"Ewing, Jack - Serves You Right" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ewing Jack)

Serves You Right
by Jack Ewing
Copyright й 2001



After six years on the job, you still sweat out the first call. It often sets the tone for the day.

What's behind Door Number One?

Re-check the name and address. Yep, this is the place: a faded bungalow, identical to a dozen others along this block off La Cienega, within earshot of the Santa Monica Freeway. An overgrown banana tree in the front yard. Paint flakes away around Venetian-blinded windows. The screen door is warped, with enough holes in the mesh to admit an army of insects.

Knock with your right hand, keep the left behind your back.

After a moment, the door opens. A tiny gray-haired lady in a faded print dress and orthopedic shoes pushes the screen at you.

"Yes?" She smiles, blinking into bright sunlight.

Keep an eye out for a weapon on her, remembering the hag a couple years back that stuck you with a hatpin. "Leora Swenson?"

"Why, yes, I am." Her smile widens, reveals too-white teeth and too-pink gums.

"This is for you." Bring the folded paper forward and place it in her age-spotted hand.

She adjusts bifocals and reads her own name on the front where it says DEFENDANT. She stares at the fancy lettering, then looks up, her eyebrows coming together.

"What is it?"

"Summons and complaint, Miz Swenson." Check the copy in the breast pocket of your summer-weight suit coat. "Says here you owe the medical center 983 bucks and change. Didn't you hear from Stein & Fleisch, the collection attorneys, about this?"

"Yes, I received some letters." Her eyes fix on the paper in her hand. "But I threw them away."

Jeez, you think, some people are too dumb for words. "Why'd you do that?"

"I thought there must be some mistake. I was sure health insurance covered my operation."

Silently, you wonder what doctors took out or put in. Maybe they removed her brain. Must have--she ignored Stein & Fleisch.

Her wrinkles deepen. "How can this be?" she quavers. The summons wobbles in bony fingers that are all blue veins.

"Don't know anything about it," you say, as instructed. "I just hand out papers. Now, thing to do is call the lawyers. Number's on the back." Show her. "Call within thirty days or they can take you to court to get the dough."

"But I don't have a phone!" Her eyes beg for sympathy.

"Use a neighbor's. Or write the lawyers. But get in touch soon." Force a smile. "Believe me, lady, this is good advice."

She protests she doesn't get around so well. Her husband just died. She doesn't know where she'll get that kind of money. She barely gets by on Social Security. Her voice climbs on the Shrill-O-Meter. Before she starts crying, cut her off. You've heard it all before, hundreds of times, every excuse in the book. Even if you feel a little sorry for some of them, like this old lady, what are you gonna do? Pay their bills?

"Look, talk to the lawyers. They'll set up a payment schedule." Leave her standing there, like something carved out of soap.