The Midnight Dog of the Repo Man by W. Bruce Cameron

Author:W. Bruce Cameron
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2014-08-25T16:00:00+00:00

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The Midnight Plan of the Repo Man

W. Bruce Cameron

Available in hardcover and e-book in Fall 2014 from Tom Doherty Associates

A FORGE BOOK

Copyright © 2014 by W. Bruce Cameron

chapter

ONE

COMPUTERS and insurance companies call me Ruddick McCann—to everyone else I’m just Ruddy. I work for a collateral recovery agency run by a guy named Milton Kramer. When people can’t make their car payments, I help them get back on their feet.

I’m a Repo Man. Get it? “Back on their feet.” That was repo humor, there.

I’ve been relieving people of the burdens of automobile ownership for more than six years and I still don’t understand why it is necessary. If you can’t afford to make your car payments, why not just drive it back to the dealership and hand over the keys, instead of making Ruddy McCann come after you?

Today I was looking for a twenty-five-year-old man named, of all things, Albert Einstein. Albert Einstein Croft was his full name, though I suspected everyone called him Einstein— how could you resist? He worked on the assembly line at a place called PlasMerc manufacturing—something told me he wasn’t exactly living up to his parents’ expectations as far as his intelligence.

The PlasMerc factory had only been open a few years and I’d never been there before. I was surprised, when I located the place, that the employee parking lot was fenced and paved, with a guard in a booth, no less. Most companies in Northern Michigan were more considerate, leaving their workers’ cars out in the open where the Repo Man could easily get to them. I pulled up in Milt’s tow truck and nodded at the guard, hoping he’d figure I was from AAA and punch the button for the gate to swing open. Instead, he gave me a stony stare, so I sighed and rolled down my window.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked in what sounded to my ears like a falsely cheerful voice. I’m not really known for doing “cheerful.”

“Help you?”

I had to make a quick decision on how to play it. I decided to shrug and look dumb. “Got a call, guy named Croft, an employee here? I’m supposed to pick up his truck, haul it in.”

He didn’t move to open the gate. “Yeah?”

We looked at one another. The guard was my age, around thirty, and had my build—solid and big. It was obvious we didn’t care much for each other’s attitudes.

“I know who you are,” he said finally.

It was my turn to say “yeah?” So I did.

“You’re Ruddy McCann. Everybody used to look up to you, and then you let us down.”

“Well, sometimes that’s how these things go.”

“Now you steal cars for a living.”

I had to admit, it sounded less glamorous when he said it.

“You had everything anybody could ever want, and you pissed it away,” he continued. His eyes were cold and pitiless.

I sighed. “So could you let me in?”

“Get out of here. This is private property. You show up here again, I’ll have you arrested.

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