Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) by Neil Behrmann
Authors: Neil Behrmann
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the markets and bet on horses, football and golf. He also loved playing roulette and blackjack at casinos. To pay off his gambling debts and to make more bets, Shweisder began to steal cash from the firm. Stan and Hilton Safron were so busy with clients that they didn't know what was going on. Shweisder cooked the books, so they thought that they had plenty of cash. One day a client sold his shares and demanded immediate payment, but the firm couldn't pay. The clients' accounts were empty. In the early hours of the morning, Shweisder drove to a supermarket's parking lot, slammed a gun in his mouth and fired. The suicide was front page news and clients rushed to the firm to salvage their securities and cash. All gone. Safron and Slimcop were bust. Stan, his partners and clients lost everything.
'The courts cleared Stan, but he was in total disgrace,' Wardle went on. 'He could never be a broker again.'
'But he has money now. How did he recover?'
'Leila, his wife, is a sculptor and artist. She held an exhibition and sold virtually all her work. I bought one and that's how I first met them.'
They sold their house and went to Johannesburg, South Africa, Wardle continued. Slimcop became friendly with a geologist and learnt about the gold mining industry. Later there was a gold mining boom and Slimcop made a lot of money. He came back to London and bought a house in Hampstead.
'The Silver Fox is so canny that he bought the house at a fire sale price during a property depression,' said Wardle smiling. 'Leila has a studio there.'
Wardle continued: 'What I really like about Stan is that he went out of his way to find Safron and Slimcop clients who had lost money. He first paid back pensioners and other poor clients. Recently he settled his debts with the richer ones.'
'Some guy,' I said.
'I haven't come across another like him,' Wardle replied as we walked back to the office. 'You couldn't find a better friend.'
* * *
Dr Klugheim wants to see me again. Why the attention? What about the other cons? He's excited when I enter his room. His face, red from sunburn. Doesn't have his jacket on. A shirt button undone. Hairy and fat. I can't help but smile. He looks down and sorts out his shirt.
'Your book's getting really interesting,’ he says keenly.
I know that look. Seen it many times before. Greed! I glance at file on desk. It says 'Portfolio'.
'What's that?' I ask, fully aware what this is all about.
'My shares.’
'O fuck, here we go again,' I whisper, loud enough for him to hear. 'What about the hypocritical oath?'
'The Hippocratic oath states that the doctor must do his best to take care of the patient. Any complaints, Jack?' he snaps.
'You scratch my back and I. . .'
'We're not going to get into that Jack. Doctors are entitled to make a living. Save for school fees, holidays, old age.'
'How your shares doing?'
'Not so good. We can talk about that later. First you.'
'What about me?'
'When you made your first few thousand, how did you feel?'
'Shit of course, what you expect?'
'Stop trying to be funny,' snaps Klugheim. 'I'm giving you extra time. I've got other patients. If you don't want to be here . . .'
'Obviously it felt good,' I reply, deciding I'd better play ball.
‘I want to know how you really felt. Was it like gambling? Did you get a buzz when you beat the system? Was it a high?'
'Not like that. Never thought it was a gamble. Just made sense.'
'I'm not sure I understand,’ says Klugheim, drawing me out.
'Dunno how to explain. When my gold shares did great, it was like slamming a ball into the goal post. Felt like doing high fives with the brokers.'
'Did you?'
'No. I could see they felt crap when I got it right. They were losing. I was winning.'
'How did you feel afterwards? When it sank in?'
'Pretty good. Funny though, it wasn't so much about the money. It was the respect. They began to take me seriously. Saw that I wasn't just a boy. Was someone.'
'Good. I want you to start
'The courts cleared Stan, but he was in total disgrace,' Wardle went on. 'He could never be a broker again.'
'But he has money now. How did he recover?'
'Leila, his wife, is a sculptor and artist. She held an exhibition and sold virtually all her work. I bought one and that's how I first met them.'
They sold their house and went to Johannesburg, South Africa, Wardle continued. Slimcop became friendly with a geologist and learnt about the gold mining industry. Later there was a gold mining boom and Slimcop made a lot of money. He came back to London and bought a house in Hampstead.
'The Silver Fox is so canny that he bought the house at a fire sale price during a property depression,' said Wardle smiling. 'Leila has a studio there.'
Wardle continued: 'What I really like about Stan is that he went out of his way to find Safron and Slimcop clients who had lost money. He first paid back pensioners and other poor clients. Recently he settled his debts with the richer ones.'
'Some guy,' I said.
'I haven't come across another like him,' Wardle replied as we walked back to the office. 'You couldn't find a better friend.'
* * *
Dr Klugheim wants to see me again. Why the attention? What about the other cons? He's excited when I enter his room. His face, red from sunburn. Doesn't have his jacket on. A shirt button undone. Hairy and fat. I can't help but smile. He looks down and sorts out his shirt.
'Your book's getting really interesting,’ he says keenly.
I know that look. Seen it many times before. Greed! I glance at file on desk. It says 'Portfolio'.
'What's that?' I ask, fully aware what this is all about.
'My shares.’
'O fuck, here we go again,' I whisper, loud enough for him to hear. 'What about the hypocritical oath?'
'The Hippocratic oath states that the doctor must do his best to take care of the patient. Any complaints, Jack?' he snaps.
'You scratch my back and I. . .'
'We're not going to get into that Jack. Doctors are entitled to make a living. Save for school fees, holidays, old age.'
'How your shares doing?'
'Not so good. We can talk about that later. First you.'
'What about me?'
'When you made your first few thousand, how did you feel?'
'Shit of course, what you expect?'
'Stop trying to be funny,' snaps Klugheim. 'I'm giving you extra time. I've got other patients. If you don't want to be here . . .'
'Obviously it felt good,' I reply, deciding I'd better play ball.
‘I want to know how you really felt. Was it like gambling? Did you get a buzz when you beat the system? Was it a high?'
'Not like that. Never thought it was a gamble. Just made sense.'
'I'm not sure I understand,’ says Klugheim, drawing me out.
'Dunno how to explain. When my gold shares did great, it was like slamming a ball into the goal post. Felt like doing high fives with the brokers.'
'Did you?'
'No. I could see they felt crap when I got it right. They were losing. I was winning.'
'How did you feel afterwards? When it sank in?'
'Pretty good. Funny though, it wasn't so much about the money. It was the respect. They began to take me seriously. Saw that I wasn't just a boy. Was someone.'
'Good. I want you to start
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