Twelve Red Herrings

“I don’t have any dependents,” said David, trying to look bored.

“There must be someone you care about,” said Marvin. “A good-looking guy like you.”

“Why don’t you leave the forms with me, Mr. Roebuck, and I’ll think about it over the weekend. I promise I’ll get back to you.”

Marvin looked disappointed. He didn’t need a refresher course to be told that you’re supposed to nail the client to the wall at the first meeting, not let them get away, because that only gave them time to think things over. His lips felt dry.

Pat returned from the evening shift in the early hours of the morning, but David had stayed awake so he could go over what had happened at the meeting with Marvin. Pat was apprehensive and uncertain about the plan. David had always taken care of any problems they had had in the past, especially financial ones, and Pat wasn’t sure how it would all work out once David was no longer around to give his advice. Thank God it was David who’d had to deal with Marvin—Pat couldn’t even say no to a door-to-door brush salesman.

“So, what do we do next?” asked Pat.

“Wait.”

/> “But you promised Marvin you’d get back to him.”

“I know, but I have absolutely no intention of doing so,” said David, placing his arm round Pat’s shoulder. “I’d bet a hundred dollars on Marvin phoning me first thing on Monday morning. And don’t forget, I still need it to look as if he’s the one who’s doing the pushing.”

As they climbed into bed, Pat felt an attack of asthma coming on and decided now was not the time to ask David to go over the details again. After all, as David had explained again and again, there would never be any need for Pat to meet Marvin.

Marvin phoned at 8:30 on Monday morning.

“Hoped to catch you before you went off to sell those stocks and bonds,” he said. “Have you come to a decision?”

“Yes, I have,” said David. “I discussed the whole idea with my mother over the weekend, and she thinks I should go for the million, because five hundred thousand may not turn out to be such a large sum of money by the time I reach sixty.”

Marvin was glad that David couldn’t see him licking his lips. “Your mother’s obviously a shrewd woman,” was his only comment.

“Can I leave you to handle all the paperwork?” asked David, trying to sound as if he didn’t want to deal with any of the details.

“You bet,” said Marvin. “Don’t even think about it, my friend. Just leave all that hassle to me. I know you’ve made the right decision, David. I promise you, you’ll never live to regret it.”

The following day, Marvin phoned again to say that the paperwork had been completed, and all that was now required was for David to have a medical—“routine” was the word he kept repeating. But because of the size of the sum insured, it would have to be with the company’s doctor in New York.

David made a fuss about having to travel to New York, adding that perhaps he’d made the wrong decision, but after more pleading from Marvin, mixed with some unctuous persuasion, he finally gave in.

Marvin brought all the forms to the apartment the following evening after Pat had left for work.

David scribbled his signature on three separate documents between two penciled crosses. His final act was to print Pat’s name in a little box Marvin had indicated with his stubby finger. “As your sole dependent,” the broker explained, “should you pass away before September 1, 2027—God forbid. Are you married to Pat?”

“No, we just live together,” replied David.

After a few more “my friends” and even more “you’ll never live to regret its,” Marvin left the apartment, clutching the forms.

“All you have to do now is keep your nerve,” David told Pat once he had confirmed that the paperwork had been completed. “Just remember, no one knows me as well as you do, and once it’s all over, you’ll collect a million dollars.”

When they eventually went to bed that night, Pat desperately wanted to make love to David, but they both accepted it was no longer possible.

The two of them traveled to New York together the following Monday to keep the appointment David had made with Geneva Life’s senior medical consultant. They parted a block away from the insurance company’s head office, as they didn’t want to run the risk of being seen together. They hugged each other once again, but as they parted, David was still worried about whether Pat would be able to go through with it.

A couple of minutes before twelve, he arrived at the surgery. A young woman in a long white coat smiled up at him from behind her desk.

“Good morning,” he said. “My name is David Kravits. I have an appointment with Dr. Royston.”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Kravits,” said the nurse. “Dr. Royston is expecting you. Please follow me.” She led him down a long, bleak corridor to the last room on the left. A small brass plaque read “Dr. Royston.” She knocked, opened the door and said, “Mr. Kravits, doctor.”

Dr. Royston turned out to be a short, elderly man with only a few strands of hair left on his shiny sunburned head. He wore horn-rimmed spectacles and had a look on his face that suggested that his own life insurance policy might not be far from reaching maturity. He rose from his chair, shook his patient by the hand and said, “It’s for a life insurance policy, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, that’s right.”