Late Payment

Thank you for calling CreditWest, this is Melissa,” the representative said, chipper. “How can I assist you today?”

“Yeah ...  hi, I’m calling to close out my wife’s card.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Can I get--”

“She died.” It just fell out of my mouth. The shock was still there, fresh and ready to kick me in the gut the moment I let my guard down.

There was a pause, and when Melissa spoke again, her tone was remarkably softer. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said. “I can help you get this taken care of.” A short exchange of numbers, verifying numbers, and mother’s maiden names ensued, and then she asked, “And could I get your name, sir?”

“Kyle,” I said.

“And your last name?”

“Hansen.”

There was another, longer pause. “Okay, Mr. Hansen, sorry for the delay, I’m just calling up the balance on your ... on your wife’s card. We show a balance of $625. Would you like to give us an account number and we can deduct--

I sighed. I didn’t need this. “I thought it was paid off. Can you tell me what the charge is for, please?”

“‘Valley Companion Maintenance and Supply,’” Melissa told me.

The name didn’t ring any bells.

“For six hundred dollars?”

“Six hundred twenty-five, yes sir.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of the place.” I told her. It wasn’t the money, really.

“If you’d like, I can send you a copy of the receipt,” she offered.

I sighed. “Yeah, please do.” I gave her my email address and said I’d call back after I’d reviewed the receipt.

She was very efficient. The receipt was in my inbox as soon as I signed in to the computer:

STATEMENT OF ACCOUNT

Valley Companion Maintenance and Supply
12844 Winterbottom St. #11
Van Nuys, CA 92010
(818) 348-6221

Rebecca Hansen
21 Bloom Ct.
Calle Pescador, CA 92122

2019 C Omicron Victor “Kyle”
VC - ACR-22B
Acct #: IND662329

Chassis Maint. (6000 hr): $580.00
Walk Cycle Adj (warr): $125.00
Bearing, LH #221-4371-L (warr): $638.35
Hair Retouch (Trimz.com): $45.00
Warranty Cov.: -$763.35

Total: $625.00


Visa XXXX-2018 (on file): $625.00
Current Balance - $0.00

I read it twice.

“What is ‘Companion Maintenance?’” I wondered aloud. I did a search for it. None of the results seemed correct. There were entries for cars and propane tanks and various other, increasingly less-related sites, but nothing with that exact name. Even when I tried “Trimz.com,” all I got was a placeholder website.

I noticed my name just under our address. Was it engraving? Was she having something engraved?

The miserable kick in the gut hit me again at that thought.  Whatever it was (“Bearing?” -- a watch, maybe?), I had never received it.

I picked up my phone again and keyed in the number from the invoice.

“VCMS, this is Mario,” a bored male voice answered.

“Hi, uh …sorry, this is about an invoice, number IND662329  that was charged to my … my wife’s card?”

“Just a minute.” I could hear typing and the hum of light machinery in the background. “Okay, that’s for an Omicron Victor?”

“I don’t really know what that is,” I confessed. “You see, my wife … she passed away last week, and whatever it is I guess she didn’t pick it up?”

“Hang on, let me take a look.” It sounded like Mario barely leaned away from the phone before shouting at someone on his end. “Do we have a Victor waiting for pickup? … No, white.” There was some muffled exchange between the two voices before Mario became clear again. “I don’t think so,” he said. “We don’t have any Victors in the shop at all.”

I rubbed my temples with a thumb and middle finger.

“Sorry … I don’t even really … What is a ‘Victor,’ exactly?”

There was a pause that made me uncomfortable.

“Hello?”

“Did you say your wife passed away?” Mario said, his voice much lower than before.

“Yes,” I told him, “last week.”

“Could I get your name?”

“It’s Kyle,” I told him. “Kyle Hansen.”

Muffled talk again, and then silence, as I assume Mario put me on mute.

It was several minutes, and I almost hung up, before the voice of an older man picked up.

“Hi, this is Oscar,” he said. “I’m the manager, here, Mr. … uh … Hansen.”

“Look,” I said, exasperated. “I just want to know what the invoice is for. I’m not disputing it, I just--”

“Mister Hansen,” Oscar interrupted gently. “Are you at home now?”

“Yes?”

“Uh huh. And … um … your wife, where is she?”

I scowled, failing to see how that was relevant.

“... Mister Hansen?”

“She’s right where she fell down,” I told him. It was hard to keep the emotion out of my voice as I glanced over at Rebecca’s crumpled form on the floor of the dining room. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just been hard.”

“I understand, Mister Hansen,” the man said. He sounded more distracted than sympathetic, but I suppose other people’s tragedies aren’t always easy to relate to. “I’m going to put you on hold for just a minute, sir,” he said. “Don’t hang up.”

It occurred to me that I probably should do something about the state of her. I should put her in a more comfortable position. But something was seriously wrong outside. I peered through the window and saw a large van -- some sort of police vehicle by the look of it -- parked directly in front of my house.

As I watched, several policemen in some kind of riot or SWAT gear piled out of the back. The breastplate of their armored jackets had the same lettering as the side of the van:

LASD SYNTHETIC COMPANION CONTAINMENT UNIT

There was a pounding on the door, and a muffled demand.

“I’ll call you back,” I told Oscar.