Refrigerator justice.

This story starts in the heat wave of last June?a pleasant enough memory during one of the city's longest cold snaps. In the Bronx heat, my 75-year-old mother's refrigerator went on the fritz. The motor crapped out. Being a child of the Depression, she thought repair first, rather than replace the old war horse. And therein began her troubles.

She called American Appliance Services on Riverdale Ave. in the Bronx. My mother paid $367 cash to the repairmen who boasted that the unit was fixed. Of course it wasn't, and she lost a week's worth of food. When she called these bozos back, she was told that the owner had had a heart attack and they didn't know when they would be able to get back to her. They claimed the place might be sold or closed up, then ignored her subsequent calls.

As a younger man, I would have gone over to this rip-off joint and gotten my mother's $367 back?one way or the other. These days, I have too much to lose, so I left a message threatening legal action.

That got a response. A man called me back and promised that my mother would be paid her money by the end of July. Not surprisingly, they never paid up, and my mother didn't know what to do. I was playing a game of chicken with these men: I called them out, they didn't deliver. I had no choice but to go up to Bronx Small Claims Court and start the action.

I work in the courts, so the last place I want to go to during my free time is a courthouse. But a promise is a promise?and this was a promise to my mother. The process took months, but one day before Christmas I took off from work and rode the #4 train up to 161 St., ready for my bus driver's holiday.

When people need to work out legal actions worth less than $3000, they find themselves in Small Claims Court. More than 50,000 cases are filed citywide each year and these little courts churn them out. In the Bronx, Small Claims is in the basement of the old courthouse right by Yankee Stadium. When I went down to file the action, I ran into a problem: There was no business certificate matching the store that ripped off my mother.

In another office, manned by two female clerks who looked like they hadn't talked to each other in years, I found what I needed. The business was actually called AAA NY Appliance Service, owned by a man named Anthony B. Grochowski. I paid my $15, which is the cost to start a claim for less than $1000?and was given a late-January court date.

On that cold night, I walked up the hill on 161 St. and watched as the legal eagles of the Bronx scooted home. Small Claims Court is the minor leagues?very few attorneys are willing to appear there. On the corner of the Grand Concourse and 161th St., three Latino boys were using the empty court plaza as a skateboard park. They shimmied and turned right in front of a "No Skateboarding" sign.

I went down to the basement and entered a half-full courtroom where about 25 people sat in the dim light while a beefy court officer checked them in with speed and grace. Though no one looked very happy to be there, it was a calm bunch. The most anyone was going to lose was $3000.

I was first on the calendar. When I checked in, the officer informed me that the court's routine service had been returned by the post office. It's an old trick: The defendants are listed on the business certificate under one name, but when the postman attempts to deliver it, they point to the sign on the building, which has a different name. They refuse to accept the notice. The clerk tells me that I must personally serve the owner of the repair shop and bring back a sworn affidavit to that effect. I now had to search out Anthony B. Grochowski.

When some people run into this problem, they do what is called sewer service: They throw the summons in the garbage and fill out the sworn statement that they had, indeed, served the defendant. The defendant, of course, doesn't show up in court and the plaintiff is awarded a default judgment. Then, maybe they can convince the sheriff, or the marshal collects the monies owed.

Though they didn't deserve it, I decided to play this one straight. I took the summons and service, then sat in the back to watch the clerk give his speech to the crowd.

"I am about to call the calendar. You need to speak up. We don't hear a response from you, and if you're a claimant your case will be dismissed. Don't just raise your hand. Let me hear you. We have a small crowd here tonight because of the cold, so belt it out. If you want to end your case tonight, let me know that you're ready. You will then be sent to an arbitrator and we can get it over with tonight. The arbitrators work on a volunteer basis, and we have quite a number of them. They are all lawyers and their decision is binding; in other words, it can't be appealed.

"If you want the judge to try your case, you answer, 'Ready by the court.' That one may cause a long wait. I cannot promise you that it will be done tonight. We have a ton of cases in here, and we have only one judge."

This crowd doesn't heed the clerk's advice; most answer "ready by the court," which could make for a long night. On my way out, I pass two men arguing in the hallway about a car repair. A lawyer from Macy's is on his cell phone telling someone that the other side hasn't shown.

That, so far, is my small claims adventure. As yet, I have not been able to serve Grochowski, but the adjourn date is Feb. 18?I still have some time. The problem is that the men at the Riverdale Ave. location won't offer up any information. They are, they say, nothing more than an answering service.

This guy is like the ghost of the Bronx. Maybe I'll go up and haunt him.