Kane and Abel/Sons of Fortune Read online

  Caused by your callousness, thought Abel.

  “ … seems to have left you with the immediate job of running the Richmond Group until the bank is in a position to find a buyer for the hotels. Although one hundred percent of the shares of the group are now in your name, the property, in the form of eleven hotels, which was held as collateral for the late Mr. Leroy’s loan of two million dollars, is legally in our possession. This leaves you with no responsibility at all, and if you wish to disassociate yourself from the whole program, we will naturally understand.”

  An insulting thing to suggest, thought William, but it has to be said.

  The sort of thing a banker would expect a man to do, walk away from something the moment any problem arose, thought Abel.

  William Kane continued. “Until the two million debt to the bank is cleared I fear we must consider the estate of the late Mr. Leroy insolvent. We at the bank appreciate your personal involvement with the group and we have done nothing about disposing of the hotels until we had the opportunity to speak to you in person. We thought it possible you might know of a party interested in the purchase of the property, as the buildings, the land and the business are obviously a valuable asset.”

  “But not valuable enough for you to back me,” said Abel. He ran his hand wearily through his thick, dark hair. “How long will you give me to find a buyer?”

  William hesitated for a moment when he saw the silver band around Abel Rosnovski’s wrist. He had seen that band somewhere before, but he couldn’t think where. “Thirty days. You must understand that the bank is carrying the day-to-day losses on ten of the eleven hotels. Only the Chicago Richmond is making a small profit.”

  “If you would give me the time and backing, Mr. Kane, I could turn all the hotels into profitable concerns. I know I could,” said Abel. “Just give me the chance to prove I can do it, sir.” Abel found the last word sticking in his throat.

  “So Mr. Leroy assured the bank when he came to see us last fall,” said William. “But these are hard times. There’s no telling if the hotel trade will pick up, and we are not hoteliers, Mr. Rosnovski; we are bankers.”

  Abel was beginning to lose his temper with the smoothly dressed “young puppy”; Davis had been right. “They’ll be hard times, all right, for my hotel staff,” he said. “What will they do if you sell off the roofs from over their heads? What do you imagine will happen to them?”

  “I am afraid they are not our responsibility, Mr. Rosnovski. I must act in the bank’s best interests.”

  “In your own best interests, Mr. Kane?” said Abel hotly.

  The other man flushed. “That is an unjust remark, Mr. Rosnovski, and I would greatly resent it if I did not understand what you are going through.”

  “Too bad you didn’t wheel out your understanding in time for Davis Leroy,” said Abel. “He could have used it. You killed him, Mr. Kane, just as surely as if you had pushed him out of that window yourself, you and your Simon-pure colleagues, sitting here on your asses while we sweat our guts out to be sure you can take a rake-off when times are good and tread on people when times are bad.”

  William, too, was becoming angry. Unlike Abel Rosnovski, he did not show it. “This line of discussion is getting us nowhere, Mr. Rosnovski. I must warn you that if you are unable to find a purchaser for the group within thirty days, I shall have no choice but to put the hotels up for auction on the open market.”

  “You’ll be advising me to ask another bank for a loan next,” said Abel sarcastically. “You know my record and you won’t back me, so where the hell do you expect me to go from here?”

  “I’m afraid I have no idea,” replied William. “That’s entirely up to you. My board’s instructions are simply to wind up the account as quickly as possible and that is what I intend to do. Perhaps you would be kind enough to contact me no later than February fourth and let me know whether you have had any success in finding a buyer. Good day, Mr. Rosnovski.”

  William rose from behind the desk and again offered his hand. This time Abel ignored it and went to the door.

  “I thought after our phone conversation, Mr. Kane, you might feel embarrassed enough to offer a helping hand. I was wrong. You’re just a bastard through and through, so when you go to bed at night, Mr. Kane, be sure to think about me. When you wake up in the morning, think about me again, because I’ll never cease thinking about my plans for you.”

  William stood frowning at the closed door. The silver band bothered him—where had he seen it before?

  His secretary returned. “What a dreadful little man,” she said.

  “No, not really,” said William. “He thinks we killed his business partner, and now we are disbanding his company without any thought for his employees, not to mention himself, when he has actually proved to be very capable. Mr. Rosnovski was remarkably polite given the circumstances and I must confess I was almost sorry the board felt unable to back him.” William looked up at his secretary.

  “Get Mr. Cohen on the phone.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Abel arrived back in Chicago on the morning of the following day, still preoccupied and furious with his treatment at the hands of William Kane. He didn’t catch exactly what the boy was shouting at the corner newsstand as he hailed a cab and climbed into the back seat.

  “The Richmond Hotel, please.”

  “Are you from the newspapers?” asked the cabdriver as he moved out onto State Street.

  “No. What made you ask that?” said Abel.

  “Oh, only because you asked for the Richmond. All the reporters are there today.”

  Abel couldn’t remember any functions scheduled for the Richmond which would attract the press.

  The driver continued: “If you’re not a newspaperman, maybe I should take you to another hotel.”

  “Why?” asked Abel, even more puzzled.

  “Well, you won’t have a very good night’s sleep if you’re booked in there. The Richmond has been burned to the ground.”

  As the cab turned the corner of the block, Abel was faced head on with the smoldering shell of the Chicago Richmond. Police cars, fire engines, charred wood and water flooding the street. He stepped out of the cab and stared at the scorched remains of the flagship of Davis Leroy’s group.

  The Pole is wise when the damage is done, thought Abel as he clenched his fist and started banging on his lame leg. He felt no pain—there was nothing left to feel.

  “You bastards!” he shouted aloud. “I’ve been lower than this before, and I’ll still beat every one of you. Germans, Russians, Turks, that bastard Kane and now this. Everyone. I’ll beat you all. Nobody kills Abel Rosnovski.”

  The assistant manager saw Abel gesticulating by the cab and ran over to him. Abel forced himself to be calm.

  “Did everybody get out safely?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank God. The hotel was nearly empty, so getting everyone out was no great problem. There were one or two minor injuries and burns—the people were taken to the hospital—but there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Good. At least that’s a relief. Thank God the hotel was well insured—over a million, if I remember. We may yet be able to turn this disaster to our advantage.”

  “Not if what they’re suggesting in this morning’s papers is true.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Abel.

  “I’d rather you read it for yourself, boss,” the assistant manager replied.

  Abel walked over to the nearby newsstand and paid the boy two cents for the latest edition of the Chicago Tribune. The banner headline told it all:

  RICHMOND HOTEL BLAZE—ARSON SUSPECTED

  Abel shook his head incredulously and reread the headline.

  “Can anything else happen?” he muttered.

  “Got yourself a problem?” the newsboy asked.

  “A little one,” said Abel, and returned to his assistant manager.

  “Who’s in charge of the police inquiry?”

  “That offic