The Customer Is Always...

by Stuart Keane

  “How about you begin by restarting my policy. Then …well, let’s have some fun.”

  The voice was sinister, menacing.

  It gave Vincent goose bumps.

  He started tapping on the keyboard.

  “To restart the policy I need to speak to our underwriters … I need their permission to authorise—”

  “—Let me say this once, and only once. If you hang up, put me on hold, transfer me or even talk to me wrong, I’ll kill this bitch in cold blood. I don’t give a fuck, and I’ve got nothing to lose. There’s nothing in my life that will help me, no, or cause me to have a conscience today. This is your company’s fault. You got that? Now, Vincent, you will reinstate my policy. No one else will. Have you got that?”

  Vincent waved at Leanne. No response. She was on a call. He looked at Graham and Nicola. Neither were looking at him. He wanted to mute the customer but he didn’t dare do it. If he didn’t respond immediately who knows what he would do? He didn’t want to risk it. Vincent felt sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

  For the first time in his life, Vincent felt utterly helpless.

  “Have you got that?” the voice asked again.

  “Ye … yes. I think I can do that,” Vincent said, trembling. His right hand gripped the desk for support.

  “Good. Now, I’m a reasonable man. The problem is, your company isn’t. I don’t know what type of con artist buggery you have going on at your head office but you’ve fucked me over. For reasons you can’t comprehend. You owe me big time, and I want your company to pay out of the arse for this. Fortunately, I have you on the phone and you will help me get what I want.”

  “Apart from the policy restart … what else do you want?”

  “In due course. Let’s focus on one thing at a time. Oh, and Vincent?”

  Vincent swallowed. “Yes?”

  “If you tell anyone about this, if I sense you’ve alerted anyone about this – the police, your managers, anyone – trust me, you will regret it. And I don’t even want to think about what will happen to my hostage here. Got that?”

  “Yes … no problem.” Vincent opened his email. What should he type? Despite the warning, protocol dictated he must warn his managers.

  Did they write protocol for this kind of scenario?

  Vincent doubted it.

  The reality is, he reasoned, if they checked the call and got the customer’s details, who is to say what would happen? Such action could get the woman killed. His fingers froze above the keyboard. They retracted a moment later.

  Not yet.

  See what he wants.

  “Right … Alan.”

  “Call me Mr. Pierce, you disrespectful shit.”

  “My apologies, Mr. Pierce. I need to speak to my underwriters to get this authorised. I can do this without hanging up, but I need to get another consultant involved to call them. Would that be okay?”

  No response. Then, “I suppose that’s within the rules. Just remember, no grassing. I hate a grass.”

  “No problem.”

  “And stop saying no problem … I would say this is a mighty big fucking problem.”

  The hapless consultant swallowed. His throat was dry. “I need to write something down. Bear with me.”

  “Don’t take too long.”

  Vincent scribbled the customer’s policy number on a piece of paper. He wrote in capitals:

  POLICY NEEDS RESTARTING NOW. URGENT!

  He tore it off. Leanne was still on a call. Graham was not busy, but he didn’t have an operational system. Trevor had his back to Vincent. Nicola wasn’t at her desk.

  Fuck!

  Vincent stood up. On a Monday morning, there are always two teams in. Vincent’s and another team who were right at the other end of the floor, around the corner. From here, he couldn’t even see them. He couldn’t leave his desk. At the moment, he couldn’t do anything. He was standing by his desk like a moron.

  Fuck!

  Then Leanne looked up. She smiled, curious. Vincent was sweating, his T-shirt felt damp. For the first time, Vincent realised he was breathing heavily. Leanne’s look turned from curiosity to concern.

  “Are you still there, Vincent?”

  At first, Vincent missed his cue. He panicked when it dawned on him seconds later. “Yes, yes, still here. Mr. Pierce, I need to get someone else to contact the underwriters to do this. It’s simply not in my authority. Plus, it would mean putting you on hold.”

  “You know the rules.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of them … I need to get someone else to do this … I promise I won’t hang up or leave this call. Is that okay?”

  Vincent waited for a long, tedious, ten seconds.

  “Yes. Okay.”

  The terrified man closed his eyes and sighed. Phew!

  He looked at Leanne. She had gone back to her iPhone. Vincent grabbed his call script and threw it at the young girl. The ‘call script’ is a plastic A4 folder containing fifty sheets of paper, something that’s substantially heavy. It crashed onto her desk, knocking her Coke over the keyboard and pulling her attention away from the phone. Her headset whiplashed off her head as she stood up in shock.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  The smile was gone.

  The glasses conveyed a more evil look than her usual conservative demeanour. Trevor glanced back at the commotion. He laughed in silence, still on his call. He was working on his daily litre of Rockstar energy drink. The first 500ml can was in his hand. Vincent returned his attention to Leanne.

  “Is everything okay, Vincent?” Mr. Pierce had heard the commotion. The voice put Vincent on edge.

  “Yes, things are fine, Mr. Pierce.” The man under pressure put his finger to his lips hard, seriousness plastered over his face. He then motioned for Leanne to come over. Leanne stood still for a moment. She scratched her head, pushing her glasses up as she did so.

  Tapping the standby code into her phone, she started to approach Vincent. He bent down and added some text to the paper. Wary of swearing to a religious person (as Leanne was), he starred out certain letters and finally struck out part of the text. He handed it to Leanne and nodded once.

  Leanne looked at the paper. It read:

  POLICY NEEDS REINSTATING NOW. URGENT! GET A F****** TEAM LEADER!

  Leanne looked at Vincent once more. He nodded again. His eyes radiated fear. She started walking across the floor.

  Finally!

  Vincent dropped back into his chair.

  He grabbed a towel from his bag, normally used for his regular post-shift gym visit. He wiped his brow and tucked the material under his t-shirt. He mopped up the sweat from his torso and placed the damp towel in his lap. He hoped Leanne wouldn’t take too long. He breathed out.

  “Right.” He returned to the nightmare call. “That could take a minute to sort out. What else do you want me to do?”

  “I want to do something, while we wait.”

  Vincent scratched his head in frustration. Stalling tactics were key right now.

  “Okay, Mr. Pierce, what do you want to do?”

  “I want to tell you a story.”

  FOUR

  TWO WEEKS EARLIER

  FRIDAY

  8:14PM

  Alan Pierce was exhausted.

  Tiredness brought on by just about everything. Life as a whole just expected more from him all of the time. A man could only give so much to the cause. To life and its circus.

  Alan felt like giving it all up.

  But he couldn’t. If he was a selfish man, then yes, that might have been a viable option.

  He was selfish.

  He was also a single parent.

  Lucy came first.

  His pride and joy: Lucy, his four-year-old daughter. The light of his life.

  She has her mother’s eyes.

  A common opinion, one so true that he believed that at one time or another everyone had said it to him. Glorious green eyes with a hint of silver, they were. A very rare colour.
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  Apart from the eyes, everything else was Alan. The bone structure, hair, the forceful temper. Yes, this four-year-old had a temper. She would grow up to be a spark plug for sure. He relished the chance to be a proper father, to teach her right and wrong and to scare off waste-of-space boyfriends.

  Somehow, he felt he wouldn’t need to. No, Lucy would grow up with a mind of her own. She would reach adulthood knowing men were an obstacle to a better life and that she should wait until she finds the right one. The kind of person who treats her with respect and honour, someone who makes her happy. But first, school and an education. A decent living and mature principles.

  Alan would protect his daughter. For life.

  With whatever it took.

  She’s the only good thing in my life, he thought.

  Although it had once been a thriving online company, Alan’s business had collapsed a year ago. Still, he had residual funds from the business which would keep him going for the time being. He would find something else soon enough. Not long after the company’s demise, his wife, Maria, left him for another man, who just happened to be his business partner. This naturally put a strain on Alan and his wife’s relationship with regard to Lucy, but the couple insisted, no matter what, that they’d make an effort to be amicable in front of Lucy.

  Alan wanted to punch his business partner, Sean, the two faced sonofabitch.

  In due time it would happen, he reflected, but Lucy came first.

  One day, he realised, Lucy would be old enough to understand.

  After all, it was Sean’s fault he was picking his daughter up this evening. Originally, this had been Alan’s night off, to do what he wanted. Then Sean had called. He’d changed his plans at the last minute, apparently he was taking Maria, Alan’s wife, out for dinner. Technically, Alan and Maria were still married.

  Alan felt like objecting to this arrangement, but for the sake of Lucy, he kept his mouth closed and agreed to pick her up. It wasn’t enough that Sean was fucking his wife, but now he was taking his personal time away from him. Alan was furious, but he had a plan. Once he was back on his feet, he would take legal action. Spin a story, which would be true, about Lucy living in an unstable home environment.

  A home where her mother brings home strange men and ditches her child at the last minute.

  The plan was flawless. All he needed was a job.

  And a witness.

  Alan’s car door opened and Lucy climbed into her seat, fresh air billowing into the interior. She placed her backpack between her legs and grabbed the seatbelt. Her arms were too small to fasten it, so Alan reached across and pulled the belt across her. He clicked it into place. Due to her size, the belt rested just below her neck. Once settled, he smiled at Lucy. She smiled back.

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  “Have I got two daddies now, Daddy?”

  The question made Alan’s heart sink. He forced a smile. “No, honey, I’m your dad. And your mum is your mum. We both love you very much.”

  “Who’s that man, then?” Lucy pointed out of the window, towards where Sean was standing on the porch, but her aim was random, since she was lower than the window itself. His wife’s lover was observing. Or being nosy. Alan thought it was the latter. He looked at his daughter. She smiled at him. It melted his heart, and for a moment, all of his troubles didn’t matter. Pure innocence radiated off her.

  Why did she have to get caught up in this?

  Everything will be solved if my plan works, thought Alan.

  “That’s Mummy’s new friend Sean. He was – he is – Daddy’s friend too.”

  “Why does he sleep in Mummy’s bed? I thought only you did that?”

  Lucy poked her tongue out as she tackled the confusing situation in her head. Alan felt a beam of pride and a spike of sadness all at once. He couldn’t provide her with an answer. Deciding to change the subject he said, “How about we get ice cream?”

  Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Yes … and sprinkles!”

  “Of course, gotta have sprinkles!” Alan smiled. If he couldn’t have his daughter overnight, she could go home hyped up on sugar. That’ll teach the bastards. And changing the subject until she was old enough to understand, to use the situation against her mother, was a plan he liked.

  He was going to play the long game.

  “We can have three scoops … sound good?”

  Lucy clapped. She said nothing, ice cream her only thought in the world.

  A simpler time, thought Alan.

  He pulled away from the curb.

  In the happiness of the moment, he didn’t see the Vauxhall Nova speeding down the road. Only when he edged out did the headlight beams bounce off his mirror.

  By then it was too late.

  Alan didn’t remember the next thirty seconds. When he had it relayed to him by the police, it turned out that the Nova had smashed side-on into Alan’s BMW, connecting just in front of the driver’s door. The force of the smash flipped the Nova over the hood of the BMW, then it spun in mid-air and landed roof-first on top of the Mercedes parked in front of him: Sean’s car. The Nova came to a rest. The driver, inebriated as he was, did not survive.

  At the same time, Alan’s BMW was forced back into its parking spot. Forced, because the car was halfway out of the space when it happened. The force of the smash sent Alan head first into his steering wheel, popping the air bag.

  It knocked him out for a few seconds.

  The damage could have been worse.

  The seatbelt around Lucy would have protected her. However, the top belt was stretched across her chest and under her chin. Alan had forgotten to adjust it.

  The impact of the smash sent Lucy forward and snapped her fragile neck.

  It was the worst kind of whiplash. Before her body came to a rest, she was dead. The only other damage was a small scratch on her forehead where the backpack had bounced and caught her delicate skin with the strap.

  For a minute all was still.

  Then the real world resumed. Like a pause button had been released. People came over to check the damage, to check if Alan was okay. Some people filmed it on their phones but didn’t call for help. Sean and Maria came out of the house. Within minutes, Maria was a sobbing wreck on her front lawn. Sean vomited on the pavement beside the car.

  Then the sirens came.

  Alan awoke and saw his little girl in the passenger seat. She looked so peaceful. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she was dead. Her neck was at a sickening angle. Her eyes would never open again. In the distance, he could hear an alarm beeping. All he could think was, Shut the alarm off!

  The sirens were louder now.

  Alan closed his eyes and everything faded to black.

  FIVE

  MONDAY

  9:22AM

  Vincent felt a warmth in his eyes and his tears formed, as he listened to the end of Alan’s story. He wiped them away in a hurry. Despite the attitude Mr. Pierce had shown him, Vincent felt sorry for the guy. In fact he was lost for words. He cleared his throat but no sound came. He wiped his brow again.

  His hands shaking, he tried to sip his lukewarm coffee.

  “So you see, Vincent, my little girl is dead,” Alan Pierce concluded. “I’ve nothing to lose. Fuck my wife, and fuck your company. Because my policy was cancelled I didn’t see a fucking dime from you. I lost my little girl, my car, my livelihood.

  "Do you want to know the worst thing? When I spoke to one of your claims guys, he said I would only get three grand in life insurance anyway. Three fucking grand? My daughter is only worth a measly three fucking grand.

  "Then he rubbed it in by saying I didn’t qualify anyway because my policy was invalid at the time. You know what that felt like? I reckon your CEO’s make more than that amount in a fucking week. You money-grabbing cunts!”

  Vincent didn’t know what to think. “I’m sorry,” was all he could muster.

  “Why’re you sorry? You didn’t know her, and you don’t know me. This isn’t your fault. True,
you work for a corrupt company who rips people off, but everyone has to earn a living. Problem is, you answered the phone, as you have to in your drone-like job, and because of that, this is all on to you. Fault by proxy.”

  Vincent detected a hint of an olive branch in there somewhere. He didn’t pursue it. Too many things were rolling through his head. It was one downfall of the job, the fact that sometimes, due to instances such as this, people got shafted by their insurance company.

  He remembered once speaking to a customer whose car had rolled through the front window of her house. Someone had knocked the vehicle whilst reversing from their drive, and had then driven off. Her driveway was on a slope, and gravity had taken its natural course. When the other party had claimed, the company charged the house-owner for the claim. Despite the fact that her house, car and property were all damaged. They simply said: no one else was present so you have to take the blame. Vincent became disillusioned with his job from that point onwards.

  But this was another story entirely.

  “Vincent, have you left me?” Alan Pierce asked.

  “No … no, just thinking.”

  “Don’t think too much, you don’t have time. How is my policy coming along?”

  As if prompted by the question, Leanne returned with William, the available team leader. Leanne sat down in silence, fear etched into her dark features. William turned to Leanne. “Why are you logged out? Get back on the phone!”

  Leanne nodded and put her headset back on. She didn’t log back in.

  William looked at Vincent angrily. The man in the hot seat realised that William was the only other team leader on the floor, so probably had better things to do. William had his spare phone in his hand.

  “Just doing it now, Mr. Pierce,” Vincent went on. “Hold on a second.”

  “Don’t close the line, Vincent. You know better,” was the warning in his ears.

  William stood beside Vincent, who put his finger to his lips and pointed to this monitor screen. His email box was open.

  He typed:

  MAYBE A HOAX, BUT DOUBT IT. CUSTOMER HAS A PERSON HELD HOSTAGE, THREATENING TO KILL IF I DON’T DO WHAT HE SAYS. I NEED THIS POLICY TO BE RESTARTED.