Shmucks (4 page)

“Okay, move fass,” the policeman said.

Pelzic didn't know what to do. He didn't mind getting a ticket. It wouldn't be more than ten dollars. Big deal. What was a ten-dollar ticket compared to the payoff that he would get from this accident?

“Please, sir, I'm waiting for a very important person.”

“Hey, colis! I said move fass or I pass my boot by your harse estsi.”

The policeman ripped open the door and moved towards Pelzic menacingly.

Pelzic could visualize what would follow if he didn't move quickly. The policeman would most likely grab him, knock him around a little, and then arrest him for attacking a police officer and resisting arrest. It was inevitable. And if he should be foolish enough to try and bribe the policeman, he knew how that would turn out. Even if he was the most corrupt policeman on the entire force, somehow the man would suddenly turn honest, and he, Pelzic, would find himself in jail on a charge of attempted bribery.

He knew he'd better start moving. Where was Schmecker? If only he could come around the corner right at that moment. They would have a perfect witness. Pelzic started the car, put it into gear, and moved on slowly down the street. Looking in his rearview mirror, he could see the policeman mount his motorcycle and begin moving after him. A few seconds later Pelzic saw another car pull into the spot where he had been only a moment before.

A second or two after that he saw Schmecker's car come roaring around the corner and drive full force into the back of the car.

The increased premiums on Schmecker's insurance amounted to a hundred dollars per year. For that gambit, Pelzic laid out three hundred since Schmecker's insurance agent estimated that the extra premium would remain in effect for at least three years. For a while after that incident, Pelzic took it easy and resisted his frapping urge.

But a few months later while he was driving down Cote des Neiges an opportunity presented itself to him to which he reacted almost instinctively. As he was coming down the hill he suddenly saw a car miss the stop sign where Atwater cuts onto Cote des Neiges, and head out into the middle of the hill. Instead of going for the brake, Pelzic immediately went for the gas. He plowed into the side of the vehicle, spun his own car halfway around, brought it to a screeching halt and, checking to see that there were no oncoming cars, flung himself screaming to the pavement.

There was no question of liability. Pelzic had three witnesses who signed affidavits that it was the other driver's fault. According to their statements, Pelzic was completely blameless.

After that, it was simply a matter of establishing what his lawyer referred to as the quantum, the amount of compensation. The lawyer, Norton Lecter, was considered to be the best accident claims lawyer in the city. He seemed quite certain they would collect between four thousand and five thousand dollars. Once all the reports were in from the medical examiners, it was just a matter of waiting.

Pelzic had been waiting now for two months. Maybe the lawyers would call today, he thought as he stepped out of the shower. The day had certainly begun very auspiciously; maybe today he'd finally get into Iggy Retzic's league—and soon people would talk about “pulling off a Pelzic.”

He sat down on the toilet seat and began to dry himself. He could hear his wife still singing at the top of her lungs in the kitchen. He smiled and continued drying himself. That should keep her quiet for a few days, he thought. He stood up and walked out of the bathroom. As he headed towards his bedroom, he realized something with pleasant astonishment. This was the first morning in several months that he had not been scalded in the shower. Yes, he thought, there was no doubt about it–this was going to be an exceptional day.

A SHORT WHILE LATER
, Pelzic was sitting at the kitchen table eating his breakfast. He noticed with a feeling of pride that his wife was somewhat unsteady on her feet. In fact, she was rather loose and rubbery legged. He smiled inwardly as he watched her staggering happily around the kitchen.

“I had a very strange dream last night,” Pelzic said straightfaced.

“Yes, Pelzy?” his wife replied as she wobbled over to the table and fell into her chair.

“Yes, very strange dream.” He pursed his lips as though thinking about it.

His wife looked at him with anticipation, but Pelzic simply bit off a piece of charred toast and chewed on it.

“Is there mail today?” he asked.

“I go check, Pelzy,” she said, smiling broadly at him. She lifted her body out of the chair and limped off towards the front of the apartment.

Pelzic stuffed the last of his food down his throat and wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. He burped loudly but not quite as loudly as he had tried to. He struggled unsuccessfully to force out another one. He stood up, pushed back his chair and hitched up his pants. His wife reappeared in the kitchen holding several envelopes.

“Here is mail,” she said and handed the envelopes to Pelzic.

More bills, he thought. They never ended, and they always seemed to come in bunches. As soon as one stack was paid, another bunch arrived.

Shit, shit, shit! he thought. So he was wrong about believing it was going to be a good day. He had been fooled for a brief moment, but now things were quickly getting back to normal.

He opened the envelope with the familiar logo of the telephone company. It was a bill for $9.75. He threw it on the table. He opened a second one which he recognized as coming from the finance company. He read the capitalized and red typed notation: “You are overdue in payment. Please remit outstanding balance no later than July 20 or we will be forced to take legal action.”

Legal action! He cursed to himself and, pulling a pencil out of his shirt pocket, he scrawled across the notice: “Shov it up yur ass!” He underlined this with two heavy strokes. “Mail this back to the finance today,” he said to his wife.

“Okay, Pelzy, I mail.”

Pelzic tossed the statement onto the kitchen table.

“If the lawyer calls, phone the dispatcher and tell him to call me please with message,” Pelzic said to his wife.

“Okay, Pelzy. I call.”

“Goodbye, ubita mea,” he said, bending to give her a quick kiss on the cheek and goosing her gently at the same time. Pelzic headed for the door.

His wife called out hesitantly after him, “Pelzy?”

Pelzic turned. “Yes?”

“It was good dream you had last night?”

Pelzic shrugged. “Not bad,” he replied and gestured with a slightly raised hand. He went outside and breathed deeply. What a beautiful day, he thought. He walked to the back of the apartment where his taxi was parked. He unlocked the door, got in and looked around to see if everything was in order. He turned the key in the ignition. The motor turned over immediately. He eased the car out of his space and headed along the driveway towards the street. He couldn't believe it; the taxi was working like a dream. He headed for Cote des Neiges. The moment he reached the corner, he was flagged by a middle-aged businessman.

Pelzic pulled up, and the man got into the front seat. They talked about the weather for five minutes, about the Montreal Expo for five minutes, again about the weather for another five minutes, until Pelzic pulled up at Place Ville Marie. The man gave Pelzic a ten-dollar bill. Pelzic started to count out the small change, laying it on the seat between him and the man. The man scooped up the silver, threw a quarter back onto the seat, thanked Pelzic and got out of the cab. Pelzic, who still owed the man seven dollars, sat there momentarily stunned, holding the money. Then he quickly stuffed the bills back into his wallet and drove away smiling.

If the man couldn't be responsible with his money, it certainly wasn't his duty to be responsible for the man. Besides, maybe the man meant him to have the seven dollars. You could never tell. There were some real big tippers in Montreal. Anyways, no matter how he looked at it, the fact was he was seven dollars ahead of the game or, as Murray Schmecker might say, he had “frapped out some mooch” for seven.

He couldn't help smiling with satisfaction. He had known it—it was going to be a good day. He drove up McGill College looking for a fare. . . .

THE REST OF THE MORNING
was relatively uneventful compared to the encouraging beginning, and the early afternoon was much the same–not particularly busy, but then again no trouble with the police.

A little after four o'clock the dispatcher came on the radio. “Your wife called,” he said.

“What did she say?” Pelzic asked excitedly.

“I couldn't exactly tell, but I think she said something about the lawyer calling. I think he wants you to go to his office as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

Pelzic headed straight for Sherbrooke and Mountain, parked his cab and took the elevator up to Norton Lecter's office.

Pelzic sat quietly in the waiting room of his lawyer's office. After a few minutes, he pulled out his copy of the original claim letter sent to the insurance adjustors. He had carried it around now for almost eight weeks and checked it at least a dozen times each day. By now he had it completely memorized, but it still gave him a little thrill each time he pulled it out of his pocket.

He held the letter open in front of him and let his eyes dwell on the words.

Mr. Ian Claxton,

c/o Claims Dept.,

Great Northern Assurance Co.,

The Armstrong Bldg., Montreal.

Dear Sir:

Further to our conversation of May 30 wherein we discussed the claim of my client (Mr. G. Pelzic) for damages against one Mr. Leslie Barkas, an insuree of your company, I have enclosed as requested a detailed statement regarding our client's claim.

Very truly yours,

Norton Lecter

Pelzic smiled as his eyes darted back and forth across the page. He had to hand it to these lawyers—they really knew how to write a letter. It was very impressive. He smiled again as he read “Damages to jewellery.” He was claiming for damages to a watch which he had found ten years before. He had accidentally stepped on it, and for the last three years it had been lying broken and useless in a drawer. He knew it would come in handy some day. His clothes hadn't been damaged in the accident either, but he was claiming for a pair of torn pants and a ripped sweater. Over the years he had hoarded all his old clothes, feeling that he might make use of them someday. His foresight had paid off. For an old watch not worth a nickel and pants and a sweater worth even less he would collect two hundred and forty-five dollars.

A wonderful thing–free enterprise, Pelzic mused.

He looked up at the clock. He had been waiting now for more than a half hour, but he didn't mind. Lawyers often moved with the speed of a snail. The legal processes were sometimes slow, but the results were often well worth the wait. He had been waiting for eight weeks, and even if he had to sit there for another hour it wouldn't bother him.

Norton Lecter had explained why it sometimes took so long before a liability claim such as Pelzic's was settled. First the lawyer had to write to the liable party, holding him responsible for damages to his client. Then an insurance adjustor, acting on behalf of that party, would contact the lawyer. If the adjustor disclaimed liability, they would of course sue immediately. If the adjustor did not deny liability, he would ask for a detailed statement of claim being made by the injured party like the one Pelzic had just finished reading. If the adjustor was not satisfied with the medical report from the claimant's own doctor, he might demand that the claimant be examined by the insurance company's medical examiner. There might be a series of discussions between the lawyer and the insurance adjustor. Sometimes further medical examinations of the claimant might be requested. A series of offers and counter-offers might be exchanged between the lawyer and the adjustor, until a final settlement would be agreed upon.

In Pelzic's case, Lecter had figured right from the start that even though they were claiming about twelve thousand, they would probably get four thousand or five thousand dollars if they were lucky.

With that money, Pelzic could buy a second taxi permit; and then with a few more good accidents, he might be able to start building up a whole fleet of taxis.

Pelzic's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the lawyer's secretary. She was a prim, grey-haired little lady well into her sixties.

“So how's the taxi business, Mr. Pelzic?” she asked, smiling pleasantly.

“Not so badly, Miss Peerega,” Pelzic replied, looking up at the old lady.

“I must tell you, Mr. Pelzic, that I took a taxi to work this morning for the first time in ages.”

“That is very nice.”

Pelzic forced a smile and tried to return to his thoughts about the claim. He knew the woman could talk. On each of the five occasions that he had been in the office, she had really bent his ear. She went on and on, talking about everything that came into her mind. Most of the time Pelzic didn't know what she was talking about.