There is no such thing as an unconscious no.
(Sigmund Freud)
It was a real shame! He had contrived the legal construct that had made Nono Hollitschek a rich man. But it had only been designed as a temporary step, not as steady state. However, when the Vienna police had killed Sepp in a firefight five years ago, he suddenly had been forced to realise that his scheme was deficient. Nono was the exclusive owner of all assets: twelve houses, four country estates, three night clubs, two brothels, four vineyards, a yacht and a lot of petty stuff. And he – could be glad and grateful that Nono still employed him as his lawyer.
It was Hanne, Nono's common–law spouse, who had to be blamed. Nono was a bozo. He would easily have wrapped him around his little finger – and have appropriated the whole lot, if not Hanne had counselled Nono. Hanne was an ordinary whore, or rather had been – she was playing the grande dame now, but she was clever. As long as Nono owned everything – and she was his mate, she was posh. If Nono lost the clobber, she was back to patrolling the streets. Well, the little slut had pulled it through.
Okay, being Nono's lawyer – and asset manager – wasn't that bad. There were worse fates. Yet, it meant working. While Nono and Hanne were touring the glitterati world, he was left to graft here in Vienna. Oh, sure, some morsels he was able to secure for himself routinely. Hanne didn't mind, and Nono never noticed. Nevertheless, it was vexing. Why couldn't he be on that yacht, cruising the Riviera, hosting some complacent girls who gingered him up?
A letter had arrived, signed by Nono and – surely – written by Hanne. They had heard about the impending ice age and wanted to buy real estate on Sardinia. It was not a totally stupid idea, Sardinia was far–off, even if Italy was swamped by refugees from Germany. Yes, he would have to get in contact with local estate agents. He wrote a short note for Emma, his secretary, to establish telephonic contact with some offices in Cagliari.
It was a general problem. Estate and house prices in Vienna were falling. Nono's assets were rapidly losing in value. At the same time, charges in Italy, Spain and Portugal were reported to be skyrocketing. Fortunately, one had a well–stocked bank account – and several filled lock boxes at diverse banks. Kurt Schuschnigg sighed. He would do what he could to salvage as much as possible. After all, if Nono became pauperised, he was ripe for the soup kitchen as well...
(Sigmund Freud)
It was a real shame! He had contrived the legal construct that had made Nono Hollitschek a rich man. But it had only been designed as a temporary step, not as steady state. However, when the Vienna police had killed Sepp in a firefight five years ago, he suddenly had been forced to realise that his scheme was deficient. Nono was the exclusive owner of all assets: twelve houses, four country estates, three night clubs, two brothels, four vineyards, a yacht and a lot of petty stuff. And he – could be glad and grateful that Nono still employed him as his lawyer.
It was Hanne, Nono's common–law spouse, who had to be blamed. Nono was a bozo. He would easily have wrapped him around his little finger – and have appropriated the whole lot, if not Hanne had counselled Nono. Hanne was an ordinary whore, or rather had been – she was playing the grande dame now, but she was clever. As long as Nono owned everything – and she was his mate, she was posh. If Nono lost the clobber, she was back to patrolling the streets. Well, the little slut had pulled it through.
Okay, being Nono's lawyer – and asset manager – wasn't that bad. There were worse fates. Yet, it meant working. While Nono and Hanne were touring the glitterati world, he was left to graft here in Vienna. Oh, sure, some morsels he was able to secure for himself routinely. Hanne didn't mind, and Nono never noticed. Nevertheless, it was vexing. Why couldn't he be on that yacht, cruising the Riviera, hosting some complacent girls who gingered him up?
A letter had arrived, signed by Nono and – surely – written by Hanne. They had heard about the impending ice age and wanted to buy real estate on Sardinia. It was not a totally stupid idea, Sardinia was far–off, even if Italy was swamped by refugees from Germany. Yes, he would have to get in contact with local estate agents. He wrote a short note for Emma, his secretary, to establish telephonic contact with some offices in Cagliari.
It was a general problem. Estate and house prices in Vienna were falling. Nono's assets were rapidly losing in value. At the same time, charges in Italy, Spain and Portugal were reported to be skyrocketing. Fortunately, one had a well–stocked bank account – and several filled lock boxes at diverse banks. Kurt Schuschnigg sighed. He would do what he could to salvage as much as possible. After all, if Nono became pauperised, he was ripe for the soup kitchen as well...