d**k by Law

Chapter 6

6Normally, Simon played the role of a caped crusader to help other people, like little old ladies getting conned out of comic book treasure troves. But in the weeks after Greg's slashed wrist and the washing machine mess, Simon had to fight for himself for a change.

All he wanted was a little compensation for the damage from the disconnected washer. It seemed fair that 5G5 should pay him something for the ruined laundry room and kitchen floor.

But getting paid for damages turned out to be harder than he expected. Just filing a damage claim turned out to be an ordeal.

After the accident in the laundry room, Simon called 5G5 and said he wanted to file a claim. The guy at 5G5 told him they'd send someone out right away to assess the damage.

Three weeks and fifteen phone calls later, 5G5 sent out someone Simon thought was a claims adjustor. The guy took a few notes, shot a few photos, and that was that. On the way out the door, the guy said a real claims adjustor would be in touch soon.

But the 5G5 guy was full of s**t when he said that. Six weeks went by without a peep from an adjustor. Simon spent the time getting more and more pissed off and making over thirty phone calls to 5G5.

Then, finally, a claims adjustor called him back from the 5G5 claims center in Pittsburgh.

During their conversation, the adjustor seemed like a perfectly nice guy. He had a deep, soothing voice, and he acted polite and concerned and helpful.

His name was Horne Shaw. He went over Simon's claim over the phone, then said it would take a while to process. He told Simon he'd have to call him back.

After which three weeks flew by without contact. Totally fed up, Simon started calling every day, leaving messages on Shaw's voice mail. He didn't hear back for another three weeks.

Just when Simon couldn't stand it another day, just when he thought he was going to lose his mind, Shaw called back. He said he had the results of Simon's damage claim in front of him.

"We have considered your claim carefully, Mr. Bellerophon." Shaw's deep voice was congenial over the phone. "I'm pleased to say we can finally put this regrettable incident behind us."

"Great." Simon shuffled In¢entive$-related paperwork on his kitchen table, phone handset clamped between his ear and shoulder. "So what's the good word?"

"Just a minute," said Horne. "Now where did I put those numbers?" Simon heard the sound of rustling papers over the phone, then a smack, as if Horne had slapped his desk. "Here they are. Now let's see. Dum de dum dum."

Simon sorted more paperwork as he waited. His neck started to ache from keeping the phone clamped against his shoulder.

"All right, okay," said Horne. "Here it is. The word is...you get nothing."

Simon stopped shuffling papers. "Excuse me?"

"That's right," said Horne. "You get absolutely nothing. Your claim is denied."

Simon was in shock. "For what reason?"

"Because you waived the right to sue," said Horne. "Remember that release you signed?"

"Release?" Frowning, Simon slipped the phone from his shoulder. "What release?"

"Our delivery man, Zeke Cutler, handed you a form just before he left for the hospital with his partner, Greg Weyland. Any of that ring a bell?"

Simon's frown darkened. He vaguely remembered initialing a form in the chaos before the ambulance arrived for screaming, bleeding Greg. He hadn't realized at the time that it could lead to this...that Zeke had had the presence of mind, even as his partner was gushing blood from a slashed wrist, to protect the 5G5 company from paying out a damage claim.

"So you won't pay for the buckled linoleum tile or the warped underlayment?" said Simon. "Or the ruined drywall and cabinets, all of which were your delivery men's fault?"

"Not a f*****g cent." Horne's tone remained as smooth as ever. "But you already knew that if you signed the release."

"I had no idea it was a release," said Simon.

"It said so clearly at the top of the form," said Horne. "And several other places on the form, too."

"You know damn well I couldn't read it," said Simon.

"The fact that you're illiterate doesn't cancel the agreement you signed."

"I didn't read it because I was too busy dealing with your injured delivery man," said Simon.

"Not mine," said Horne. "He's a subcontractor."

Simon was on the brink of going off...but he caught himself and drew a deep breath. Maybe it was time for a different tactic. "I'd like to speak to a manager."

"No can do," said Horne. "When it comes to damage claims, I do all the talking for 5G5."

"Then send me back to the receptionist," said Simon.

"She won't connect you to a manager, either," said Horne. "We run a tight ship around here."

They sure did. Simon was boxed in, and he knew it. Better to end the call without giving asshole Horne any more satisfaction...then look for a better strategy later. "Well, thanks a lot." He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Have a great day."

"Don't mind if I do!" Horne sounded more smug than ever. "You, too, Mr. Bellerophon."

"Yeah, sure," said Simon.

Horne paused a beat...then added one more thing. One more straw on the camel's back. "See you later, alligator," he said, and then he laughed.

And that, of everything he'd said, was what put Simon over the edge.

See you later, alligator.

Horne was still laughing on the other end of the line when Simon clicked off the phone and put down the handset. And that was when he knew.

That was when he knew exactly what he was going to do next.