THE POLICY

by Bentley Little

  How did he know how much they paid for insurance? Hunt wondered. How did he know about the roof?

  But Beth was already nodding approvingly. “Do you have any information about the policy? A brochure or anything? We’d like to read about it.”

  “By all means.” The agent withdrew a pamphlet from his briefcase, handed it to them. “Here’s a description of the coverage. Look it over, take all the time you need. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them.” He leaned back on the couch and read over the form on which he’d been writing to allow them time to read the pamphlet.

  Heads together, they scanned the slickly printed brochure.

  “This looks good,” Beth said.

  Reluctantly, he nodded.

  The agent sat forward enthusiastically. “And that’s not all…”

  For the next twenty minutes, he spelled out the details of the homeowner’s policy and explained the ways in which it differed from their current insurance. After he was done, Hunt had to admit that it did sound like far better coverage than what they had right now.

  Beth glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

  “If you two would like a moment to yourselves…” the agent said. “To discuss this…”

  Hunt already knew Beth’s opinion. And against his better judgment, he found himself in agreement. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

  Beth smiled. “We’ll take it.”

  “Excellent. Now, if I could just have you sign these forms and date them, we should be all set.” He pushed a pen and series of papers toward both of them. Small red arrows affixed to each page indicated where they were supposed to initial and sign.

  Not reading the fine print on contracts had gotten him into trouble before, so Hunt took the time to read through each page. There was a lot of fine print. It all seemed to be pretty standard, though. He wasn’t a lawyer, but to his surprise there didn’t appear to be any hidden minefields or trickily worded time bombs that would substantially affect their coverage.

  Beth was more used to reading contracts than he was, and she went over her copy at the same time, but she was unable to find any concealed drawbacks either. She glanced over at him. “Looks okay to me,” she said and started signing the top page.

  What were they doing? Hunt had a moment of irrational panic as she put pen to paper, suddenly filled with the certainty that they should not be going through with this. Then Beth finished initialing and signing, handing the pen to him, and the moment passed. There was no reason for him to overreact. All they were doing was switching insurance companies, something that people did every day, something that they probably should have done after that debacle with the leaking roof.

  How had he known?

  Hunt initialed the pages indicated by the arrows and signed his own name on the line next to hers.

  “Thank you.” The agent collected the forms, placed them in the folder, then looked up. “Now, about automobile insurance…”

  They spent the next half hour going over the differences in price, coverage, and benefits between their current UAI policy and the new policy being offered. Hunt didn’t need much convincing. After what he and Joel had experienced—

  Half past a monkey’s ass, a quarter to his ba-wuls.

  —he was ready and willing to dump UAI for someone else. Still, something about this still made him feel a little uneasy, and he had to keep telling himself that he could dump this company, too, if things didn’t work out.

  They signed the application.

  “Okay. What about medical and dental? We have a comprehensive medical/dental/life insurance plan that would fit both your lifestyle and budget, and would provide you with the security you need in these days of economic uncertainty and rising medical costs.”

  Hunt’s stomach was growling. They’d been sitting here for well over an hour, and it was long past his usual dinnertime. The drapes were still open, and outside dusk had become night. He stood. “I’m getting tired, and my brain doesn’t want to think about insurance anymore. I think that’s enough for one day.”

  Beth nodded. “It’s getting late.”

  The agent closed his briefcase and nodded professionally. “Very well. Here’s my card. Should you have any questions or concerns, feel free to give me a ring. I’m an insurance agent, so I’m on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you within the hour. Guaranteed. When you want to talk medical/dental/life, we’ll arrange a meeting, and I’ll set you up with the most comprehensive coverage available at any price.”

  “We get insurance through our work,” Hunt said.

  “Yes. Thank you, though,” Beth told him.

  He put his hat on and stood. “Your policies should arrive within the next two weeks. They’ll arrive through the mail, but if you wish, I can come by and go over them personally with you.”

  “We’ll see,” Hunt said.

  “It’s no trouble at all, I’d be happy to do it. Just let me know.” He paused, turned. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to purchase maybe a small supplemental policy to complement the coverage you receive through your employer? It can end up saving you a ton of money.”

  “No thanks.”

  “You might want to think about it—”

  “No,” Hunt repeated.

  “Okay.”

  They accompanied him to the door, where he shook both of their hands. His touch was surprisingly warm and dry. Hunt had been expecting clammy, but it felt more like touching a leather glove that had been left out in the sun.

  In the doorway, he turned once more. He stared at Beth, assessing something. “I really suggest that you purchase some supplemental dental insurance,” he told Beth. “You never can tell when problems will arise that require extensive and expensive dental work. A lot of procedures that are absolutely necessary are considered cosmetic by many companies these days and are not covered.”

  “We’re fine,” she assured him.

  “All right then. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He tipped his detective’s hat. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Hunt closed the door and instinctively locked it. He suddenly realized that the agent had not given them his name. That was odd. Insurance sales was a cutthroat business, and agents were prone to plastering their names on pot holders and refrigerator magnets and any mundane household item that would hold print in order to emblazon themselves on their customers’ consciousness. All he had been given was a card, and when he looked at it, there were only two words and a phone number: QUALITY INSURANCE 520-555-7734. He was not even sure if Quality Insurance was the name of the agent’s business. It might be simply a description of the type insurance he was promising to provide—quality insurance as opposed to mediocre insurance.

  Strange, Hunt thought. Very strange indeed.

  2

  Joel lay down on the couch, eating Cheez-Its and watching a game on television. A commercial came on for car insurance, and he picked up the remote, flipped the channel.

  You couldn’t avoid it. Those insurance companies were everywhere.

  The front door opened, and Stacy and Beth walked in, each carrying a fully loaded Nordstrom’s bag. He sat up. “Back already?”

  Stacy frowned. “Where are Lilly and Kate? I thought you were supposed to be watching them.”

  “I am.”

  “Unless they’re on television, I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  He chuckled. “They’re upstairs in Lilly’s room. And they don’t want me spying on them. They’re discussing important things.”

  Stacy put down her bag, hung her purse on the hall tree. “I thought you were supposed to get them out of the house and play with them outside.”

  “I tried. I offered to play some B-ball, but they turned me down. They didn’t seem to be in a playing mood. Kate was upset about something and Lilly was being her shoulder to cry on, so I left them alone.”

  “They’ve been up there
the entire time?”

  “Well… yeah.”

  “Make yourself at home,” Stacy told Beth. “I’m going up to see.”

  She took the stairs two at a time, and Beth put her bag down on the floor, sitting on the couch opposite Joel. “Sorry Hunt couldn’t make it. But they had a chance for that overtime, and Jorge needs the money…”

  “No biggie. Besides, baby-sitting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  She motioned toward the television and the Cheez-Its box. “Yeah,” she said dryly. “Looks tough.”

  He laughed.

  Stacy came down the stairs and into the family room. “They’re fine. Listening to CDs.”

  Joel grinned. “Kicked you out, too, huh?”

  “Yes, if you must know.”

  “And you thought I was a lax parent.”

  Stacy and Beth retired to the kitchen, and Joel turned his attention back to the game. Or tried to. But his mind wandered, and he found himself thinking about My Nguyen, the Vietnamese student who’d hit him in the parking lot. He’d seen her today on campus for the first time since the accident. He’d smiled and waved, wanting to show that there were no hard feelings, but she’d been deep in conversation with an oddly dressed man near the physical plant, and when she’d glimpsed him, she’d quickly turned around as if to hide from him. The man, a brawny, stoop-shouldered fellow wearing a hat, remained where he was, but the shadow of a tree fell across him and Joel could not make out his features.

  Something about that bothered him.

  It bothered him even more now, and he wished that he had walked over to Ms. Nguyen and spoken to her. Not because he particularly wanted to talk to her or had anything to say—but because he wanted to know who that man was.

  Another commercial came on, and he went into the kitchen to get something to drink. Stacy and Beth were sitting across from each other at the breakfast table.

  “My gum hurts,” Beth said. “When I chew.”

  “Where?” Stacy leaned forward.

  “Here.” Beth opened wide, pointed to her upper left gum.

  “It looks pretty red,” Stacy admitted. “You ought to get it checked out.”

  “Yeah,” Joel offered, opening the refrigerator. “I stopped going to the dentist for several years—until I met Stacy and she badgered me into it—and when I finally had a checkup, I had six cavities, three at the gum line, and it hurt like hell to get them fixed.”

  “I hear that,” Beth said. “I don’t even remember the last time I went to the dentist.”

  “Take care of your teeth and they’ll take care of you,” Stacy told them.

  Joel found a Sam Adams and closed the refrigerator. Talk of dentists had reminded him of dental insurance, which reminded him of a strange pamphlet he’d received the other day in his box that touted the benefits of employment insurance, guaranteeing that the purchaser of such insurance would be immune to demotions, firings, and layoffs. It was a ridiculous joke, but he had to admit that the pamphlet was very well produced. That was one thing about home computers, they’d democratized publishing technology. He’d looked into the adjoining boxes of other department members, but his appeared to be the only one who’d received the brochure. One of his students, he’d assumed.

  It was funny, and he thought of mentioning it to Stacy and Beth, but they were already onto another topic—the annoying obtrusiveness of department store salespeople—and he walked back into the family room. By the time he settled back into the loveseat and checked the score of the game, he had forgotten all about it.

  3

  “What’s this?” Hunt asked as Edward handed him a printed flyer.

  “Employees’ association meeting. They’re going to be talking about contracting out jobs in maintenance services. Our jobs, to be precise.”

  “I thought that was all over. I thought we won.”

  “Oh no. When the supervisors have an opportunity to hire private companies to do the jobs of public employees and throw a little business their friends’ and relatives’ way, they’re not about to give up so easily.”

  Hunt read the flyer. The meeting was scheduled this afternoon at five, immediately after they clocked out. “Kind of short notice, isn’t it?”

  “It’s an emergency. The subject came up at the board meeting last night, and word in the corp yard is that Steve gave us up, told them that the county could save money and there’d be no loss of services if they outsourced tree trimming.”

  “That son of a bitch!”

  “Shit,” Jorge mumbled.

  “Yeah. So like I said, it’s an emergency.”

  “I’ll be there,” Hunt promised, and after work, he carpooled with Edward to the Cholla Community Center, where the meeting was to be held. Jorge, as always these days, headed straight home, alone.

  “Tell me what happens tomorrow,” he said.

  The association president and the union’s part-time legal counsel were standing in front of the large room when they arrived. Other employees were filtering in, sitting in the folding chairs, office workers as well as field workers. There was a palpable sense of anxiety among the gathered men and women, and the individual conversations that collectively made up the buzz in the room were all concerned with budget cuts and job security. Rumors were flying about individual positions that would be cut, but the only discussions of wholesale layoffs or outsourcing seemed to revolve around maintenance services.

  Finally, at five-twenty, the president called the meeting to order. There was no beating around the bush, no concessions to the niceties of procedure. He stated flat out that the rumors were true, that because of reduced revenues and incorrect projections there was going to be a $3.4 million budget shortfall this fiscal year and that the county intended to balance the budget on the backs of the employees.

  “There are currently two proposals on the table,” he said. “One involves a reduction in benefits. They’re talking about cutting back on insurance coverage: either increasing co-payments and eliminating life, dental, vision, and cancer insurance; or limiting coverage to just the employee and not the employee’s family.”

  There was a murmur of disapproval.

  “The other is more specific. Contracting out a division of maintenance services—namely tree trimming.”

  Hunt was disheartened that this announcement was not greeted with a similarly unified reaction. Instead, the tree trimmers all voiced their dissatisfaction, but the majority of employees remained silent, apparently thankful that they would be spared and their jobs were not in jeopardy.

  “We’re here to see if we can come up with an alternate plan to present to them. One thing they’re not going to go for are revenue enhancements or increased fees. That’s not going to fly this year. So we have to find places to cut.”

  “Management!” someone in the back called out, and everyone laughed.

  The next hour was spent brainstorming. The president wrote shouted suggestions on the board, and then the lawyer explained why each of them was not feasible. The more those two spoke, the more it became clear to Hunt that they were steering this discussion where they wanted it to go, that they had most likely made a decision already and they were going through the motions to pretend that it was a democratic solution agreed upon by the majority. He didn’t like where this was headed, and one look at Edward’s scowling face told him that his friend was thinking exactly the same thing.

  At the end of the hour, it was obvious that the lawyer and the president thought the most sensible course of action was to let the Board of Supervisors outsource tree trimming. And they had not had to work too hard to convince the other employees of that.

  One old-timer, not a tree trimmer but a warehouse supervisor, spoke up. “Let me get this straight. You’re in favor of letting them cut jobs?”

  The president held up his hands. “Now, we don’t want any cuts. That’s our position and we’re sticking to it. But somewhere down the line, if we have to sacrifice a finger to save the hand… well, that’s
one of those hard choices we’re going to have to give serious consideration.”

  “Bullshit!” Edward roared, and everyone turned to look at him.

  The lawyer smiled thinly. “I’m sorry, Mr.…?”

  “I’m not giving you my name because you don’t really care what it is! Let’s just say I’m that finger you’re thinking of sacrificing!”

  The president cleared his throat. “That sort of talk is way premature—”

  “I don’t think it is, you spineless jellyfish! Your job is to represent our interests. You hire this rent-a-lawyer with the money from our dues to make sure that we’re protected, and instead you’re bending and spreading them for management!”

  A buzz of agreement ran through the crowd.

  “Now, hold on a minute, here!”

  “No, you hold on. I’ve been trimming trees for the county for the past twelve years, and if I do say so myself, I do a damn good job. So do the other men on my crew. So do the other crews. We know these parks, we know these trees, and we know damn well that no one’s going to do it better or cheaper than we do. This is all just politics. The supervisors want to look like they’re doing something, want the public to think they’re on the ball, so they’re going to contract us out. They’re going to use taxpayers’ money to support a private business. And they’ll probably hire a tree-trimming company owned by their cousins or brothers-in-law or something. It may seem cheaper at first, but a year from now, when no one’s looking the company’ll raise their prices, and they’ll be paying more than they do now with us.”

  “We’re still negotiating with the county,” the president said. “And we don’t want any jobs cut. That’s our goal.”

  “If I’m laid off, I want a refund of all union dues I’ve paid over the past twelve years, because if you don’t fight for my job, that means you collected that money under false pretenses. That means I paid for services I didn’t get.”

  The other tree trimmers were nodding, voicing their support. “Damn right!” one of them shouted.