Accidents Waiting to Happen

by Simon Wood

  been sent to the Traffic Jam square. He moved his riverboat piece to the square.

  Abby erupted into laughter and Wiener barked in

  support.

  “No two hundred dollars, no passing Go, Daddy,”

  she squealed in delight and hugged the dachshund.

  “Josh, I can’t believe you’re getting upset over losing to your daughter and the dog,” Kate said, hoping to inject some sanity into the situation.

  “That’s the third time I’ve been on that damn Traffic Jam square in the last five circuits. That must be against the odds, and I bet that’s gonna cost me another hundred bucks to get out,” he said in dismay.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll be around for consolation hugs for the loser, okay?” Kate said to the industrialists at play.

  Josh wasn’t really upset. It was all for Abby’s entertainment.

  He was actually enjoying himself. His talk

  with Bob had lightened his mood and so had his two weeks leave. He wasn’t sure whether the combination of these events contributed to his high spirits, but he hoped so. He was getting back to a normal life, at last.

  Abby rolled the dice. A double six. She giggled again.

  “What games do you play at school?” Josh asked.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Can someone answer that please?” Kate called out.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, honey. I’m on the verge of scalping this little upstart,” Josh called back.

  “No, he’s not, Mom,” Abby shouted.

  “Okay, I’ll answer it, shall I?”

  “Mommy’s never understood business, not like us

  chickens,” Josh said.

  Wiener yawned and licked his nose.

  Kate opened the door and spoke to the visitor on the porch. Her tone was one of confusion and alarm. “Are you sure you have the right address?”

  Josh looked up from the game. Abby, oblivious to

  her mother’s remarks, counted off her move around the perimeter of the board.

  “Josh, would you come here a minute?” Kate called.

  Getting up, he asked, “Is everything okay?”

  “Don’t go Daddy, it’s your turn,” Abby said.

  “I’ll be back in a minute, honey,” he said over his shoulder.

  Kate turned toward him. Her expression was one of shock. A delivery boy in his early twenties stood on the porch with a confused look on his face.

  “What’s up?” Josh slipped an arm around his wife’s waist in a statement of solidarity.

  “I have a delivery for the Michaels’s household. I’m very sorry for your loss, please accept my condolences,”

  the young man said in a solemn tone, but bewilderment furrowed his brow.

  He proffered the delivery, a funeral wreath, for Josh to accept. Josh couldn’t believe what the guy held in his hands and took an involuntary step backward.

  “Is this a joke?” Josh demanded, his grip on his temper slipping.

  “No, sir,” the delivery boy said.

  Josh looked at the boy dressed in a yellow and green windbreaker and peered over his shoulder at the van parked in the street. The van was from Forget-Me-Not Florists and displayed a free phone number and a local address. Appearances seemed to be honest enough; the delivery boy wasn’t bogus. Josh looked back at the boy.

  “It’s for the recently departed Josh Michaels,” the driver continued. He made another attempt to give the wreath to Josh.

  “I’m Josh Michaels and I’m not fucking dead.” Josh exploded at the expense of the messenger. The delivery boy took two steps back from the force of the blast.

  “Josh, for Christ’s sake, he didn’t send it,” Kate said.

  “Who sent it?” Josh demanded.

  The shaken Forget-Me-Not boy removed the card

  from the wreath to read it.

  “Pinnacle Investments, sir,” he said, offering the card to Josh.

  Josh snatched the card from the delivery boy, almost removing a couple of fingers in the process. The boy snapped his arm back in reflex. Josh read the handwritten card:

  To the Michaels family,

  Please accept our heartfelt sympathies in your

  time of loss.

  Pinnacle Investments

  “Why did they order this?” Josh shouted.

  “I don’t know, sir.” The delivery boy took another step backward, the wreath still outstretched.

  “Josh, leave him alone. He doesn’t know anything.”

  Kate snatched up her purse and moved between her

  husband and the scared driver.

  “My husband has had a very traumatic time over the last few days. I’m very sorry.”

  She took the wreath and got a ten-dollar bill from her purse. She gave it to the boy and apologized to him again.

  The driver took the money and thanked her, but

  his gaze was on Josh. He was wary just in case Josh launched into another attack. He marched back to

  his van, muttering obscenities as he went.

  Kate closed the door.

  “What’s your problem?” she demanded. “What was

  all that about? That poor bastard didn’t know anything.”

  “I wanted to know what was going on. What do Pinnacle Investments think they are playing at sending me a wreath? Why did they think I was dead?” Josh shouted.

  “And bawling out some kid helps, does it?” Kate

  said, shouting almost as loud as Josh.

  He hesitated and bit down his rage. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Who is Pinnacle Investments anyway?” she demanded.

  Josh

  caught himself before he said something damaging.

  He couldn’t afford to tell Kate the truth. In the moment he took to compose the lie, rationality took over and the rage subsided. “I have my life insurance with them,” he said, his anger receding with every word.

  “Well, I suggest you take it up with Bob, he’s your insurance agent,” she said.

  The shouting died and another sound filled the air—

  crying. Abby stood in the living room doorway, sobbing.

  She buried her face into Wiener’s body. The dog

  didn’t move as her tears soaked into his coat.

  Oh, shit, Josh thought.

  “Well done, Josh,” Kate said bitterly.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dexter Tyrell sat at his desk in his executive office. It was five hundred square feet of office space luxuriously decorated with the best furniture, the best carpeting, the best of everything befitting a vice president of Pinnacle Investments.

  The report lay on the desk in front of him, the result of weeks of number crunching and research. But it didn’t matter how many times he juggled the numbers, he still failed to meet the return he’d promised the board. The growth in revenues would be ten percent, not fifteen, as he’d promised.

  Seeing Greg Baxter’s name on the cover filled him with bile. The little shit would be loving this. Ten years his junior, Baxter was the spitting image of himself—

  ruthless and hungry for success. Did that bastard think I wouldn’t find out?

  Baxter had been playing politics. He didn’t want to be on the losing team and rather than fight for his successes, he wanted to jump ship. He’d been sucking up

  to the other divisions.

  “I’ll fix you, you little prick,” Tyrell said to Baxter’s name at the top of the report.

  He’d see that Baxter’s wings were clipped before he got to scale the corporate heights. He still possessed enough clout to arrange for a crap assignment. Baxter could never be like him. The man lacked the guts and the vision to be capable of what he had done for the division.

  The telephone on his desk rang. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Tyrell, Mr. Edgar has asked for all VPs to be in the board room in ten minutes for the quarterly review,”

  Tyrell’s personal assistant said.

  “Thank you.” He put the phone
down.

  He wasn’t looking forward to this meeting. It was an opportunity for the big men to show their disappointment in him like parents reading their child’s lackluster report card. At forty-one, Dexter Tyrell was the youngest vice president to make it to the board. Many in the organization resented his appointment, including three members of the board. They would love to watch him fail, even at their own personal expense. They were big men playing childish games. Screw it, he thought. I make the rules. He flicked through his copy of the report for the last time.

  Tyrell had been appointed to the board eight years earlier, a rising star in the corporate heavens. However, he looked older than his years, the price for being the head of a failing business venture. His mop of hair had receded to a widow’s peak with a balding spot on top.

  The golden blond had withered away to leave a tangle of gray growing out like weeds in a field.

  His rapid rise to success came when he’d presented the board a guaranteed surefire winner. Dexter Tyrell had seen the future and it had been viatical settlements.

  A new and unique business opportunity was created and Tyrell was the man given the task of pulling it off.

  Terminal illness in the early 1990s was creating a disaster area for its sufferers, especially AIDS victims.

  Medical insurance policies were not designed to cover the effects of long-term illness and this left the policyholders out in the cold to fend for themselves. The patients found themselves footing the bills for expensive

  treatments to maintain their quality of life. Eventually, patients unable to pay were denied access to drugs because of the cost. But if the patient had a life insurance policy there was a way out for them, through a viatical settlement.

  Dexter Tyrell saw the gap in the market. His division and several other competing companies jumped to the rescue. Pinnacle Investments’s viatical division took over payment of the terminally ill’s life insurance policies.

  In addition to paying the monthly dues, a generous cash payment was made to the patient. In return,

  Pinnacle Investments became the beneficiary of the policy.

  The cash payment could be a considerable percentage of the face value of the life policy. The percentage was based on the likelihood of the client’s death—the closer the client was to dying, the greater the payment.

  And thus, an industry was born mainly thanks to the HIV virus providing so many potential customers. An industry where everyone got what they wanted. The investment companies returned a guaranteed profit. Patients

  had a relatively carefree life until their death. The medical insurance companies got a monkey off their back. Everybody won.

  Dexter was the toast of Pinnacle Investments for four years. People died as projected, usually within a twelve to eighteen month period, and the company collected on the insurance policies. All was plain sailing, except for some problems with dependants. The surviving

  family members were often upset by the loss of their inheritance to the profit of corporate America. Dexter liked to think of it as sour grapes. It was their unsatisfied greed that was upset. He provided a public service, a good deed, and like all good deeds, someone received a reward. In this case, cash. Publicly he was the Good Samaritan, but honestly he believed he’d exploited a business opportunity to good effect.

  The industry snowballed. Pinnacle Investments received the number of requests for viatical settlements in a week that it had received in a month two years before.

  At the rate at which their clients died, the company was able to take as many new clients as it wanted.

  But disaster hit when the medical community discovered fantastic breakthroughs in the fields of treating terminal illnesses. The major advance had been in the treatment of HIV with reverse transcriptase inhibitors and protease inhibitor drugs. The new protease inhibitors seemed to purge the blood of virus. Drugs with

  names like Nofinivir, Thyrimmune, Thydex, and Xered cropped up from all quarters, with others following close behind. Dexter Tyrell’s viatical clients had the cash to pay for the new treatments with the payouts from their settlements. As a result, clients stopped dying as scheduled.

  The majority of Dexter Tyrell’s clients were HIV

  positive patients. How he wished for the new drugs to fail. The new discoveries meant that life expectancy could be extended as much as ten to fifteen years with a quality of life previously unseen. Patients with an extended lifeline faced the prospect that in ten to fifteen years a cure could be found. The unwelcome possibility of financial ruin now greeted Pinnacle Investments and its competitors.

  Pinnacle Investments’s viatical division saw its income dry up and its costs increase over the next eighteen months. Many viatical policies’ monthly dues

  needed paying. Dexter Tyrell was blamed for his short

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  sightedness. He was seen as the man who would sink the company.

  To Tyrell’s credit, he’d been inventive when his back was against the wall. He’d diversified, changed his investment mix, all but stopping the intake of HIV victims

  and replacing them with patients that were unlikely to survive from other illnesses such as cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer’s, and multiple sclerosis. Also, individuals with dangerous jobs or hereditary conditions were welcome.

  Those actions and some other extreme measures

  he kept from the board had averted the collapse of the viatical division. He was a hero. The board should be thanking him. But they wouldn’t.

  The desk clock told Tyrell that his ten minutes were up. He picked up the copies of the quarterly report and his presentation materials and made his way to the boardroom.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Josh paced about the house on eggshells for hours. Bell had said she’d call at noon. It was twenty after. What made matters worse was Kate and Abby were still in the house. He’d hoped they would be out by now, but even after some prompting they’d decided to stay home.

  Finally, the phone rang.

  Dropping the newspaper he wasn’t really reading,

  Josh leapt from the couch in the living room to grab the phone.

  “Josh Michaels.” He couldn’t help but hear the overwrought tone to his voice.

  “Josh, how are you?” Bell said smoothly.

  He shifted to the open doorway between the living room and the foyer, giving him full view of all the downstairs rooms.

  He’d have to put on a good show for his wife and

  daughter. He knew he had to make it sound natural, like he was talking to a good friend, not his blackmailer. He did a good job. “Fine, fine, and you?” he said pleasantly.

  Coming downstairs with her arms full of laundry,

  Kate asked, “Who’s that?”

  “Hold on a second,” Josh covered the mouthpiece

  with one hand. “Flying club.”

  Kate nodded and went into the kitchen with the dirty clothes.

  Josh was forced to listen to Bell’s laughter while he spoke to Kate. He wanted to bawl her out, but bit back the desire. He took his hand off the mouthpiece.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Oh, Josh. You make me laugh. You lie so well. You have a real flare for it.”

  Ignoring her derision, he kept a wary eye on Kate in the kitchen. “I think I know what I want to do.”

  “So you’ve made a decision?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll pay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you say ‘yes’ once more? Just for me.”

  Josh’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white. He ground out the word. “Yes.”

  “Good boy.”

  Josh hated Bell for getting a thrill out of making him squirm under these conditions, but he could do little else than pander to her.

  Bell switched to a businesslike tone. “I’ll give you three hours to bring me the money.”

  “Where?”
/>
  “Sacramento Zoo.”

  The location surprised him. He almost repeated it, but caught himself. “Where?”

  “In front of the white tiger and lion enclosures.”

  Smiling, Kate came toward him. Briefly, she held his hand and mouthed, “I love you,” before returning upstairs.

  ,‘Josh

  smiled for appearances. “Okay, sounds good.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’ve come around to my way of

  thinking. I’m quite enjoying this phone call. I feel I’m in one of those cheesy spy movies. Quite the giggle, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” Josh said. “Quite the giggle.”

  “The clock’s ticking, Josh.” Bell hung up.

  Josh called up stairs, “I’m going out for awhile. I’m gonna borrow the car, okay?”

  He didn’t wait for a response.

  Josh waited on a park bench in front of the white tiger and lion enclosures as promised with the five thousand dollars in a padded envelope he had bought from a Rite-Aid on the way to the bank. There’d been no

  problem removing the cash from the savings account.

  The teller showed no surprise or interest. Kate wouldn’t notice the missing money. The residual cash came from the remainder of the sale of his life insurance policy less the initial blackmail money.

  He sat in front of a bank of five habitats in the middle of the zoo that contained the more impressive animals—white tigers, lions, the polar bear, hyenas and snow leopards. Josh ignored the people in front of the caged animals, the burbling from the kids’

  chatter and the sound of the animals themselves. Instead, he contemplated what he was going to say to

  Bell, how he would finish it with her once and for all.

  He wasn’t doing very well; he hadn’t come up with anything good. Josh felt the balance of power was with the blackmailer. He was the one who was willing to pay to hide his secrets. He was holding the weaker hand and a pair of threes never beat a full house. The best he could do was bluff. Was he a good enough

  card player?

  Josh checked his watch—ten after three. Bell was ten minutes late and he had arrived five minutes early. She’s doing this to get to me, he thought and mumbled a curse under his breath.

  He looked at the lion in its cage in front of him. It was a beautiful animal born to roam the plains of Africa, but this lion had never sampled that life. It had been born in captivity and transferred from the San Diego Zoo. It was just as unsatisfied with its situation as Josh was with his. The creature paced its inadequately sized habitat while its mate slept. Josh wasn’t