Credit Crunch

I was working off some issues with a tennis racket when the Nokia jingled and buzzed across the coffee table in crazy angular motions. I should have ignored it but I answered, just to stop the noise.

“Good evening Mr. Price...” She was young. Professional. “My name is Jane. Are you having trouble with your mortgage repayments?”

I wasn’t, not yet. Nor was Mr. Price—but I had time to kill and this wasn’t my phone, so I figured I might as well distract myself with a banter.

“Can’t say I do, much. What can you offer me?”

I could hear my accountant groan as I said this. Probably worried about his phone bill. I gave him another downswing on the cranium with the racket and watched his blood seep. The real Mr. Price, owner of the phone, slumped again, his head sliding off the smoked glass table, quietly and without much fuss.

“I’m offering you security, sir.” said the girl. “I’m offering you peace of mind.”

She sounded relieved. Probably never usually got further than “Good evening Mr. X.” I aimed for my accountant’s knee cap and hit hard. He yelped, surprising both me and the girl, who breathed out slowly into her phone.

“Sit boy!” I was thinking too fast. “Sorry, it’s just my dog.”

“Oh, you have a dog?”

“Yes. A Labrador. Lovely thing. Grey haired. Loyal. No head for figures, though.”

“I’ve got a toy poodle. He doesn’t lick. Had him trained.”

She had that edge in her voice that meant she was interested but I couldn’t stomach the emotional investment. Not right now.

“You mentioned something about peace of mind?”

“Yes, sir. As I am sure you are aware, in today’s America, with our current climate, it doesn’t pay to be complacent when it comes to financial issues.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

I carefully picked a spot on the top Mr. Price’s skull and brought the racket down quickly. Got myself rewarded with a well-balanced crack. Having given her the credit, it was only fair to give him the crunch.

He had arrived at my door ten minutes ago, with that awful cheery smile of his, and that horribly fast way he accepts a cup of coffee or a glass of something stronger. Told me all about how my portfolio was swinging, no, “rocketing” earthward. Told me about problems with supply in Nigeria, about the costs of war. Told me not to worry. That’s when I figured I’d kill him with the nearest blunt object to hand. It had, I must admit to myself, seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Well that’s great sir,” the girl said, “because we have the right kind of mortgage for you. Minimal interest, moderate re-payment terms and you owe nothing after you die. How’s that for peace of mind?”

I teased a small globule of something human from a point where two strings intersected in the center of the racket. A piece of Mr. Price’s mind.

“I already told you,” I said, “I don’t have mortgage problems. Can you just sell me the personal tranquility deal without getting too in-depth with the fiscal?”

“Well, sir, you see our brand of personal tranquility comes tied in with the mortgage. You could say, in our case, they’re kind of inseparable.”

“Sure, sure, but I mean, theoretically...”

I swung.

“...they don’t have to be...”

I struck.

“...connected at all.”

He folded.

“Don’t you have anything to offer me in the serenity ballpark, Jane?”

When she spoke, it was almost in a whisper.

“Well, sir, personally my little dog brings me a lot of happiness. And then, there’s the Lord...”

Suddenly, I was furious.

“The fucking Lord? You think that’s going to help me? You think that this is about atonement? I’m going to get all happy because I confess to you, like some idiot? Like Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment?”

This time there was a very long pause. The girl breathed in and out, as if meditating on some far away matter. My accountant lay still. He was probably dead by now. I wondered if maybe I’d gone too far. She buzzed in my ear.

“Crime and Punishment... is that the one with William Petersen and Paul Guilfoyle?”

“Yes,” I said, slamming the Nokia down hard into Mr. Price’s lifeless form. I sat for a while, listening to her distant “hello?” as I watched the setting sun glitter through the patio doors. The silence of the room was huge and looming.

“Light,” I thought. “Maybe the answer is in the sun.” Not that it mattered anymore. Right or wrong, I was fifteen minutes too late.