What's in It for Me? Read Free Page B

held up my hand and he stopped.
    â€œI’m interested in your stuff,” I said, “but I’m not interested in your price. Frankly, Mr. Koenig, I’m looking for a job lot of a thousand dresses. Can you sell them to me?”
    He scowled and stroked the corners of his mouth.
    â€œWhy should I sell you job lots,” he said finally, “when my stuff is new goods, new styles, new—?”
    â€œFor two reasons,” I said. “Because you need money in a hurry pretty badly and because you’ve sold job lots to other people this week.”
    He started to get out of his chair angrily.
    â€œHow do you—?”
    I put my hand on his arm and settled him back gently.
    â€œWhat do you think this is, Mr. Koenig?” I asked, “Minsk? This is Seventh Avenue, Mr. Koenig. You blow your nose here in 498, they hear it over on Broadway. I don’t hold it against you. Other people been tight for cash before. Hell, when I was in business for myself, plenty of times I let stuff go at a sacrifice.” I snapped my leather notebook shut. “What do you say? You interested in cleaning a thousand dresses off the racks in one blow?”
    He looked at me from under his eyebrows.
    â€œWhere’d you hear it, where?” he demanded. “Who told you we—?”
    I shrugged and started to get up.
    He pushed me back into my chair.
    â€œA thousand dresses,” he said, “for cash?”
    â€œSpot cash,” I said emphatically. “As soon as I get the shipping receipts from you that they went out to my clients, you get my check.”
    â€œAll right,” he said. “What are you paying for them?”
    â€œThat’s a question to ask, isn’t it?” I said. “You know I’m not gonna pay a nickel more than the others paid.”
    He became excited at once.
    â€œHey, now, wait a minute!” he said. “Just because I let one guy get away with—!”
    â€œIt was three guys,” I said calmly, “in two days. And they didn’t buy no more ’n a hundred and fifty to two hundred garments each. I’m buying a thousand. If anything, I ought to get them for less than five bucks each.”
    â€œLess than five each?” he cried; “Say, do you realize those garments cost me—?”
    I shrugged.
    â€œWe’re not talking what they cost you, Mr. Koenig. Sure they cost you. But you need dough now and you need it bad. So you’re taking less than they cost you. You’re taking five bucks a piece.”
    â€œAll right,” he said finally.
    Not yet, it wasn’t.
    â€œOne more thing,” I said. “I’ll give you the list of orders, with the quantity for each client,” I said in a low voice. “But I want you to bill the dresses out to them at nine-seventy-five each.”
    He stared at me in amazement.
    â€œYou pay five,” he cried, “and I should—!”
    â€œNot so loud.”
    â€œYou pay five,” he repeated in a low hiss, “and I should bill them out to your customers for nine-seventy-five? You want me to—” He stopped and narrowed his eyes. “What do I get out of it?” he demanded. “What’s in a thing like this for me?”
    â€œAh extra half a buck a piece per dress,” I said promptly. “You bill them out for me at nine-seventy-five and you can have five and a half for each one instead of five bucks.”
    He bit his lip and went on from there for further nourishment to his fingernails.
    â€œI don’t know,” he said slowly, “it ain’t honest.”
    â€œThat’s a way to talk?” I demanded. “Look, Mr. Koenig. My client gets a stock ten-seventy-five garment for nine-seventy-five. If he bought that dress in the open market, if I went out and bought it in the open market for him, he’d have to pay ten-seventy-five. That’s what I’m authorized to buy them for my clients. But