'd like to pay a down payment for the option." "We already have a buyer." "There are two of you now. I'm going to negotiate today, in two hours and thirty minutes. Checks certified." "How much are you willing to pay up front?" "According to the custom of deposit: five percent, which is two hundred and thirty-five thousand." Norman looked at Hasendorf, who nodded. "All right?" Reber said. When he got outside, Hassendorf shook his head and said with emotion: "In my hometown of Missouri, it takes a week to negotiate to sell a cow!" "If it was a cow, I'd spend as much time as I do," Reber said. "What about that date?" "I spoke to him on the phone and I have to call him back. He'll see you at one o'clock. It was me who said yes." "Don't bother. You won't get more than ten percent. See you later." Reber pushes Diego into a taxi. "Taxi! We're spending money! Next up is a Cadillac!" Diego never saw Reber use any form of transportation other than the subway, bus or two legs, in New York or anywhere else.They traveled through the Holland Tunnel to Newark. "What are we doing so far away?" "Go get that two hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars. Where else can I get that money?" An hour later, Klimrod took out a batch of opening certificates from the cloth bag that was always with him, and put them in front of the banker in Newark. After the other party's final verification, Klimrod got the money. Diego also understood with his limited legal knowledge that Leiber had almost mortgaged the entire company he had established to obtain this loan of two hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars.The agreement was reached. "Let's go," Reber said. Back to Wall Street.This time it wasn't Hasendorf waiting on the sidewalk, but Benny Berkovic, who had already worked with Diego in Chicago and Baltimore. "But we never really got on," Diego pointed out later, "and there's a reason for that: Benny just opened his mouth more than clams, almost as much—up and down." They meet Norman.Norman announced that the seller had negotiated and agreed to the option for a three-month term.An argument ensued, and Norman attempted to raise the deposit from five percent to ten percent.Still, he clearly wasn't counting on getting there.Half an hour later they walked out and returned to the Hunter Manhattan Bank building on Pine Street. "At one point I had a date with David Fellowes," Reber said. He and Diego walked through the solemn and dark offices. "We're like two plumbers coming to fix a toilet," Diego thought as they passed one fence after another. "At least he should get rid of that damn bag!" Another group of secretaries gave them one last After cross-examination, they were not allowed in.They finally stood before David Fellowes. "Ten minutes," said Fellows, "and that's all because of that bastard Hassendorf's insistence." "Baozi Wang" was standing there with a nervous expression on his face. "It's pretty simple," Reber said. "We're living in, and we're going to live in, a period of constant expansion. All signs point to it, and it looks like it's going to keep going up. The ones that benefit the most You are the president of one of the largest banks in the world... Excuse me, you are on the board of directors of the bank. On this basis, you are lucky. You have a problem now, your various departments are currently分散在八栋大小不等的楼里，有的还相当远。你在考虑一个合并的办法……” “你是在哪儿产生这样一个念头的？” “卖三明治和苏打水给你的低级职员的时候，”迪耶戈在一旁喃喃自语，而且差点儿忍不住纵声大笑。他简直欣喜欲狂。他刚刚开始明白雷伯的这一策略，并感到极大的兴趣和快乐。 “你在考虑一个合并的办法。在你们的董事会里，你是这一步棋最积极的支持者，”雷伯语调和婉地说，“你正计划在曼哈顿岛南区与岛北区交界的中间地带实行合并。别的银行也在考虑这个问题，但在重要性上跟你们不能相比。谁也不想首先走这一步棋，孤零零地落到离此好几公里的地方去。这就是问题的症结所在。因为离开华尔街去第五街或麦迪逊大街会导致中间地带发生拥挤，造成整个岛南区的房地产价格暴跃，投资锐减，包括你们的在内。你们在这个地区有七栋重要的建筑，价值在三千万美元左右。” “四千万，”费洛斯面带讥笑插了一句。 “三千五百万，”雷伯不假思索地说。他也露出微笑。 “你这人真逗，”费洛斯说。 “等到你对我有较深的了解时再说。你只有一种选择，把你们各个部门集中在一栋大楼里。” “这大楼在哪儿？” “哪儿也没有。它还不存在。但是你将把它建造起来。大约花一亿美元。” “这样的价格为什么只建一栋？”费洛斯笑着问道。 “为什么不造它十二栋？我将在哪儿建造这些大楼？” “你从左边第二个窗户望出去。在街的另一边。前往下看。” 费洛斯几乎站起身来。But he didn't.他的眼睛眯成了一条线。 “我当然知道这块空地。我的一名助手已打算到那里去看看。” “告诉他不必费神了。 “已经卖了？” "yes." “卖给你了？” “是的。卖给我了，”雷伯说。“我要把它以八百万美元的价格卖给你。就在今天。正是今天。” 这一回费洛斯可坐不住了。他绕着写字台转了一圈，不过没有走到看得见空地的那扇窗户前，尽管他的神情象是要走过去瞧瞧。 “我知道，”雷伯说，“你要对我说，你担心别的银行最终都将离开华尔街，单单把你们留在这一带。这将是一种非常尴尬的局面。但是他们不会离开。” "why?" “因为你们不走。还有另外一个原因几乎同样重要。他们中大都也有和你们一样的问题：没有地方。” “你为他们也都买下了地皮？” “那没有必要。你们的银行是东海岸最重要的一家。别的银行需要的空间大大少于你们。假定我把我们所在的这栋大楼卖给别家银行……” “别的哪一家银行？” “一家大银行，其财力足以购买你们所要卖掉的。在华尔街范围内已有这么一家。他们买了这栋大楼，就将留在这一带。” 费洛斯走过去重新坐下。 “以后你还有什么东西卖给谁？” “你还有什么想卖掉？” "everything." “你们的七栋大楼？” “如果我们买下你的地皮，盖起一栋——比方说盖起一栋六十层的大楼，那么我看不出我们还有什么必要抱住那些旧大楼不放。即使一家银行有时候也不反对拥有一些现钱。” 双方有片刻都不作声。 雷伯的眼睛迷迷蒙蒙，仿佛罩上一层灰色的烟雾。 “那我表示同意，”他说。“我就把你们的七栋大楼全卖出去。当然是卖给银行。或者某一类金融机构。” 又是默不作声。 然后费洛斯说：“我得跟董事会的其他成员商量一下。我不能自作主张采取这一决定。” “不，你可以决定，”雷伯说。“亨特曼哈顿银行董事会的每一个成员都可以代表银行做五千万美元以下的交易。我那块地皮今天的价格是八百万。明天会涨到九百万，星期一是一千万。而一栋六十层的大楼将花掉你们一亿二千万左右……我有一个建议，再过两小时三十四分钟，我还会到这儿来。我将向你们递交你认识他本人的一位银行家的信。在这封信里，他将同意买下你们的大楼，条件当然是你必须购买我的地皮并在上面盖一栋新大楼。如果这样的话，你是否愿意买我的地皮？” “我全明白了，”迪耶戈说，“你要把两小时以前出四百七十万买下来的一块地皮以八百万美元的代价卖给这个家伙。其实，你也没有出四百七十万，而只是付了二十三万五千美元定金——这笔钱是一家银行给你的贷款。你的利润是三百三十万。除去银行贷款和各项开支，粗略说来也有三百万。此外，你还可以得到出售松树街那栋大楼的一笔佣金。而你没有掏一分钱腰包。让我表示一下我的喜悦和惊讶吧！” “你什么也没有弄懂。” 下一个约会地点在百老汇，走过去大约十分钟。这是那天的第四个约会，跟其他几个一样（纽瓦克银行的约会除外），也是由哈森多夫牵的线，时间安排在两点三十分。纽约工商银行董事长哈维·巴尔身材魁伟，肤色微红，态度耐心。他让雷伯·克立姆罗德说，一次也不打岔，并且象是为了进一步证实他没有理解错似的，一直到雷伯的话告一段落时说：“第一，你向我保证亨特曼哈顿银行不会离开华尔街；第二，你说该行要迁到目前所在地点的对面它将兴建的一栋大楼里去；第三，为此目的该行要向你买一块地皮；第四，对我们有利的做法是买下或保证买下松树街的亨特大楼，一俟该行从那里迁走我们就搬进去；第五，新大楼落成大约需要六年时间；第六，我们应当放弃曾经考虑过的迁往曼哈顿中间地带的设想，理由有两层——我们不用象白痴似地孤零零挂在那里，而且我们一走，本来会使华尔街一带的房地产，特别是我们的房地产跌价；第七，宣布我们留下的决定，相反将导致这些房地产的价格上涨；第八，你有七栋大楼可出售、交换和再交换，按这样的方式其他六七家银行或金融机构肯定会仿效亨特和我们带头迁移的榜样；第九，也是最后的一点，我必须给你一封信，信中我以我的银行的名义保证，一俟亨特大楼腾出来，即在六七年内，我就把它买下，不过条件是我们要得到亨特曼哈顿的保证——该行不得悄俏迁往曼哈顿中间地带，该行将购买你的地皮并在上面建造价值至少一亿美元的新大楼，而该行的各个部门及其总部将集中在那里。” “总之，是这样，”雷伯说。 迪耶戈拼命忍住自己格格地笑出声的强烈冲动——这已经是一天里的第二次。 “来一支雪茄？”巴尔建议。 “我不吸烟，谢谢。” “那么，来一杯威士忌？” “谢谢，不了。” 巴尔摇摇头。 “我要告诉你的是，我有一些对你来说不大妙的消息。我们所在的百老汇这栋大楼，并不是我们银行的财产。我们还有不到三年的租借权。租约将于一九五三年六月三十日到期。我们试过种种办法希望延长租借期。但没有成功。房东断然拒绝延期。换句话说，我们不能等待六年、七年或八年之后亨特曼哈顿乔迁了再搬。我们必须在一九五三年六月三十日之前撤走。你认为新的亨特大楼到那时能落成吗？” "No." “你认为我们会愚蠢到这样的程度：先搬一次家，过三四年再搬一次？” “这不是十分明智的做法。” “我不说你也明白。你的计划行不通，基姆罗德。” “敝姓是克立姆罗馅。K，l，i，m。我可以请你看一些东西吗，巴尔先生？” 他向贝尔科维奇打了个手势，贝尔科维奇便把一些文件放在桌上摊开。 “巴尔先生，你的房东姓丘契尔，詹姆斯·安德鲁·丘契尔。昨天我跟他见过面。他同意把这栋楼卖给我。你现在看到的是已经签字的出售承诺书。现在你同意购买松树街的大楼了吧？硬性规定的附带条件是：至多不超过一年，我将向你提交我是你的房东的证明，据此，我同意把你的租约延期，直到你们能迁入亨特曼哈顿的原址时为止。” 第二天，十月十八日，亨特曼哈顿银行由该行未来的大股东和最有实权的行政负责人大卫·费洛斯为代表，就购买松树街该行总部对面那块地皮一事付了地价百分之十的定金，即八十万美元，取得选择权。 当天，雷伯·克立姆罗德就把这笔钱存入纽瓦克银行——正是这家银行同意给了他三万美元贷款购买卡车和摩托车，二十三万五千美元的第二笔贷款也是该行给他的。 靠了边笔存款，再仗着亨特曼哈顿已付定金这一点的力量，克立姆罗德可以得到同一家纽瓦克银行提供的四百五十万美元短期贷款，最终把地皮买下来。 随后他便能把地皮卖给大卫·费洛斯（十月二十六日交割），从而全部偿还纽瓦克银行的贷款。 克立姆罗德从这一宗买卖获得的纯利为二百九十二万美元。对王崇拜得五体投地的阿根廷人宣称，这笔钱是王在四十八小时内赚来的，这话过头了，应该说在九天之内。 不过，真正的好戏还没有开场。