Mila 18 - Leon Uris [177]
Max Kleperman’s private phone rang.
“Ja, Herr Doktor ... Ja, Herr Doktor ... Ja, Herr Doktor.”
After several more “Ja, Herr Doktors,” Max hung up and called for his secretary. “Dr. Koenig wants to see all the partners here in my office in an hour. Get hold of them right away and have them wait here. I go now to see him at his residence and I will come back with him for the meeting.”
Max checked out his appearance, took the diamond ring from his little finger, and clapped hands for his chauffeur and bodyguard. They drove from the ghetto through the Krasinski Gate. Max liked to drive to the Aryan side. He enjoyed looking at the trees. There was only one tree in the entire ghetto, and that was in front of the Civil Authority. That particular tree annoyed him, for he always considered the Civil Authority in competition with the Big Seven. Many times he toyed with the idea of planting a half dozen trees in front of his headquarters on Pawia Street but decided it would be provocative.
Max had a particular affection for the Krasinski Gardens. As a boy he had started his career there, hiring Polish hoodlums to steal from the Jewish delivery boys and reselling the merchandise at Parysowski Place. Parysowski Place was closed to trade these days, since the deportations.
Max heaved a sigh of relief now that the deportations had stopped. Even he and the Big Seven people were getting edgy. Certainly the Germans had accomplished what they wanted. Max’s mind turned to visions of a new plum awaiting him at Dr. Koenig’s. With the deportations over, some new venture was cooking. I’ve come a long way since the old days, he thought.
Dr. Koenig was the best of the Germans to deal with. He didn’t shout or berate one, nor did he try to steal arms and legs off in a deal. All Dr. Koenig wanted was a fair share. A fine man, Dr. Koenig.
Max was ushered into Koenig’s office. He sat down and squeezed his cigar in excited anticipation and, when Koenig nodded that it was all right for him to smoke, lit it with the silver lighter on the desk.
“Are your partners waiting at the Big Seven?” Dr. Koenig asked.
“They will be there as ordered, Herr Doktor.”
“Now, Max, let’s talk a little business.”
Kleperman opened his arms graciously. “I am your humble servant.”
Koenig put on a pair of bifocals, opened a file, and lifted a sheet of paper and studied it “You’ve made quite a killing in the last few years, Kleperman.”
The smile vanished from Max’s face. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of a pair of SS Waffen guarding the door. Max cleared his throat and leaned on his elbow. What was Koenig up to?
“I must say, you were very clever. Bilking us out of a quarter of a million dollars.”
Max thrust out his hand in protest. “A terrible exaggeration!”
“One of your partners volunteered the information.”
Max’s big fingers tugged away to loosen his collar as Dr. Koenig read a terribly correct accounting of his fancy footwork. “And finally,” Koenig said, “you have given inflated zlotys to the welfare people through agents in exchange for dollar deposits in Swiss banks. Buildings for which you have acted as agent have been leased to Orphans and Self-Help for dollars also. Now, Max, you know all of this is illegal.”
Kleperman was way ahead of Koenig. He looked over his shoulder to see if the guards had miraculously disappeared. They hadn’t. The hutzpah, the gall of Koenig to sit there with this holier-than-thou attitude when it was he, Kleperman, who set up most of the deals for the Germans. They had wallowed together in the muck, and now Koenig was going into an act of righteousness. Nothing on earth was worse than a righteous thief!
“As Kommissar of Jewish property,” Koenig said, “I am appalled at the state of the affairs conducted by you. You have blatantly betrayed the trust of the occupation authorities.”
Think fast! Max Kleperman, you are in a bad position. His brain raced. He’d have to go for a deal. He’d play with the Swiss money and save the South American money. No one knew about the South American money.
“I am in a bad