Never Use a Chicken and Other Stories by Jim Newell Read Free Book Online Page B

Affairs and was connected with a supervisor. When he had explained his problem, the supervisor confirmed that Fred was indeed correct and the judge was wrong.
    “Good,” said Fred. “Please write me a letter confirming your opinion, with a copy to Judge So-and-So.”
    “Oh, no, sir. I couldn’t do that.”
    “Why not?”
    “Well, sir, I might be wrong.”
    I can well imagine the roar and the loud noise in the ear next to the telephone the supervisor was holding in his hand. He probably switched the receiver to the opposite side and held the now deaf ear in the other hand.
    “Do you mean to tell me you don’t know what you are doing? Let me speak to the Deputy Minister of the Department!”
    The DM was out of town for several days so Fred waited until the day after he was due back. He put on the suit that he bought from the secondhand clothing store, the one that he wears for just such occasions, took his brief case and the walking stick he uses for his conveniently bad leg. Thus properly arrayed, he presented himself at the office of the Deputy Minister of the Department of Consumer Affairs.
    “I want to speak with the Deputy Minister,” Fred told the secretary, giving his name.
    “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
    “An appointment?” Fred has an uncanny ability to keep a straight face during such encounters. He also has a loud voice. “Does an employer require an appointment to speak with an employee? This man is my servant. I pay his wages. I want to speak to him.”
    The secretary tippy-toed into the DM’s office and returned with an I-can’t-believe-this look on her face. “I don’t know why, but the Deputy Minister will see you, sir.”
    In the office the DM made no effort to be pleasant. “I do not like the way you made your entry into my office, Mr. Smith,” he said. He did not rise, nor did Fred sit.
    “You, sir,” began Fred, “are a civil servant whose wages are paid by my taxes, which makes you my servant. Now let us understand what a servant is. A servant brings me coffee in bed in the morning. He goes to the door and fetches my newspaper. He runs my errands, does my housework, drives my car, prepares my meals and does what I tell him to do. And if I need to arise in the night and use the chamber pot, my servant empties it. Now do you understand the relationship that you and I have with each other?”
    Before the DM could reply, Fred continued to tell him the reason why he had arrived at the office. The Deputy Minister listened. He had little choice. He interrupted once to ask the name of the supervisor, but Fred would not reveal it.
    “I have no wish to get anyone into trouble. I just want a straight answer to a question. If you cannot answer it, I will go to your Minister, and failing him, I will speak with the Attorney General.”
    “No need. I can tell you. Your interpretation of the question concerning interest rates is correct.” The DM did not hesitate.
    “Good,” said Fred. “Now, while I am here, I want you to call in your secretary and dictate a letter to me, with a copy to the Judge saying what you just told me.”
    It was done. A minor skirmish. Fred won. Was there ever any doubt?
    * * *
    I’ll bet that Fred’s file at the Income Tax Department is not only red-flagged but has its own filing cabinet. One year he found out he was to be visited by an Income Tax auditor, so he emptied his safe and placed the contents elsewhere. Next afternoon, not one but two men came to see him, and in the course of their presentation of demands, asked him to open his safe.
    “No,” said Fred.” There is nothing in it. You have no business in my safe.”
    After repeating their demand and receiving essentially the same answer embellished with basic Anglo-Saxon adjectives, one of the men left Fred’s office and went to their car. He returned with a chain and padlock that he placed around the safe.
    “We will be back tomorrow morning with a warrant,” they said. They were. They also