Free Candy Apple Red by Nancy Bush Page A

Figures the derelicts have got one, maybe two years left on this planet. So, he takes out a bunch of policies on them, making himself the beneficiary, then waits for them to kick off.”
    “That’s not illegal, is it?” I asked.
    “Not as long as they have health exams and are proven to be hardy individuals who should have years ahead of them. But these guys couldn’t pass a health exam to well…save their life.”
    I surfaced for a moment. I couldn’t hear the conversation at Cotton’s table but it was clear they were just ordering from the menu. “Why does this sound familiar?”
    “Because a story like this has been on TV,” Dwayne said with one of those “can you believe it?” shrugs. “One of those real crime programs. Our scam artist happened to come up with the same idea—or maybe he gets the idea from TV.” Dwayne signaled Manny for another beer and a glass of wine for me. I tried to stop the order as I was feeling remarkably giddy and flushed, but the Chardonnay materialized in front of me. “He’s in cahoots with Clarkson who takes a fat commission on all the policies he writes, and probably a kickback from our perpetrator. Clarkson writes up a bunch of smaller payoff policies, say under twenty-five thousand, because you can get by without the physical under a certain limit. Of course, these derelict guys have terrible, checkered medical histories and any honest agent—if there is such a thing—wouldn’t write policies for any of them. Sometimes Clarkson pencils in false social security numbers, too. He doesn’t want there to be any way to fully trace back to these derelicts. So, scam artist pays the small premiums and hopes the derelicts kick off within two years of the policies to make it worth his while. When they die, he collects. The more policies on each guy, the better.”
    “Why aren’t the false social security numbers a dead giveaway, so to speak? They should be checked out.”
    “Should they? Why?”
    “I don’t know. Isn’t there someone following up?”
    Dwayne pointed a finger at me, underscoring his point. “This is why identity theft is becoming such a problem. Somebody could be using your number and you wouldn’t know it until something came up wrong, all of a sudden. Like on your credit report.”
    This gave me a bad feeling. I vowed to never give out my social security number again unless I was damn sure it was for the purpose it was intended. “What if the guy doesn’t kick the bucket within two years?” I asked.
    “Ahh…” Dwayne smiled without humor. “That’s where our perp turns into a monster. He invites the derelicts to live with him in utter squalor, then pours alcohol down the poor losers’ throats, speeding up the process as best he can. Their bodies are in deep shit already. They’re time bombs. Scam artist helps them along, all under the guise of being a buddy, y’know? Let’s party. Let’s drink! They don’t last long.”
    I pushed my third glass away. “Are you trying to get me on the wagon?”
    “You don’t get it,” Dwayne said with a shake of his head. I stole another glance at Cotton’s table. They were deep into their entrees. “It’s not about alcohol. It’s about taking advantage, y’know? Hurting someone else for your own gain. I hate those bastards.”
    I gave him a long look. Dwayne is a decent guy. An attractive, decent guy. I recognized the danger of too much wine a wee bit late, but at least I recognized it. I reminded myself sternly that Dwayne was off limits.
    The guy next to Dwayne suddenly let out a loud belch. The woman seated next to him hunched her shoulder and tightened her lips. I didn’t blame her. The incident caused Dwayne to swallow a smile. His attractiveness grew.
    I reminded myself of the feminine scent lingering in his condo and pushed dangerous impressions aside. Leaning toward him, I said, “How do you feel about family annihilators?”
    Dwayne zeroed in on me as if I’d answered the riddle of the