Anson lit a cigarette. Better now than after Barlowe was dead. If it looked too dangerous, he wouldn't go ahead with his plan. It was better now to know the worst before he was so far out on a limb he couldn't scramble back.
Maddox!
Chapter 5
Patty Shaw, Maddox's secretary, was typing busily when Anson entered the small outer office.
She looked up, took her hands off the keys and smiled a welcome.
'Hello, John, nice to see you again. How's it out in the back of the beyond?'
Anson returned her smile. All the National Fidelity salesmen were fond of Patty: apart from her blonde prettiness, she was smart and helpful. She understood a salesman's difficulties and she knew how discouraging Maddox could be.
'Not so bad. What's he want?' Anson jerked his head to the door that led into Maddox's office.
'The Vodex car smash,' Patty said, rolling her blue eyes. 'He's trying to get out of paying the claim. He wants your angle on it.'
Anson drew in a long, slow breath of relief. And he had been thinking it was the Barlowe policy Maddox was going to gripe about.
'He can't get out of paying it!' he exclaimed angrily. 'What's the matter with the man? Vodex was drunker than a skunk! We've got to pay!'
'You know how he is,' Patty said, lifting her shoulders. 'He'll try anything to get out of paying a claim.' She flicked down a key on her intercom. 'Mr. Anson's here, Mr. Maddox.'
A hard curt voice barked, 'Shoot him right in.'
'Go ahead,' Patty said, waving to the door. 'Remember Daniel in the lion's den. Daniel didn't give a damn for the lions, and the lions didn't give a damn for Daniel.'
Anson forced a grin and then went into Maddox's office.
Maddox was sitting behind a vast desk, smothered in papers. There were papers on the floor, papers on most of the chairs and papers everywhere.
Maddox was glaring at a policy he held in his thick freckled fingers. His thinning grey hair was rumpled and his red face was screwed into a scowl. Maddox wasn't a big man although he looked big from behind the shelter of his desk. He had the shoulders of a boxer and the legs of a midget. His eyes were restless, alert and bleak. He wore his well-cut clothes anyhow. Cigarette ash rained on his sleeves, his tie and his lap. He had a habit of running his stubby fingers constantly through his hair which added to his dishevelled appearance.
He leaned back in the chair and glared at Anson.
'Well, come on in,' he said. 'Sit down. This sonofa bitch, Vodex ...' and as Anson sat down, Maddox launched into a steady invective against their client.
Twenty minutes later, Maddox made a gesture of disgust and reached for another cigarette.
'Okay, so well have to pay up! Forty thousand dollars! You salesmen kill me! Couldn't you have seen this jerk was an alcoholic? All you think about is your commission! If you had a grain of insight, we'd be forty thousand dollars in pocket!'
'It's my job to sell insurance,' Anson said sharply. 'You don't have to beef to me. If you have any complaint take it up with Doc Stevens. He okayed Vodex. If you don't like the way I sell insurance you'd better talk to Mr. Burrows.'
Burrows was the President of the National Fidelity, the only man who could talk back to Maddox.
Maddox lit another cigarette.
'Okay, okay,' he said, waving his stubby hands. 'Don't get your shirt out. But this kills me! Forty thousand dollars!
What's the matter with Stevens? Doesn't he know a drunk when he sees one?'
'Vodex wasn't a drunk!' Anson said patiently. 'He happened to be drunk on the night of the crash. He hasn't been drunk in years.'
Maddox shrugged and suddenly relaxed. His red, rubbery face contorted into a sour grin.
'Well, let's forget it. How's business Anson? How are you doing?'
Knowing his man, Anson wasn't fooled. Cautiously he said, 'It's all right. This is a bad month. I have a number of prospects lined up once they have paid their rents and bills.'
'You're not doing so bad,' Maddox said and dived into a mass of papers on his desk. He came up with a policy which he studied, then looked at Anson with a sudden cold penetrating stare.
'What's this? This guy Barlowe? You hooked him for fifty thousand dollars?'
Anson's face was expressionless as he said, 'Oh Barlowe ... yes, that was a lucky one. He sent in a coupon inquiry and I nailed him.'
'Fifty thousand, huh?' Maddox stared at the policy, then dropped it on his desk. 'Who is Barlowe?'
'Probably one of the best gardeners I've ever come across,' Anson said. 'He works in the horticultural department of Framleys' stores. I don't know if you are interested in gardening, but he has the finest small garden I've eVer seen.'
'I'm not interested in anything except the work that lies under my nose and the pen I hold in my hand,' Maddox misquoted sourly. 'So this guy works at Framley's stores, does he? How come he can afford a policy this size?'
'He wants to use it to raise capital to buy himself a business,' Anson said. 'After a couple of years, he'll ask us to pay the premiums out of the policy.'
'Nice for him,' Maddox said scowling. 'In the meantime if he happens to drop dead, we're in the hole for fifty thousand bucks.'
'Stevens rates him as a first class life.'
'That quack! He can't even recognize a drunk when he sees one!'
Anson didn't say anything. He watched Maddox light yet another cigarette.
'The beneficiary is Mrs. Barlowe ... that his wife?'
'Yes.' Anson felt his heart give a little kick against his side.
'What's she like?' Maddox asked, staring at Anson.
'You mean what does she look like?' Anson asked, his voice casual, his expression inquiring.
'Yeah ... I like to have a picture of people in my mind,' Maddox said. 'When I get a policy for this amount come out of the blue and I learn the insured is just a counter clerk, I get interested. What's she like?'
'Attractive, around twenty-seven. I didn't talk to her much. I talked to Barlowe. I got the impression they were happy together,' Anson said carefully.
Maddox picked up the policy and stared at it.
'How come this guy pays the first premium in cash?' he asked.
'He wanted it that way. He keeps money in his house. Anything wrong about it?'
Maddox grimaced.
'I don't know. Twelve hundred is a lot of dough to keep in your house. Hasn't he a banking account?'
'I guess so. I didn't ask him.'
Maddox blew a stream of tobacco smoke down his thick nostrils. His red rubbery face was screwed up in an expression of thought.
'So he wants to use this policy to raise capital ... that it?'
'That's what he told me.'
'To set up as a gardener?'
'Well, more than that... to buy land, greenhouses, machines and so on.'
'How much capital does he want?'
Anson shrugged.
'I don't know. I didn't ask him. He said he wanted to insure his life and he told me why. I didn't argue with
