THE WIND by Troy Lynn Pritt

     The wind whooshed into the room as Harold Staynt opened the front door. He was dressed in brown trousers, pale yellow dress shirt with a dark green Tartan plaid tie, and a rust brown sport jacket. The effect he wanted, they wanted, was friendly, relaxed not business like or professional. Across the room, at the bottom of the stairs was his wife Mariah, clad in a worn, pink chenille robe. The wind parted it, revealing a sexy baby-doll outfit underneath.

“Mariah, how can I leave the house and face a day’s worth of doing Ammer Insurance Company’s dirty work with such an inviting reminder of what I’m leaving behind me?”

“I’ll be here waiting, when you come home. Count on it!”

He smiled and almost skipped to his vehicle. The wind gusted as he was opening the car door. He backed out of the driveway. As he was driving, he ran over in his mind three visits scheduled for this morning.

Mrs. Hermannson was first. Her husband’s funeral was last week. He had a life insurance policy with the Company for $500,000.

“Harold, we don’t want to have to pay out that much money in one lump sum. Do whatever it takes to persuade her to put the proceeds of his policy into one of our annuity plans. There will be a nice commission in it for you.”

If Mrs. Hermannson had other plans for the money, Harold would report that. The Company would then send a “specialist” to try to convince her.

His next visit would be to Mr. Elkins, who had been a passenger in a car insured by them. There was an accident and the driver was killed. Mr. Elkins was badly injured. The Company had paid his medical expenses. They wanted Harold to offer the injured man $50,000.

“If he wants more than that, or if he talks about getting a lawyer, make him think that anything more would have to come out of the widow’s estate.”

The rear passenger window would not close all the way. The wind was roaring in and swirling around to the back of his neck. He thought of his last call this morning.

Sister Angelica was a sweet, elderly nun. She had been hit by a driver they insured while she was crossing the street. The driver was drunk. The nun’s right arm, left knee, left ankle, and her collarbone had been broken. She would be a long time recovering, and probably would never be able to work again.

“Offer her $25,000 – no more. What does a nun need with money? Besides, she won’t sue. It isn’t Christian!”

 

      From the corner of his eye, Mr. Staynt saw a car barreling through the stop sign on the intersecting street. The car was going to hit him! There was a crash, breaking glass, crumpling metal. A scream started in his lungs but never reached his dying lips.