Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) by Neil Behrmann Page A
Authors: Neil Behrmann
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feeling that way about yourself again. Regain your self-esteem,’ says Klugheim, snapping his fingers.
'Time's up.'
He's smiling a genuine smile. I'm beginning to like him.
'The deal is that I take a look at your shares, right?'
'You'll continue with your book and we'll see each other again,' he says.
'Can I look?' I ask, as I open the portfolio file.
It shows that Klugheim owns shares in thirty companies. No wonder he doesn't know what's going on.
'What you reckon they're worth?'
'They've fallen from around 200K to 120K.'
'OK, get me stock prices and charts. Provided. . .'
'Provided what?'
‘I get ten per cent of the profits.'
Klugheim smiles: 'Know what chutzpah means?'
'Got some idea.’
'This is between ourselves,' says Klugheim.
We shake on it. Not sure if I'll get my ten per cent, but maybe he'll get me out of here.
9 - NEW FRIENDS
Reading a map that Wardle had given me, I crossed Hampstead High Street and walked through some narrow alleyways into Church Street. At the end of the road, I wandered into the church's shady graveyard. Tombstones, three to four hundred years old were in the shadows of beech and oak trees. John Constable's tombstone was there. He must have lived in Hampstead. Mum was a fan of his landscape paintings. We often walked in 'Constable Country' which was in Suffolk.
The church and graveyard were on a hill. Over the fence, about twenty metres below, I spotted the gravel road that Wardle had drawn on the map. I ambled out of the graveyard, turned right, walked down a path and reached the road. Iron railings surrounded a modern bungalow. I rang the security button and called out my name. The gate opened. Giant sunflowers and roses were on either side of a short, narrow, winding stone path that lead to the front door.
A large bronze sculpture of a bird was near the entrance. A boy and a girl opened the door. They were both blonde with freckles and looked about twelve. I guessed that they were twins.
'Hi Jack, I'm Tom,' said the boy in a broad South African accent. 'Stan told us you were coming.'
'I'm Tess. Are you going to swim with us?' asked the girl.
I followed them through a large open living room with wide windows and lots of light. The walls were covered with paintings and charcoal etchings of sparrows, eagles, vultures and other birds. Sculptures of birds, heads and torsos were on pedestals, bookcases and stools.
Slimcop was sitting on the patio with a woman dressed in white trousers and an emerald, silk, blouse. She was about seventy, with grey hair in a bun, lined but pretty, with lots of make-up. So much so that she looked like a painted doll. Slimcop stood up, came towards me and shook my hand and introduced the woman. He towered over her.
'Good to see you Jack . . . Leila, my wife.'
She held out a limp hand and I shook it softly as she looked me up and down. I felt a bit nervous.
'Take off your dark glasses, young man. Let's take a good look at you.' She turned to Slimcop: 'He's got an interesting face. You said he's sixteen. He looks older.'
'I turned sixteen on June 1,' I said.
'Marilyn Monroe's birthday.'
'Yes, my Mum always reminded me.'
'Gemini. Dual personality. Know what time you were born?' asks Leila, looking at the palms of my hands.
'Just before midnight,' I said.
I wondered if she was a mystic or something. She let my hands go.
'You could be a good subject, Jack. Want to sit for me?'
'Leila's an artist. A sculptor. Relax and sit down,' said Slimcop.
'You seem to like birds,' I said.
'Fascinating creatures. Did you ever see that Hitchcock film . . . The Birds?'
'No.'
'Flocks of birds attack families who are on holiday.'
'Wow!'
While we were chatting, Tom and Tess were running and jumping into the swimming pool, that was in the centre of the back garden.
'Come and join us Jack,' shouted Tess.
'Don't have any trunks,' I called.
'I'll lend you some . . . Let's talk first,' said Stanley.
Leila got up and came back soon
'Time's up.'
He's smiling a genuine smile. I'm beginning to like him.
'The deal is that I take a look at your shares, right?'
'You'll continue with your book and we'll see each other again,' he says.
'Can I look?' I ask, as I open the portfolio file.
It shows that Klugheim owns shares in thirty companies. No wonder he doesn't know what's going on.
'What you reckon they're worth?'
'They've fallen from around 200K to 120K.'
'OK, get me stock prices and charts. Provided. . .'
'Provided what?'
‘I get ten per cent of the profits.'
Klugheim smiles: 'Know what chutzpah means?'
'Got some idea.’
'This is between ourselves,' says Klugheim.
We shake on it. Not sure if I'll get my ten per cent, but maybe he'll get me out of here.
9 - NEW FRIENDS
Reading a map that Wardle had given me, I crossed Hampstead High Street and walked through some narrow alleyways into Church Street. At the end of the road, I wandered into the church's shady graveyard. Tombstones, three to four hundred years old were in the shadows of beech and oak trees. John Constable's tombstone was there. He must have lived in Hampstead. Mum was a fan of his landscape paintings. We often walked in 'Constable Country' which was in Suffolk.
The church and graveyard were on a hill. Over the fence, about twenty metres below, I spotted the gravel road that Wardle had drawn on the map. I ambled out of the graveyard, turned right, walked down a path and reached the road. Iron railings surrounded a modern bungalow. I rang the security button and called out my name. The gate opened. Giant sunflowers and roses were on either side of a short, narrow, winding stone path that lead to the front door.
A large bronze sculpture of a bird was near the entrance. A boy and a girl opened the door. They were both blonde with freckles and looked about twelve. I guessed that they were twins.
'Hi Jack, I'm Tom,' said the boy in a broad South African accent. 'Stan told us you were coming.'
'I'm Tess. Are you going to swim with us?' asked the girl.
I followed them through a large open living room with wide windows and lots of light. The walls were covered with paintings and charcoal etchings of sparrows, eagles, vultures and other birds. Sculptures of birds, heads and torsos were on pedestals, bookcases and stools.
Slimcop was sitting on the patio with a woman dressed in white trousers and an emerald, silk, blouse. She was about seventy, with grey hair in a bun, lined but pretty, with lots of make-up. So much so that she looked like a painted doll. Slimcop stood up, came towards me and shook my hand and introduced the woman. He towered over her.
'Good to see you Jack . . . Leila, my wife.'
She held out a limp hand and I shook it softly as she looked me up and down. I felt a bit nervous.
'Take off your dark glasses, young man. Let's take a good look at you.' She turned to Slimcop: 'He's got an interesting face. You said he's sixteen. He looks older.'
'I turned sixteen on June 1,' I said.
'Marilyn Monroe's birthday.'
'Yes, my Mum always reminded me.'
'Gemini. Dual personality. Know what time you were born?' asks Leila, looking at the palms of my hands.
'Just before midnight,' I said.
I wondered if she was a mystic or something. She let my hands go.
'You could be a good subject, Jack. Want to sit for me?'
'Leila's an artist. A sculptor. Relax and sit down,' said Slimcop.
'You seem to like birds,' I said.
'Fascinating creatures. Did you ever see that Hitchcock film . . . The Birds?'
'No.'
'Flocks of birds attack families who are on holiday.'
'Wow!'
While we were chatting, Tom and Tess were running and jumping into the swimming pool, that was in the centre of the back garden.
'Come and join us Jack,' shouted Tess.
'Don't have any trunks,' I called.
'I'll lend you some . . . Let's talk first,' said Stanley.
Leila got up and came back soon
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