It seemed ridiculous we were going to try again. The
first attempt was so frightening — the idea of possibly
seeing him or maybe being questioned by a patrolling cop.
Breaking back into the apartment house, the overwhelming
adrenaline rush, shaky legs and racing heart…it all
seemed like a lot of trouble just to get a stupid car. But
the trouble was necessary. And fun, actually. It wasn’t
about the car; it was about taking something back. Hitting
back, in a way.
This time we used a strike team — just two of us.
One to drive one car, one to drive the other car. Again,
it ended up being a spur-of-the-moment idea mostly about
seeing if we could pull it off. Talking about it one night
after dinner with a group of friends, it was amazing how
many eager volunteers offered their services. There are
a lot of people out there dying to be repo-people.
This time we didn’t bother changing into stealthy,
S.W.A.T.-like outfits. We jumped into the car in our jeans
& T-shirts and headed out of the city towards the bridge.
No fog this time—it was clear, cool and dark. If the
moon was up we didn’t notice. I told my new accomplice
all about the situation with this car as well as the ex-meathead
but his dedication never wavered. We were on a mission.
It was another quiet night in Oaktown, but that’s
largely because there isn’t much to do there after
11pm. I pulled into the same lot we’d used before,
behind the Temple, and we discussed our strategy. Rather
than me going alone this time, he would come with me. I
liked that idea a lot; it seemed so much safer and rational
than the way I’d tried this caper the last time.
With a small hit of adrenaline working, we walked around
to the front of the apartment house and slid the key into
the lock. They hadn’t changed the locks yet. We went
right inside without pausing and went directly back to the
garage. It felt like we were on a standard repo job, whatever
that might be like—just going in to get a car, no
reason to sneak or tiptoe—we have a job to do.
As I opened the door to the garage I saw the front end
and knew this was going to be a productive trip after all.
No one else was in the garage and now that we knew we had
our target, we picked up our pace. Jogging over to the car,
I unlocked it and we began pulling everything out of it—clothes,
cassette tapes, stuff, junk, whatever—we took it all
out and piled it in the parking place behind the car. He
certainly wasn’t keeping it pristine or cherry. What
a pig. It was going to need steam cleaning with a little
chlorine.
Knowing he would likely be apoplectic to find the car missing
the next day, I wrote a hasty note and left it on his motorcycle.
He wouldn’t be without any transportation after all.
I was somewhat conflicted about that. My note informed him
that on the advice of my attorney, I’d collected the
car until he could get the loan rewritten in his own name.
The entire task of cleaning out the car and writing the
note took maybe three minutes and we were starting up the
ignition, on our way out. But waiting for that damn heavy,
squeaky garage door to open up felt like 45 minutes. As
soon as that sucker was open enough to clear the roof, I
pushed in the clutch & coasted silently down the driveway
to the street. Turning into the street, the gas pedal went
down hard and we were gone.
We caravanned to a secure location where I could hide the
car until the details could be sorted out. It’s wonderful
to have friends with extra garage space and a sense of justice.
We were home in record time, amazed at how easy it was to
repo a car. But it was the calm before the storm…
The next morning my phone rang at work and I’m only
a little psychic but knew for certain who was calling. It
was surprising how freaked out he was, even with my very
informative note explaining what had happened. I guess he
couldn’t read after all. Is it too evil to admit that
hearing him coming unglued was fun? It isn’t, not
after all the bad karma he acquired while we were together.
I was finally able to make it clear to him that I would
retain possession of the car until he was able to secure
a new loan.
The next three days were rough. Not for me, but it turned
out his credit was pretty bad and he was having significant
trouble convincing anyone to write him a loan. He kept me
posted more often than was necessary, but it helped me know
what to expect. During that time I’d been considering
the long term health of my own car—an aging Volkswagen
with numerous, nagging maintenance issues. I loved my VW,
but realized it wasn’t the most sturdily built vehicle.
Finally he called with good news; he secured a loan and
was extremely excited. Not only did someone finally help
him out, but now he could get his car back. I told him I
was glad to hear he’d been able to work it out; I
knew it had been rough but it was business we had to take
care of. However, the fact was my car was getting older
and wasn’t so reliable anymore. A girl on her own
has to have a safe, reliable car. So I decided to keep his.
The END.
If you haven't read Part I yet...
Repo Girls |
