We’re There for You

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Hutch tries to renew his insurance policy.

 

We all know the only reason Hutch had a front door was to keep out drafts. If you stop to think about it, the circumstances that surround the “trashing” episodes were bizarre and open to misinterpretation by an outsider hearing about them for the first time.

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J.T. Altgeld was a very unhappy man. Insurance was a nasty racket and no one with intelligence and an ounce of human decency would choose it as his livelihood. But J.T. had a wife, two kids, a dog and a mortgage and when business was good the commissions rained down like manna from heaven.

Someone a long time ago had said there was a sucker born every minute. J.T. agreed wholeheartedly and if it weren’t in poor taste he would have a big plaque with the saying hanging on the wall behind his desk.

The beauty of insurance was that no one understood it. Certainly, not the average person walking down the street. They saw the insurance company as a benevolent Santa Claus who, if something bad happened, would fork over a big fat check all because of the paltry premium they sent in each month. Only after something catastrophic occurred, like they died or their house burnt down, did they learn about the exclusions and loopholes written into every contract just so the insurance company wouldn’t have to pay out a dime more than they had to. By that time, of course, it was too late.

J.T. blessed the suckers. He had a plastic smile, a line a mile long, and knew all the right things to say to get the signature on the dotted line.

He liked the selling part of the job. What he didn’t like were days like today when he had to tell someone their policy was being cancelled or in the never-say-what-you-mean jargon of insurance–“non-renewed.”

Altgeld was sorting through some papers when the door to his office opened and a man with dark curly hair bounded into the room. He paused for a moment before closing the door with a backward push of his foot, then appeared to bounce across the room, winding up standing in front of the desk.

“Hi,” he said, pumping J.T.’s hand enthusiastically. “I’m Starsky but you can call me Dave.”

Momentarily caught off guard, Altgeld could only offer a weak smile in reply. “Please sit down, Mr. Star…ahh, Dave. I don’t believe I recognize your name. Do you have an appointment?”

“Nah, I’m here with Hutch.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Hutchinson, Ken. But you can call him Hutch. Everyone does.”

“Yes, of course. Where is Mr. Hutch?”

“It’s just Hutch and he’s parking the car. There was no space in front and he was complaining about how I made him stop at the Mexican fast food place for their extra spicy taco supreme and made us late for your meeting, so when he stopped at the corner I jumped out and hightailed it up here to tell you he’s on his way.”

Dave grinned at J.T. like a little boy who’d thought up the greatest excuse in the world for not turning in his homework on time.

“How nice,” Altgeld said before making a show of opening and closing the drawers of his desk as if looking for something of extreme importance. He was used to dealing with strange characters, in his line of work he’d met more than his fair share of oddballs. But the man sitting in front of him, amusing himself by humming an off key version of some rock and roll song and dressed like an overgrown teenager in faded jeans and tee shirt and wearing a long sleeved denim shirt despite the heat outside, had thrown him completely off balance.

For another minute he continued to rifle through his desk. Reminding himself he was a highly trained insurance agent, capable of handling any situation, he finally lifted his head out of the drawer and pasted on his most charming smile.

“It’s certainly taking Mr. Hutch a long time to find a place to park.”

“Maybe that rolling bucket of bolts he calls a car broke down again.” Dave chuckled and winked at J.T. as if they shared a private joke.

Altgeld laughed too, just to be sociable. While he’d been burrowing in his desk, Dave had rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and J.T. noticed the wristwatch on his arm. Trained to identify expensive jewelry, he immediately recognized the Rolls Royce of watches–a platinum band Yamamoto Reflex–and was about to ask if it was insured when the office door was flung open, revealing a tall blond man. Panting slightly, face flushed, angry blue eyes swept over Altgeld and fastened on the man slouched in the chair.

“What the hell’s the matter with you, Starsky, jumping out of a moving car like that. I almost had a heart attack. Don’t ever do that again, partner.” The way he said the last word it sounded like an epithet and J.T. involuntarily flinched.

“What’s the matter, Hutch? You were the one complaining about how we were going to be late.”

“I had to park six blocks away and jog back here. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s over a hundred degrees out there. If I have to do it, the least you can do is stick around and share the misery.”

“You Viking types are all the same–can’t stand a little hot weather.” Dave turned to J.T. with an apologetic smile. “You have to forgive him. He gets cranky every time the temperature gets over ninety.”

Altgeld didn’t know a polite way to reply to that so he rose from his chair and extended his hand towards the new arrival.

“Mr. Hutch, I presume? Please, won’t you sit down.”

J.T. thought the blond looked a bit startled about something but he quickly recovered. He cast one more baleful look in Dave’s direction before his expression relaxed into a smile and he shook the agent’s hand.

“I apologize for being late, Mr. Altgeld. I know you’re a busy man, so why don’t we cut to the chase and you can explain the letter you sent me asking for this meeting.”

“Of course. As you are aware, the renewal on your apartment insurance is coming due in thirty days. We at Global Mutual Fidelity Insurance pride ourselves on giving our customers the best possible service. So it’s customary to do a review of the policy at such times. It’s strictly routine, you understand. To see if perhaps an upgrade in coverage should be suggested.”

“That’s very nice. Isn’t that nice of the insurance company, Starsk?”

“Uh, huh.”

Altgeld glanced over at Dave. He had sunk even lower in the chair, practically sitting on his tailbone, long legs stretched out in front of him. Considering his earlier exuberance, he’d become remarkably quiet, but J.T. couldn’t tell if he was laying low because of the blond’s earlier display of ill temper or whether he was falling asleep.

“Yes, well… we do our best. In the course of our review it came to our attention the number of claims you’ve made. Now I realize your policy covers property damage due to fire and theft and other insured perils as well, but you have put in three claims in the past year due to vandalism. Now I’m being honest with you, Mr. Hutch, when I tell you that that’s a high number. We realize you live in a trendy area near the ocean and that the criminal element of our society is drawn to such neighborhoods. However our statistics show that overall there are very few break-ins, robberies or burglaries and we’re a little mystified why your apartment seems to be the only one attracting so much activity.”

“We’re cops, Mr. Altgeld. In our line of work we often attract that criminal element you referred to. I can assure you all of those claims were a hundred percent legitimate. I have the police reports to back them up.”

“I’m sure you do, and I’m not questioning your integrity but, Mr. Hutch, we’ve paid three times just to replace your couch! Not to mention,” Altgeld picked up a two page single spaced list, “a mattress, paintings, statuary, dishes, throw pillows, foodstuffs and various other household items including a shower curtain.”

“Oh, yeah, Diana was certainly one cookie short of a baker’s dozen.”

Thrown by the apparent non sequitur, Altgeld turned to Dave, a blank look on his face. “I beg your pardon?”

“Diana tried to reenact the shower scene from Psycho. She attacked me with a butcher knife.” Seeing Altgeld’s dismayed expression, Mr. Hutch quickly added, “The curtain was the only casualty. I just got a scratch.”

“Yeah, right. Twenty five stitches is not a ‘scratch’. You were going into shock, buddy. If I hadn’t gotten there when I did, you could have fallen down the stairs and broken your neck.” Dave’s voice had gotten husky and when J.T. looked at him he saw the Adam’s apple move up and down as if he was upset.

Mr. Hutch noticed it too. A soft smile appeared on his face and he leaned over and patted his friend on the leg. “Hey, I’m fine. You arrived in the nick of time just like always, Starsk.”

Altgeld discreetly glanced down at his watch. In forty one minutes he had an appointment with Rodney Broderick Standish the Third to discuss the insurance on his new palatial thirty-two room mansion. J.T. had been fantasizing about the meeting for days. If he played his cards right he was sure he could con Standish into additional coverage on his yacht or his fleet of cars or…well, rich men always had a lot of expensive toys, and the possibilities were endless.

But he had to take the good with the bad, and right now that meant dealing with Mr. Hutch. It was unfortunate the company mandated every non-renewal had to be told in person and given a chance to explain their misfortunes.

“That’s very interesting and explains the curious matter of the shower curtain. Now about your second claim…”

“Wheeler’s goons. They were looking for the diamond.”

“Diamond?”

“Seventy carats, worth over a million dollars,” Dave said as if repeating something he had learned by rote.

“You…you own a diamond like that?” J.T. spluttered, grabbing a pen and paper to work out the figures for a policy on a gem of that size.

“No, of course not. They thought my ex-wife had hidden it in my apartment.”

Altgeld paused in his calculations. “Your ex-wife owns the diamond?”

“No, she was a courier for Wheeler. Tried to go into business for herself and hid the diamond in my car.”

J.T. was getting very confused. “So these ahhh… goons, as you called them, vandalized your apartment before finding the diamond in your car?”

“No, Internal Affairs found it. They thought I had killed her and…”

“You killed your ex-wife?” J.T. plastered his back into the cushion of his chair, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and the homicidal maniac sitting in front of him.

“Wheeler’s men killed Vanessa with Hutch’s gun while he was out jogging. IA jumped to the wrong conclusion and issued a murder one warrant for his arrest. But they had to eat crow when we got Wheeler to confess.”

J.T. forced himself to relax and stop cowering in the chair. Dave’s explanation was straightforward enough, but if his tone of voice was any indication, this was another bad memory. J.T. watched as the blond leaned over and patted him on the arm.

“Hey, Starsk, it turned out alright. You’re the one who ran interference with Wheeler and thought up that nifty ploy of the peach pit. That was a stroke of genius, partner.”

“I had to do something. I said I was willing, but I really wasn’t looking forward to spending the next twenty years as your bunkmate in San Quentin. Let’s face it, Hutch, you’re not the neatest person in the world.”

“We would have worked it out just like we always do.”

Altgeld sighed–so much for trying to wrangle a policy on the diamond. Might as well get this over with as quickly as possible. “Now your third claim…”

“They were looking for the money.”

“Ah, I see, a simple case of thieves breaking in looking for some extra cash.”

“No, actually they were looking for the million dollars.”

J.T. stared at the man in front of him. He had heard stories about millionaires who distrusted banks and stashed their money in shoeboxes and coffee cans and other equally ridiculous places in their homes. True, he’d never heard of a millionaire cop, but maybe Mr. Hutch with his ‘rolling bucket of bolts’ car and off the rack clothes was some sort of do-gooder eccentric. It wouldn’t hurt to appear to be more understanding.

“I see. And did these terrible people who broke into your apartment find the money?”

“No, because Lisa hid the money at Starsky’s. At least we think she did. To be truthful, we’re not sure where she hid it.”

“Lisa?”

“This ditzy blonde whose boyfriend ripped off a San Francisco crime boss named Clay Zachary for two million bucks and who thought he could get away with it by flying off to Algiers. Instead, he was shot to death at the bus station. Lisa tried to skedaddle out of town with the million that was in her suitcase, but we thought she was a witness to the murder and took her into protective custody. Only Zachary kidnapped her and she being a ditz couldn’t get our names straight and told them the money was at Hutch’s. They tore his place apart but the money wasn’t there so they kidnapped Hutch too and I had to rescue them.”

J.T. was completely befuddled by Dave’s explanation but the blond just smiled and leaned over and patted him on the shoulder.

“Handcuffing yourself to the satchel was brilliant, buddy, though I have to admit I got a little scared when that guy threatened to shoot off your wrist if I didn’t turn over the key.”

“I got the idea from this film I saw. See, there was this spy and he had to deliver this top secret formula…”

“Dave,” Altgeld interrupted what promised to be a meandering review of some second rate movie, “that’s very interesting, but what happened to the money?”

“Oh, Lisa returned it and the insurance company gave her a reward and she got on the plane to Algiers.”

J.T. waited, sure there had to more to the story, but the two men just sat there looking at him. He was tempted to start rummaging through the desk drawers again. All the talk about knives and diamonds and suitcases full of money had him somewhat nonplussed, and he would have preferred a few minutes to collect his thoughts before dropping the bomb on Mr. Hutch who seemed like a nice guy even if he was an insurance company’s worst nightmare.

“This has all been most fascinating and I can say with all sincerity, Mr. Hutch, that I sympathize with your unfortunate run of bad luck.”

“Thank you, Mr. Altgeld. And I have to say I have been extremely pleased with your company’s quick handling of my claims. I was just telling Starsky on the way over here how it seems like I barely have the paperwork completed and I’m getting the check in the mail.”

“Hey, Hutch, that reminds me. What about the time Tommy threw the brick through your window?”

“What about it? One of Huggy’s cousins replaced the window. And it wasn’t a brick it was a rock.”

“Hutch, it was half of a broken brick.”

“Rock.”

“Brick.”

“Starsky, I know it was a rock. It was thrown through my window.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who cleaned up the mess. I’m telling you it was a brick.”

By this time J.T. was frantically flipping through the papers in the folder.

“Mr. Hutch! There is nothing in your file about such an incident!”

The two men sat glaring at each other, ignoring Altgeld’s high pitched whine.

“And I suppose you’re going to tell me the rat in the icebox was a figment of my imagination too.”

“No, that was real enough. And while we’re on the subject, I have to tell you, I didn’t appreciate the remark you made to Dobey about me eating it. That was crude, Hutch.”

“The captain thought it was funny.”

Rat? Icebox? J.T. gulped and sunk back in his chair. There was still a month left on the policy. He’d never get his bonus if Global Mutual Fidelity had to cough up another check for several hundred dollars for a new refrigerator.

The men’s bickering faded to a waspish background whine. He didn’t know whether Mr. Hutch was an innocent victim of crazies with knives and dead rats, a diamond thief, a murderer or a loony with lots of money, and at this point he didn’t much care. He wanted him and his peculiar friend out of his office, and the sooner the better.

J.T. took a deep breath. Straightened his tie. Telling himself he was a warrior for dedicated insurance agents everywhere, he shouted, “Gentlemen, please!”

Two sets of blue eyes turned to stare at him and Altgeld tried not to squirm at their intense scrutiny.

“Mr. Hutch, it is my duty to inform you that as of the first of next month your policy with our company will be terminated. We at Global Mutual Fidelity Insurance deeply regret that such an action has become necessary and we of course, wish to thank you for your past patronage.”

It was a speech he had given countless times before and J.T. sat back, prepared for the usual responses from those receiving such devastating news. There were no shouts of outrage. No wringing of hands or pleas for mercy. In fact, Mr. Hutch looked slightly bored. And while J.T. wouldn’t have thought it possible, it looked like Dave had slouched even further down in the chair and, with his hands folded across his stomach, he would have sworn the man had finally fallen asleep.

J.T. licked his lips, but his struggle to think of something to say to fill the silence was put on hold when Dave said in a casual voice, “You know, Hutch, this morning Johnson was showing me the pictures of his new baby.”

“Cute little kid, isn’t he?”

“Uh, huh. And Johnson was saying he’s thinking of increasing his life insurance. We’re covered by the department but he thinks with the new baby and all he should think about providing something extra for his family in case something happens.”

“That’s a good idea. Can never have too much coverage.”

“That’s what I told him. And Martin’s moving into that new house next month. Asked me if we can help him move.”

“Sure, no problem. I was thinking we should get him a plant as a housewarming gift. Now that he’s a new homeowner.”

“Yeah, we’ll have to do that. And Bateman’s son is getting his driver’s license in a couple of weeks. I told him he should see Merle about a good second hand car.”

“Insurance rates for a kid that age are really high.”

“Yeah, he’s already grousing about all the overtime he’s going to have to put in.”

The palms of Altgeld’s hands were starting to itch. He was tempted to rub them together, but thought that might give the wrong impression so he merely laid them flat on the desk.

“Gentlemen, I was thinking. Perhaps we’ve been a bit hasty in our decision to cancel Mr. Hutch’s insurance. The pencil pushers downtown only look at graphs and numbers. I’m sure when I explain to my superiors the circumstances behind these claims they’ll agree  a man shouldn’t be penalized for nothing more than a run of bad luck. In fact,” J.T. snapped his fingers, “I received a memo just the other day about a new discount we’re offering to police officers. We can not only continue Mr. Hutch’s insurance, but at a substantial reduction of what you were paying previously.”

“That’s very nice. Isn’t that nice of the insurance company, Starsk?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Yes, well that’s all settled then. I’ll write up my report of our meeting and I’m sure I’ll have good news for you in a few days. Gentlemen, please remember our motto, We’re There For You. And here, why don’t you take a few of my business cards.”

They shook hands all around and J.T. sighed with relief as Mr. Hutch and Dave moved towards the door.

“Hey, Starsk, what was all that ‘Mr. Hutch’ business?” he heard the blond ask in a sotto whisper.

“No idea. It’s a good thing you didn’t say anything about leaving the key above your door. Might not have gotten the discount if they knew about that.”

J.T. was left staring at the closed door, wondering how the hell he had gotten himself into such a mess.

End