“Who’s the judgment against?” Bertha interrupted.
“Me.”
“Do you mean you want to employ me to collect a judgment from you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t get you.”
“I’m judgment-proof.”
Bertha said, with exasperation in her voice, “So that makes it very simple. You want me to collect a judgment from you because you’re judgment-proof... Oh, yes, just an ordinary, routine matter.”
Belder’s smile was apologetic. “You see, Mrs. Cool, a few years ago when there was lots of merchandise to be had and not a very brisk market, there was an excellent opportunity for salesmen who were up on their toes to clean up.”
“Did you clean up?” Bertha asked curiously.
“I made a small fortune.”