She stood up, stretched, and headed toward the front door. It was rare that she received visitors during the week. Her home was situated off a dirt road about two miles from Route 10 which fed to Route 118, which in turn took you to the Interstate and to Sedalia, the closest town in her vicinity. Lynn’s home was on forty acres of land she’d bought in the early eighties when she and Jerry were still married. They were now divorced, her daughter was grown up, married, and was living in Kansas with her husband and two children and Lynn rarely saw her now. Her son, Eric, had been killed in a motorcycle accident shortly after he’d turned twenty-one, over fifteen years ago.
Figuring the visitor was probably a neighbor, Lynn didn’t bother taking a glance out the window before she opened the front door. Therefore, she was surprised when she saw Kate Thomas and Bob Danielski, two co-workers from Acme, standing on her front porch.
“Well, hello! What brings you two out here?”
“We’ve come to collect you and bring you to work,” Bob said.
Lynn blinked. “What?”
“You weren’t at your station this morning,” Kate said. Lynn noticed that her friends seemed different. They were rigid, wooden, devoid of emotion. “Carl sent us here to collect you.” Carl Boyer was their shop supervisor.
“I’m on vacation,” Lynn said, trying to explain her absence. “Carl knows about it; it’s on his calendar.”
“We’ve come to collect you and bring you to work,” Bob said.
Lynn’s eyes darted between the two. There was no sign either of them were joking with her. They both looked deadly serious.
“Well, I’m on vacation,” Lynn said, trying to inject more firmness in her voice. “If he has a problem he can call me.”
Bob and Kate stepped forward and grasped the screen door, pulling it open. Lynn stepped back, momentarily stunned. When they grabbed her arms and pulled her out onto the porch she panicked. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
“We’ve come to collect you and bring you to work,” Bob said. He had a firm grip on Lynn’s upper arm. He looked like Bob but he wasn’t Bob; this was not the man she knew and had worked with for twelve years.
Lynn tried to jerk away from their grip but Kate brought her arm around and locked it around her throat. Lynn struggled, trying to fight them off, on full panic mode now. “Get off me! Get off me! Help!”
“We’ve come to collect you and bring you back to work,” Bob said as he and Kate dragged Lynn McMurphy kicking and screaming to a black SUV parked behind her Jeep Cherokee in the gravel driveway.
MEL HOWARD WAS still fuming. He’d been on the phone almost non-stop throughout the weekend talking to lawyers, insurance agents, and cops. His Homeowner’s Insurance was due to send a Claims adjuster to his house today, and so far the cops hadn’t done shit, even after Mel had given them the names of the people that assaulted him and destroyed his property. Sue had decided to stay home today to help him deal with the mess. She was in the charred office now doing her best to clean out the burned out bits of furniture. The police had already taken crime scene photos, the insurance company had sent somebody out to take photos, and all that was left now was to clean up and prepare for rebuilding.
Mel was at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee. His head still hurt from the blow he’d received when that HR buttwad whacked him on Saturday. Mel had left a rambling message on the voice mail of his supervisor telling him what happened and that, in no uncertain terms, he was quitting and suing the shit out of all of them. That had been his way of taking the bull by the horns; once he’d done that he felt better. He was going to take care of this problem. He was now in control of his destiny. He would not let them fuck with him any more.
The phone rang.
“I’ll get it,” Mel said. He got up and scooped the phone up. “Hello.”
“Mr. Howard?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Jim Murphy from Farm and Home Insurance,” Jim said. Mel could hear the shuffling of papers in the background.
“Jim! How are you doing? What’s going on?” Mel felt cheerful and happy and he hoped that came across in his voice. It felt good to get the wheels in motion and start taking care of things.
“Farm and Home will be issuing a letter of denial for your claim,” Jim said.
Mel felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His limbs felt suddenly slack and heavy. He leaned against the wall, cradling the phone to his ear, trying to come to terms with what he’d just heard as Jim continued. “Pursuant to Section Eight, paragraph sixteen, sub-paragraph b, Farm and Home Insurance is not required to pay for damages caused by willful flaunting and disobedience toward your employer and, therefore, is not liable for damages caused by disciplinary measures your employer may undertake to—”
“What?” Mel roared. “What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind!”
Jim continued. “—to correct you and get you into some form of probationary period. So, with that in mind, Farm and Home will be issuing a denial of your claim.”
“There’s nothing like that in this fucking policy!” Mel yelled. “That’s insane! What kind of an insurance company would put such bullshit in their policy? You can’t just go around putting that kind of shit in there!”
“Section 12, paragraph 2 states that your policy can be amended or changed at any time without prior written notification, and at the discretion of the underwriter,” Jim said. There was no sense of glee in that voice; no sense of petty authority. It was as if Jim Murphy was reading from a script and that he didn’t care what he was reading, he was just doing what he was told. He was just doing his job.
“What kind of bullshit is that?”
“The letter of denial will be in today’s mail,” Jim Murphy said. “Have a good day.” The insurance agent hung up.
“Goddamn it!” Mel yelled, slamming the phone down. He headed toward the hallway where the burned-out office was, just as Sue emerged from the ruins. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Farm and Home says they aren’t paying anything,” Mel said, striding past her. “I need to get a copy of our policy.”
“Mel, the fire destroyed everything in the office,” Sue said.
“Shit!” He looked into the charred remains of what was his office, noting that the oak desk that held his most important paperwork was reduced to rubble. He turned to Sue. “Now what the hell are we going to do?”
There was a knock on the door.
“Maybe it’s one of the detectives,” Sue said as Mel threaded his way past her to answer the door. Mel hoped so; he had to vent his anger at somebody.
He threw open the door and almost yelled in surprise when he saw Mary Barnhill and Jim Fern, the Human Resources representatives who’d beat him up and burned his office down. They were standing on his front porch flanked by the two same goons that had beat him. At the sight of them Mel fumed. “Get off my property!” he yelled.
One of the goons opened the screen door and the other leaned in and grabbed Mel by the arm, pulling him outside. Mary and Jim stood silent near the steps that led down the walkway. “You didn’t show up at work today,” Mary said. She and Jim acted like they weren’t even here Saturday.
“Get your hands off me!” Mel screamed at the goon who was forcing him out of his house.