Bob Deuce sat in his office at Family Stop Insurance Services moving paperwork around. Josh’s revelations in the bar the previous night preoccupied him. The impact had left him concussed. He’d never dreamt his
closest friend could have got himself into so much shit.
He’d stayed to watch the game but found his mind
wandering back to Josh. He left twenty minutes after Josh did. His wife, Nancy, detected his mood, but he deflected her questions.
He slept little. Rather than sharing Josh’s burden, he’d taken it all upon his shoulders. He realized the pressure Josh must be under keeping it a secret for all this time. It was bad enough experiencing the situation by proxy. He would find it difficult not to blurt it out the next time he saw Kate. Sharing was a bitch. But friendship was friendship and Josh needed his help now more than ever. Maria, Bob’s receptionist, acted as a welcome distraction when she popped her head
through the door.
“Bob, I have a James Mitchell from Pinnacle Investments outside. He says he’s got an appointment with
you, but I don’t have a record of it. Is that right?”
“Yes, he does. He called after you’d gone. Sorry, I didn’t write it down. Send him in.” Bob managed a thin smile. He didn’t really want to see this guy, but duty called.
Maria disappeared.
Bob looked at his desk. It was a sty. He thought
about making a stab at clearing it up, but blew the idea off. He just didn’t have the heart. Let him see that I’m a slob.
Maria returned with his ten o’clock appointment.
“James Mitchell, Bob.”
Maria saw herself out and the men introduced themselves and shook hands. The strength of the man’s grip
surprised Bob. He looked so ordinary. Everything
about James Mitchell was average—medium build, average height, slightly receding hairline and an unremarkable face. If he had been the basis for “Where’s
Waldo,” no one would have ever found him. He was
about forty-five and dressed conservatively in a generic single-breasted suit.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Mitchell?” Bob said.
“James, please. I’m speaking to various insurance brokers in California to promote Pinnacle Investments and to remind them of our services, especially our unique ones. In the past you’ve been instrumental in providing us business, but things have dropped off and I would like to see what we can do for you and your clients,” Mitchell said.
Bob saw no point in prolonging this meeting for
nicety’s sake. He wanted the salesman out of his office as soon as possible. “Okay, James. The main reason for the decline is most of your services are geared to investments and I’m an insurance agent. I’ve sold some of
your life policies, but I do find that some of your competitors offer much better rates.”
Mitchell asked Bob to outline where the differences were between Pinnacle Investments and their competitors.
Mitchell wrote Bob’s comments in a notebook on
top of his briefcase, which he balanced on his knees.
Bob thought the exercise was a waste of his time, but it took his mind off his other worries.
“I see you’ve sold several of our viatical policies over the last few years—to a John S. Densmore, who is now deceased, a Margaret F. Macey and a Joshua K. Michaels.”
Bob nodded in agreement.
“I wanted to update our records on Margaret Macey and Josh Michaels.”
“Let me get their files.” Bob left his desk for the archives in the rear of the building and returned with the files. Sitting down, he said, “What do you need to know?”
“Josh Michaels, does he still fly and rock climb?”
“Yes, he flies regularly, but I don’t think he rock climbs much nowadays.”
“And how’s his health?”
“Good as far as I know.”
“Good. And how about Margaret Macey’s health?”
“Not so good. I saw her some months ago to renew
her homeowner’s insurance and she didn’t look well.
She’s a very nervous woman. I think she’s very drug dependent these days.”
“So the treatment is not going well, eh?”
“No, I don’t think the doctors have much chance of curing her heart problems.”
“Is she terminal?”
“No, I think it’s just that she’s old and everything is worn out.” Bob added, “She went for the viatical settlement because she needed cash, not because she was
terminal.”
“That’s a shame.” Mitchell looked suitably moved, but then suddenly brightened. “Thanks for the update, Bob. Do you have any other candidates for these
unique insurance opportunities? It’s a thriving division for us. I know it was originally intended to be a program for the terminally ill, but since then we’ve opened up the qualifications. It’s fast becoming an alternative way to refinance.”
“I don’t have many terminal patients. It’s something I have recommended to clients as and when the need has arisen. With regard to refinancing, that’s something I don’t really get involved in unless my clients ask me.”
“I understand, as long as we’re not losing out to our competitors on that one. We like to think that we offer the best viatical service on the market.”
Bob didn’t need to hear the pitch and wrapped up
business with Mitchell. They bullshitted a while about the insurance industry, life, family and sports. He felt sorry for Mitchell. It wasn’t much of a life flitting from motel to motel. He knew. He’d done it himself for six years. He’d given it up to start his own business and never looked back.
How long are you in the area for, James?” Bob
asked.
“Until the weekend, then I move to San Francisco, then LA.”
“Well, if you feel up to it, I’m going to a barbecue on Saturday. Would you like to come? It’s nothing fancy.
Just a friend’s birthday and he’s one of your clients, Josh Michaels.”
“One of our viatical clients,” Mitchell said.
“Yeah, but please don’t mention it. His wife doesn’t know.”
“Oh, I understand,” Mitchell said, stumbling over himself. “Yeah, sounds good. I would love to come.”
Mitchell thanked Bob for his time and hospitality.
He gave Bob his motel address at the River City Inn, on the south side of the city, and they agreed on a time to meet on Saturday. The meeting had briefly perked
Bob’s spirits, but he fell back into his funk once the salesman was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
“Are you two going to play that game all day? It’s beautiful outside and you should be out there,” Kate complained.
“We’re playing until I beat Daddy,” Abby replied.
“Oh yeah?” Mock disbelief colored his words.
“You’re a long way from winning, my girl. I’ll be victorious.
Josh and his daughter were playing the Sacramento version of Monopoly in the living room. The game
