Repo Chick Blues
By Tracy Sharp
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 by TRACY SHARP
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, situations and incidents are the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published in Australia
Digitally by
Dare Empire eMedia Productions
ISBN: 978-0-9871309-9-0
Cover Art © 2010 Dare Empire eMedia Productions
To my mother, master plotter, who is always just as excited about my stories as I am, and to Tasha, my beloved dog and best friend. I miss you, baby.
REPO CHICK BLUES
Tracy Sharp
Chapter One
It wasn’t my fault. No matter how many times I’d told myself those words over the past fifteen years, it didn’t help. The guilt was like a cancer eating at me every day. There were days when I didn’t consciously think about Susie. Those days were rarer than a solar eclipse. And on those nights I’d pay for not allowing her memory to shadow my thoughts. I’d pay with nightmares so horrible that I’d wake up covered in a chilly sweat, a silent scream lodged in my throat. A scream I never had let loose, even at the moment I should have. Even at the moment they took her.
I was tired as I stood, bleary-eyed, at my kitchen window looking out at the blackness. This morning was no different than any other since the men in the white car took Susie that day. I’d spent most of the night in a state somewhere between waking and dreaming. Sleep, which had never come easily, even before that day, was much more elusive now. I suppose what my father always told me was true. I’ll get enough sleep when I’m dead.
It was four-thirty a.m. I had to be at the construction site in an hour. They were calling for a hot one again today. The weather can change within minutes here. This is the North East. There’s a popular saying here: If you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes. The last couple of years had been brutal for heat waves, and today was supposed to reach ninety-five degrees with seventy percent humidity. It felt much hotter after working on that black top for twelve hours.
When I opened my front door and stepped outside it was still dark, but my motion light was on. This didn’t alarm me, since many times a cat or rabbit will set it off. I began walking to my car and caught sight of movement on the left side of it, shrouded in shadow. I tensed, freezing in place. Why was this person lurking in the dark next to my car? If they’d been waiting for me, knowing that I usually come out when it’s still dark, they would’ve taken the light bulb out of the motion light. So why was this person here?
“Who the fuck is there?” My voice sounded too loud in my own ears. I don’t talk much and nobody talks to me. So I rarely yell, but when I do it always freaks me out.
A tall figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light. The guy was built, muscles bulging from beneath his t-shirt. A lock of black hair fell over his eyes. He smelled of musk and spice.
A strange combination of fear and excitement raced through me. I stared at him for a moment, dumfounded. If my dream man suddenly materialized before me, it would be this guy. I had no idea why he was here, but shit, he was yummy. Still, I’d kick his ass if I had to. I’d dropped larger men than him over the years. You just have to know where to hurt them. And let’s face it. Men don’t usually lurk in the shadows of a woman’s yard with honorable intentions. Not in my experience, anyway.
“I have to take your car,” he said to me.
I blinked. “What?” My car was nothing special. It was a 1995 Jeep Wrangler. I loved it, but it wasn’t the kind of car a car thief usually targeted. Believe me, I know.
He approached and I dropped down and reached for the knife strapped to my lower leg.
“Whoa,” he said, palms facing outward. Slowly he pulled a piece of paper from inside his leather coat pocket. “Parker’s Repossession Services, ma’am. You are Leah Ryan, right?”
“Yes.” Repossession services? Had it been that long since I’d made a car payment?
He stayed where he was, his hands still held up as if I were robbing him. “I need the keys to your car … please.”
I couldn’t believe the guy was actually going to take my car from me. “What if I don’t give you the keys?”
“Then I’ll have to take it my way.” He tilted his head toward the street behind me.
A black tow truck sat against the curb. A light flicked on inside the truck and a wiry man wearing a fedora smiled and gave a little wave. He had to love that hat to be wearing it in this heat.
I groaned. Money had been tight lately for a lot of reasons. I made good money doing construction, but it still didn’t cover it. I reached into my pocket and tossed him the keys.
He caught them in one hand, those almond eyes moving over me for a moment. Then he nodded slightly and left without another word.
As pissed off as I was, I still couldn’t help admiring his butt as he walked away from me. Man. He was wearing those Levis.
And he was taking my Jeep.
Jerk.
Chapter Two
They fired me. I wasn’t surprised. Just pissed off. There was nobody to pick me up. I didn’t have enough money for a cab and no busses ran through the small town I live in. I couldn’t get to work. So they fired me.
I had to find a job. Fast. If worse came to worst, I’d work in a bar. It was quick cash and I was fast. I’d worked in my father’s bar slinging drinks, a dark and gloomy pub where mostly Scots and Irish gathered, before I could legally serve booze. When I was even younger, I worked in the back mopping and doing dishes.
But I really didn’t want to work in a bar, I was thinking as I finished my tenth rep of bicep curls on my right arm. I don’t play well with others, so I don’t go to the gym. I have free weights and a weight machine in my spare bedroom.
I began working my left arm and I steamed as I thought about the repo man driving my car away. For a moment, I could smell his spicy scent. I closed my eyes and breathed in. It had been a while since a man had affected me the way he had, on a completely animal level. When I’d first laid eyes on him standing there in the dark, logic told me to prepare to fight, while my body had reacted to him in a different way. I opened my eyes. A lustful way. Just thinking of him caused an ache deep in the pit of my abdomen.
I gave my head a little shake. I needed a job more than I needed a roll in the hay. No matter how hot and wild that roll could be. My lips curved up in a smile. What had the name of the repossession company been? Something with a ‘P’ in it. Parker Repossession Services. That was it. I wondered how much a vehicle recovery agent made. By the time I was finished lifting weights I’d decided that I’d pay Mr. Parker a little visit.
* * *
“No. Absolutely not,” Parker said, shaking his head. It turned out that Mr. Yummy actually owned the business. “It’s too dangerous for a woman.” His square jaw was set, his almond eyes steady.
I let out a harsh laugh. “Mr. Parker. Do I look like a shrinking violet to you?”
His gaze moved over me and something in my chest fluttered. I caught his scent on the breeze. Woodsy. Spicy and woodsy, like a forest after a summer rain.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re obviously fit but it’s a tough job.”
“I can do this job. I’ve worked construction the last four baking summers and freezing winters. I can handle it.”
“Look, Ms. Ryan. Lots of things can happen out there. You can get raped, beat up. Anything.”
I looked up at the dark, gathering clouds. “Do you read the papers or watch the news? Because women get raped and beat up walking to their cars, or even in their own homes.”
He stared at me but still said nothing. He knew I was right.
“I’ve worked almost exclusively with men the last four years, Mr. Parker. I assure you, I’m prepared. I’m strong, and I know how to fight.”
This was true. In the places I’d been in you had to know how to fight. It didn’t matter that you were female. There were just too many mean people out there. You had to know how to defend yourself. I’d become a skilled street fighter and kick boxer by the time I was fifteen. I wasn’t kidding when I said I know how to take care of myself.
“Ms. Ryan…”
“Mr. Parker. I was fired from my job because I had no way to get to work. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, and if I don’t find a job quick, I’m gonna be living on the streets pretty soon. Just try me out. If it doesn’t work, you can let me go. I promise you, I can do this. I won’t let you down.”
He tilted his head, thinking. His eyes narrowed and his gaze went right through me. For one crazy moment, I pictured myself walking over to him and running my tongue over those kissable lips. I gave my head a mental shake.
“Please,” I said, so low even I could barely hear it. I guess he did, because his eyes softened. “All right.” He threw his arms in the air. “Okay. I’ll hire you. You’ll have to do exactly what I say. No exceptions. Otherwise, you could put us both in jeopardy.”
I nodded. “No problem.”
“I hope not.”
* * *
When I got home, Frank, who lifted his orange head from his paw, blinked at me, and lowered his head again, greeted me. Frank’s a laid-back kind of cat. I poured some kitty treats into his self-feeding dish, and he jumped off the chair and padded over, pausing to stretch his legs behind him. It had been a trying day of sleeping for him.
I peeked into the fridge. A brick of sharp cheddar sat on the top shelf where I’d left it two nights ago. There were two slices left of a loaf of bread, six bottles of beer and a few sodas. I looked in my cupboards. Various boxes of crackers sat on the shelf. I like crackers. Especially with cheese. A box of extra-sugary cereal, my secret shame, and two cans of mushroom soup. I hadn’t been shopping in a while. I grabbed one of the boxes of crackers and the brick of cheese, and after inspecting the cheese for anything green or furry, I grabbed my sharpest small knife and headed to the living room.
I flipped channels but found nothing that interested me. So I turned off the T.V. and punched the button to turn on my stereo. Billy Joel sang about it still being rock and roll to him. I could dig it.
After wolfing down several crackers with cheese, I showered again. It was the kind of day you take two or three showers just to get the sweat off you for a while. I let the cool water beat over my hot skin and thought of Callahan Parker’s face. I could look at that face for a very long time without ever getting tired of seeing it. He wasn’t movie star handsome. His nose was slightly cooked, like it had been broken at least once. He was sexy in a rugged way. I got the feeling he’d been around the block a few times.
I moved my soapy hands over my breasts and my nipples tingled. I closed my eyes and thought of Callahan’s mouth moving over them, his tongue flicking across them. The folds of my pussy swelled and my clit ached. God. I couldn’t function like this. I needed to take care of the sexual tension. Like right now.
Taking the detachable showerhead in my hand, I leaned against the shower tiles and adjusted the head to “massage”. My clit peaked up to meet the spray as I moved it over my pussy. I heard the echo of my moan as I tilted my pelvis forward, moving the spray over my clit again and again. In my mind, I saw Callahan the way he was earlier, when I’d gone to see him. I walked up to him and took his bottom lip in my mouth, nibbling lightly. I moved my hands over his chest, breathing him into me, moving my tongue into his mouth and tasting his heat.
Tension balled deep in my belly, tendrils of delight curling through me as I kissed Callahan. He kissed me back, his mouth urgent, crushing against mine. His hands gripped my ass as he moved me backward to lean up against one of the cars in his parking lot. He moved his legs between mine, spreading them, and thrust his pelvis forward, grinding his erection against me through our jeans. I moved against him, feverish, running my tongue over his throat. He fucked me through our clothes, dry humping, as his hands gripped my ass tightly.
“Is that what you want?” His voice was a deep growl. His green eyes boring into mine. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” I breathed against his mouth. I sucked his tongue hard, moving against hardness of his length. I didn’t want to stop to take our clothes off.
My knees became weak as the first tremor of pleasure sang through me. He gripped my ass tightly against him as I cried out into his mouth, riding the orgasm as it slammed through me over and over.
Callahan faded as the delicious sensations receded and I slumped against the tiles, trying to catch my breath. “Whoa.”
Was the man some kind of sorcerer? What in hell was wrong with me? Maybe it had just been way too long since I’d had sex. I didn’t even want to think of how long it had been. Now that I’d taken care of myself I could refrain from humping Callahan’s leg. I hoped so, anyway.
When I stepped out of the shower to dry off, Frank was lying on the bath mat waiting for me. This was a ritual for us. In the fall and winter, when I didn’t have to worry about giving either of us heat stroke, I’d blow-dry my own hair, and then him.
It had started with me trying to show him that the hair dryer was nothing to be afraid of. That it was just loud. As it turned out, he loved the heat it provided, and now I had a monster of my own creation on my hands. He rolls around, luxuriating in the heat of the dryer, and he sits by my feet each day and complains loudly if I forget to blow-dry him. Right now it was far too hot.
I towel-dried my short, black hair and finger-brushed it. I used to have long hair, but it’s not conducive to construction work, so I’ve kept it cut into a sleek bob for several years now. I rarely wear make-up in the summer time. My skin is tanned a deep, golden brown from doing road construction, and my brown eyes are fringed in thick black lashes. My mother used to tell me that I’m naturally pretty and that I should count myself lucky. I know that if she were still around she’d also tell me that I should let my hair grow, get a desk job and wear dresses and high heels. That’s the way she was before she left us. I’d imagine it’s the way she still is to this day.
At eight o’clock there was a knock at my door. Callahan was just on time. He cut an impressive figure as he stood in my doorway. His dark hair was damp and I wasn’t sure if it was still wet from having been just washed or if it was sweat. He had a five o’clock shadow and he wore a black t-shirt and cargo shorts. The t-shirt clung nicely to his chest. I tried not to drool.
I was dressed much the same, but wore a black tank top and cut-offs. It was a steamy evening. The temperature had dropped to the mid-eighties.
“Mr. Parker,” I said. “Just on time.”
“Call me Cal. When someone calls me Mr. Parker it reminds me of a teacher in high school I couldn’t stand. He used to always call people by their surnames.”
I nodded. “I’ve had a few of those, too.” Mostly in juvenile detention, mind you. But I definitely knew the type.
Cal’s gaze skimmed my legs, but he soon looked away, shoving his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s go.”
We walked to the black tow truck I’d seen the night before. It had tinted windows. I supposed this was prudent, as I’m sure one doesn’t make many friends in the auto recovery business.
“Nice ride,” I said.
“Yeah, not too shabby. At home I have a brand spankity new Land Rover.”
“Oooh. Did you steal it?”
“Actually, yes, I did. It was one of my repos. Got it pretty cheap at auction. I liked it so I watched out for it. Just knew it had to be mine.” He flashed me a grin.
I felt a little dizzy. Mercy. That grin could be the death of me. “Do you always get what you want?”
He considered this as we got into his truck, and then nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. You ready to go steal some cars?” He turned the key in the ignition. It purred to life. I was certain that he was used to things purring under his touch.
I took a deep breath and tried not to be so aware of sitting beside him in such close proximity. Damn his delicious, woodsy scent. “You bet.”
We were both quiet as we rode to our destination. My nerves were on edge, anticipating the night’s events. It had been a long time since I’d even entertained the idea of stealing a car. I’d put those urges on a shelf long ago. And now, in one day, I was going to have to purposely call on those old skills again. Nevertheless, I had to make a living. I had a ton of bills to pay. Hopefully my car thieving talent wasn’t too rusty.
We pulled into the parking lot of St. Mary’s church, an enormous, gorgeous grey brick that had been built in the mid-eighteen hundreds. The same could be said of most of the homes on this particular street. It was an older part of the area that we’d called ‘snob hill’ growing up.
Callahan pressed the speed dial on his cell phone. “What’s the good word?”
I watched him, wondering who he was speaking to.
He ended the call and put his cell back into his coat pocket.
“That was Will. The guy you saw sitting in the truck this morning. He’s following the target from work so that we’re sure about when he’ll be rolling by here.”
I made a tsk tsk sound with my tongue. “There are stalking laws in the state of New York, you know.”
“Hey, recovery agents need to employ a host of … creative methods of recovery. Often times we need to follow people, get their routines down. You want the recovery to go as smoothly as possible.”
“Did you follow me around?”
“A little.” He grinned. “You didn’t seem to be very dangerous.”
There was that grin again. I felt a little light-headed. “You don’t know me yet.”
“Well, let’s hope you’ve got a backbone, lady, because in this job, you’re gonna need it.”
“Don’t you worry about me. You just teach me the basics and I’ll be just fine.”
“Good. First, a recovery agent should never work alone if he … or she, can help it. It can be a dangerous job, like I told you earlier.” He leaned over his wheel and watched the left side of the street. “Our target should be coming around the corner any minute.”
“Good timing.”
“Oh, Will and I have this skill down to an art. He watches the target for days, getting their routine down pat. People are pretty predictable. They’re comfortable with their patterns, which is good for people like Will and me.” He winked.
I looked around up and down the street which was flanked with old mansions. Most of the homes were Victorians, though there were some Greek Revivals and a couple of Gothics. “Doesn’t seem to be the kind of place where someone wouldn’t be able to make their car payment. Most of these folk could probably easily buy any vehicle they’d like in cash.”
“Well, yeah. Most of them can. However, even the rich can have money problems. It isn’t difficult to live beyond your means. Especially if money is new to you. These places aren’t cheap to keep. Heap on top of that vacations and whatever other toys they have.” He snapped his fingers. “Suddenly you’ve got a bit of a cash flow problem.”
I nodded. I’d never really considered that, never having had a lot of money to play with. My parents are Scottish immigrants who ran an Irish pub. We never had much, but we did okay financially.
“Doesn’t look like the kind of place where a disgruntled vehicle owner would come at you with guns blazing.”
Callahan chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got a lot to learn about people.” He turned his head back to the street. “Here he comes. The man of the hour.” He smiled as he pulled out of the church parking lot. We waited until the pearl-white Lexus S.U.V passed us, then followed it as it headed up the hill. It turned into the driveway of a gigantic, grey Gothic style house. Callahan parked against the curb directly across the street. He reached into the backseat and came back with a small black box that looked like a television remote.
“I was here earlier in the week with a box that’s basically like this one. When the target opened his garage door, the box scanned the code, enabling me to program the code into this little baby so we can use it to open the door and get to the vehicle. We do the same thing with his car and house alarms.”
I knew what it was. I’d seen them before. I nodded just the same. I shifted in my seat and began rubbing a knot that was quickly developing at the back of my neck.
I followed his eyes to the man in the Lexus who was in the process of pointing his remote at his garage door.
“I suppose knocking on the door and asking nicely for the car keys doesn’t usually work.”
“Not usually, no. Why don’t you go on up there and ask him yourself?”
“This is definitely not legal. You actually get away with this stuff?”
“The line between right and wrong has always been a tad blurry for me. Like I said, you’ve gotta be creative in this business. Willing to take risks. So if you have some ethical issue with this, you’d better bail now.” He watched me for a moment. “Or if you don’t want to know, don’t ask. Or look the other way. Whatever helps you sleep at night Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies, sweets.”
Seemed simple enough. However, I’m a voraciously curious person. So there’s no way I’m not going to ask questions. Besides, I needed this job.
“Don’t call me ‘sweets’.”
The Lexus disappeared into the garage. We both knew that the man would go directly through a door that led inside his house. Fancy shmancy. Lucky bugger. I was beginning to feel a petty kind of glee at the prospect of stealing this man’s vehicle.
Callahan waited a few minutes before heading toward the house. The place was surrounded by an intricate wrought iron fence and guarded by two stone gargoyles. There were no doors blocking entry to the estate. Callahan didn’t hesitate in pulling into the driveway, which seemed to stretch out for miles.
“Holy shit,” was all I could think of to say. I’d walked or driven by this house countless times and had always wondered what lay beyond the scowling gargoyles.
I really liked those gargoyles, and had on many occasions wondered how feasible it would be to steal them. I’d never had a vehicle that was big enough. I suppose I could have hit up a couple of friends who had criminal tendencies, of which I’d had several growing up, but I had no place to put the gargoyles. Still, I vowed that some day I’d have a couple of those babies of my own. It was a dream of mine.
Callahan used his handy little remote to open the garage, then turned the tow truck around and smoothly backed up to the Lexus. The tow truck was equipped with an automatic tow lowering system which allowed us to stay within the safety of the truck. It slid under the target vehicle and had clamps which gripped the tires. Although I’m not one to duck and run, I also don’t go looking for trouble. So I’m very much in favor of this particular system.
As we drove out of the garage, I turned to watch the door just in time to see Mr. Target coming through it, wielding a golf club and screaming like a girl. He’d had just enough time to get out of his suit and into his silk pajamas and plaid slippers before he realized that someone was driving his Lexus out of the garage.
I couldn’t help laughing. “You’d better move it before he does some damage to his nice, shiny car.”
“Are you kidding? He’d sooner clobber himself than put a single scratch on this thing.” Callahan pointed the remote toward the garage door, closing it on the man.
“Thank God you closed the door before he could come charging down the driveway at us in his slippers. That wouldn’t have been pretty.” The image made me smile.
“Wait for it.” Callahan glanced in the rear-view mirror as we made our way toward the entrance. I watched in my side mirror.
Sure enough, the man flew out of the front door and down the stairs, pajamas billowing. He was still waving the golf club in the air and screaming something incoherent as we turned out of the estate and onto the road. I turned and watched him out the back window and was amazed at the behavior of the rich. The man jumped up and down like a three-year-old having a tantrum. He then switched to a kind of stomping jog on the spot while throwing his golf club across his lawn and punching himself in the head.
“Oh, how undignified,” I said. “I wonder what his friends at the country club would say if they saw him now, doing that jig in his slippers and jammies while his Lexus is being repossessed.”
“Any of his buddies would be doing the exact same jig. Only they might be wearing a different style of jammies, and perhaps the slippers would have a paisley pattern on them.”
“Do any of them ever come after you in another vehicle?”
“Sure.” His smile was broad. “That’s all part of the fun.”
I laughed. He was right. This was more fun than I’d legally had since … well, ever.
But then, I’d always liked stealing cars. Just didn’t like the price of getting caught.
Chapter Three
“Nice part of town.” I chewed my lower lip. A habit which had begun in juvie. For some reason, it was proving to be a hard habit to break.
We were in downtown Albany, in the area most lived in and traveled by prostitutes and drug dealers. This part of town was not unlike the area that I’d grown up in. Our street wasn’t bad. Just working class people trying to get along. Not far from there was an area most people would want to avoid. I scanned the street and felt my back straighten, becoming stiff. Most people wouldn’t walk in this area during broad daylight. The ones who do usually have a weapon of some sort, or a mean looking dog. “Who is the target?”
“A very scary fellow.” He peered through his windshield at an old row house. “His name is Brent Woodard, and he’s one mean S.O.B.”
“I guess he’s not concerned with getting enough sunlight in his home.” I observed the plywood covering the windows.
Cal chuckled. “His only concern is selling drugs to make enough money to keep up his bad-ass image. We’re looking for a black Chevy Excursion. I’ve already staked this guy out for the past week.”
Two pit bulls stood at attention on either side of the front stairs, waiting for a reason to become nasty. They weren’t chained.
“I’d hate to be a cat in this neighborhood.” I shuddered inwardly. “Those things aren’t tied up.”
“Those things are trained to guard the house. Mr. Woodard keeps his drug stash in there. The dogs won’t budge until you step foot in the yard, then you’ll be lucky if you can hop back out on one leg.”
“Nice. Doesn’t look like he’s home.”
“Naw. I figured he wouldn’t be but I just wanted to make sure. The last thing you want in this job is a surprise.” He looked at me, his face deadly serious. “You need to be prepared for anything, but maintaining control is top priority, and surprises compromise your grip on control.”
I was getting a little tired of the stealing cars 101 routine. The annoying truth was, unless I wanted to divulge a whole lot of information about my sordid youth, I had to shut up and listen to it. Besides, I did like looking at Callahan. And watching him intently as he tried to teach me to be a good car thief was an excellent excuse. But now I was staring. Probably looking like a goofy schoolgirl. In a moment, I’d start giggling and batting my eyes if I wasn’t careful. I pulled my gaze from him and looked at the street.
“So where is he?” I watched a pack of teenagers glare at us from across the street. We were obviously not welcome here.
“Probably at the Night Life, a dance club a few blocks over.” Cal drove passed the house and down the street.
When we got to Night Life, a shiver ran up my spine. A group of clubbers were hanging around outside. Most of them were watching the road.
It’s not easy to be inconspicuous in a black tow truck. There was a good chance that at least some of these people knew Brent Woodard. What if one of them ran in to get him while we were merrily towing his truck down the street?
Cal lowered his window and peered out.
“Open mine too, would ya? I need some air.” I couldn’t even wait until the window was fully open before shoving my face though the opening and taking in a huge gulp of air. I was jittery. I’d stayed out of trouble for a long time, but you never lose the prickly intuition which tells you that danger is just around the corner. It had been many years since I’d felt the adrenaline rush of stealing a car. Yet all my time in and out of juvie hadn’t dampened my enthusiasm for it. The rush was like an addiction for me.
It was out of concern for my little brother that I’d stopped. I hadn’t exactly been acting like the role model I should’ve been, either being in juvie or out running around with a rather unsavory crowd. Without having a mother around and with a father who was too wrapped up in his own denial to care, Jesse really had nobody watching out for him. So I’d stopped cold turkey. By then it was already too late. He’d gotten himself on an addictive path of his own. One which would eventually land him in prison.
So I guessed it would take me a little time to get back into the swing of things. I pulled myself together and glanced at Cal to see if he’d noticed my minor panic attack. Thankfully, he was too busy searching for the target vehicle.
The real issue for me was that if Woodard did come out after us, he wouldn’t be wielding a golf club. I was certain that his weapon would do a hell of a lot more damage.
“There it is.” Cal moved the tow slowly through the parking lot. He pulled ahead of a black Excursion which had been lowered and given super large rims.
I winced. “Um, do you think it looked like that when Mr. Woodard bought the vehicle?”
Callahan snickered as he maneuvered the tow truck so he could easily slip the tow device beneath the S.U.V. “No. Many of the original parts have since been replaced with other, shall we say, hotter, items.”
“Does the bank want the vehicle back like this? It’s not really the same vehicle.”
“Sure they do. They’ll sell it at auction for whatever they can get for it. If there’s a deficit remaining, then Mr. Woodard is obliged to pay the remainder of what he owes.
“Yeah, I know. I’m familiar with that part of the process.” My stomach was doing flip-flops and I kept glancing toward the street to make sure Mr. Woodard wouldn’t be joining the party. I wished I hadn’t eaten so many crackers with cheese. They wouldn’t taste as good coming up as they had going down.
As we exited the parking lot, a wide man with a shaved head came barreling down the front stairs of the club. He wore a full-length leather duster, which was purely for show. It was humid as hell out there, and even from my seat in the tow truck I could tell this man spent a lot of time pumping iron. And he was not amused. He came charging down the sidewalk toward us, his face a mask of rage. I squinted, my memory working. I’d seen his face before but I couldn’t place where from. Three of his cronies followed close behind, looking every bit as enormous and perturbed.
“Oh shit,” I croaked. My heart was in my throat.
“Nervous?” Cal said beside me.
“No.” My shaking voice betrayed me.
“Shit!” Cal’s finger groped and found the button to raise the windows.
The tires screeched on the road. Woodard came at us, a wild look shining in his eyes. He used some harsh language and made a few promises I hoped he wouldn’t keep; one which involved ripping my breasts off. Then I remembered him. We’d spent time in the same juvenile detention facility at one point. He’d changed his name since then. The hairs at the back of my neck stood straight up. He was not a nice guy. We sped off, Cal jerking the wheel dangerously to the left, then to the right.
“What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to get us killed?” Gunshots exploded all around us. I ducked, covering my head.
“We’ll be screwed if one of those bullets hits a tire, or our heads.” He put the pedal to the metal. The tow truck shot forward at top speed. I looked out the back window just in time to see Woodard and his gang piling into a red Porsche.
“We can’t out run a Porsche.” Cal’s voice was tight. “I know a couple of little hiding spots around here.” His eyes darted around like frantic birds.
“Yeah, problem is, they know them too.” What self-respecting criminal wouldn’t? I kept looking behind us, trying to gauge the distance closing between Woodard and us.
Lady Luck must’ve been smiling on us. Train tracks ran across the intersection we were heading toward. At that moment, the shrill sound of a warning bell rang out and the red caution lights blinked, as if in a panic.
“Go, go, go!” I screamed, but it sounded like a whisper.
“We’ll never make it!”
“Yes we will!”
Not willing to wait for him to decide, I jammed my foot over his on the gas pedal and floored it, squeezing my eyes shut. I felt a cold breath caress the back of my neck as the train sped down the tracks behind us, missing us by a hair. If I’d ever believed in guardian angels, it was right then.
Callahan slowed to a stop on the side of the road, and we sat for a moment, breathing hard and watching as the train made its way to who knew where. He looked at me, shaking his head. “You’re one crazy lady, you know it?”
I nodded. “Yup. I get crazier by the day.”
“You could’ve killed us.”
“But we had a chance. We would’ve definitely been killed if we’d stayed back there. They were gaining on us.” I sat for a moment, catching my breath, trying to slow my racing heart. “So what’s your plan now? Wait for the train to pass so they’ll have another shot at us?”
Cal blinked. With a shaky hand, he turned the key in the ignition and the tow truck came back to life.
I patted the dashboard. “Nice, reliable truck you got here.”
“It gets me places.”
Chapter Four
“So what do you think? Will I do as an Auto Recovery Agent?”
We sat in my driveway. We’d decided we’d had enough excitement for one night.
“Yeah.” He nodded his head, clearly still shaken.
We both were, but I wasn’t showing it. What I really wanted to do right then was climb over the seat, sit on top of him and kiss his face off. Since that would be an inappropriate way for a new employee to act, I figured I should wait at least a couple of days first. “So when do I get a vehicle? I can’t very well travel to target destinations by bus, can I?”
“At least you’d be sure to have a ride back.” He cracked a twitchy grin.
“Ha. Ha.”
“I’ll be with you for the first while, to make sure you’re okay. Then I’ll give you a truck to use. I’ve got a couple.”
“You mean you’re going to baby-sit me.” Although I gave a short, mirthless laugh, inside I wanted to whoop and holler in delight. We’d be in the same car together! Like, a lot! I couldn’t let him see my excitement. “I’m the one who saved both our asses tonight, remember?”
“Yeah, we were lucky. Anyway, in the meantime, you’ll need to peruse this manual.” He handed me a worn book of photocopied pages bound by a large staple.
“Manual?”
“Believe me. It’ll come in handy. It’s got a lot of tricks and tips for the new repo ma—uh, agent.”
“Like how to break into cars.”
“Yeah. Among other things.”
I handed the manual back to him. “Cal,” I said. “I could’ve written this book myself.” In truth, I could probably have added several things.
He stared at me. “Why am I not surprised?”
I grinned. “Oh, I’ll bet I can surprise you.” I gave myself a mental head-shake. Stop it! Get a hold of yourself, woman! “So when’s our next shift?”
“Tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Wow. I’d get to sleep in until seven. It was luxury compared to the usual four a.m. mornings.
“I’ll be ready.” I opened the door and slid out of the truck, and headed to my front door, managing not to look back and give him a giggly wave.
* * *
I awoke to the sounds of bombs going off. Sitting straight up in bed, I realized through a groggy fog that someone was pounding on my door. I looked at the digital clock radio on my bedside table. Five after eight. Shit. A techno sounding song from the eighties came through in between poundings. Usually a mouse fart could rouse me from a dead sleep, but this morning I’d slept right through the clock radio playing.
I pulled on a pair of cut-off shorts and a fresh tank top, and by the time I made my way downstairs, the pounding had stopped. I hoped that Callahan hadn’t given up on me. I really needed this job. I stepped into the kitchen just as Cal was climbing through one of my kitchen windows. As he noticed me, he pulled his leg inside and straightened up.
“I thought you were dead,” he said.
“Nope. I’ve just got a pounding headache thanks to your pounding on the door, and if I don’t take some pain killers right now, I’ll be wishing one of us were dead. Care to venture a guess at which one of us I mean?” Ooh Lord, he looked good in those jeans. They clung to him in all the right places. I resisted the urge to invite him up to my bedroom to see my non-existent stamp collection.
He stood in my kitchen looking at me, a tiny smile playing on his lips. “You should really lock your windows, you know.”
“I wasn’t expecting company to be climbing through one of them.” I could’ve sworn it had been locked. Now I’d have to go through the entire house when I got home, checking each friggin’ window like some kind of paranoid, all because of Callahan. Must be nice to be a man and not have to think about these things.
His smile widened a little. “You never know who can break in.”
“Clearly.”
“Or what they intend to do with you.”
Heat rushed over my body and my mouth felt dry. That non-existent stamp collection was looking better by the second. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. I was at a loss for words.
Cal laughed softly and shook his head. “Just hurry up and get dressed, would ya? We’re running late as it is.” He closed the window and pushed the lock home.
* * *
I yawned as we went through the drive-through at the local donut shop. “So who’s the target this morning?”
Cal paid the girl and handed me a Styrofoam cup and a small box of donut holes. “Cyrus Wilcox. He’s a classic Mustang freak. Specializes in Mustang restoration over in the outskirts of Albany. He’s in the hole for his 2002 Ford pick-up.”
I shook my head. “Why would you buy such an expensive truck if you know you can’t make the payments on them?”
“He could make the payments on it when he bought it. He paid cash to buy his girlfriend, who is twenty by the way, a 1966 Mustang Convertible. Powder blue. Certain parts needed to be replaced on the Mustang. Said parts are not cheap and he saw potential for a lucrative business in parting out Mustangs. So he also paid cash buying several Mustangs to sell the parts from. The problem is, it’s taking a little longer for the business to get off the ground than he’d intended.”
“Sounds like old Cyrus spread himself just a little too thin.” I sipped my coffee, wondering why I hadn’t ordered an iced coffee instead. It was already hotter than Hades out there.
“Oh, but there’s more. Cyrus works for the city, plowing and spreading salt and sand on our icy roads when the weather is bad. In the summer he helps fix potholes so that we may have a smoother, safer ride on our roads.”
“What a peach.”
“So he’d probably be okay if his wages weren’t being garnished for alimony to two ex-wives, one with two kids and the other with three.”
“This guy sounds like a winner.”
At the far end of a road in the middle of nowhere, we finally came to a large lot scattered with car parts and Mustangs in various states and levels of nakedness. It was a little sad to see them that way if you thought of how sharp they would have been in their prime. A trailer sat further back in the lot surrounded by tall grass which had likely never seen a lawn mower. The lot was speckled with wildflowers. Sitting in the driveway was the Ford pick-up.
“So you’re sure nobody’s home?” I eyed the trailer with suspicion.
“Yup. Wilcox is at work, drove one of his restored Mustangs. His girlfriend is at a dance class.”
“Should be a piece of cake.”
“Then go for it.” He nodded toward the pick-up. “You should know what to do.”
“Well, move over and I’ll do it.”
Cal shook his head. “Oh, no. You’re doing this one as if you didn’t have a tow truck. These things need repairing sometimes, just like any other vehicle. Some day your tow will be in the shop when you need to repo a vehicle. So then what do you do?”
“Well, if you don’t have a master key…”
He shook his head, shrugging. “Nope.”
“Then you’d have to break in.”
He nodded. “Yep.”
I looked in the backseat of the tow truck. “Where’re your tools of the trade?”
He reached under my seat and pulled out a Slim Jim. “Here’s one of them, and…” He dug behind my seat and his hand emerged with a dent puller, used by body shops for, anyone could guess, pulling out dents. The dent puller can also be used for slamming out the lock housing in vehicles that don’t have the keys left in the ignition. Which is most of them. A screwdriver, which Cal handed me, can then be placed into the lock housing to start the vehicle.
“So even though we could very easily tow this truck without causing any damage to it, you want me to mar it just for practice sake?”
He nodded, giving me that boyish grin again.
“Okay.” I grabbed the Slim Jim and dent puller from his hands and hopped out of the truck. “No problem.”
I took a deep breath and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes. It was getting hotter by the minute, and the way Callahan’s eyes lingered on my chest made me aware that my tank top was sticking to my breasts and back. I’m not very busty, so I can get away without wearing a bra under a tank top. My tits were awfully perky under Callahan’s gaze. My nipples poked right out of the fabric despite my best efforts to keep my mind on the job. Traitors!
It was far too bright out there, and I wished I’d grabbed my sunglasses before I’d left the house. The smell of various wildflowers reminded me of my allergy to them, and as if on cue, my nose began to run. Wonderful.
I told myself to stop the inner whining and focus on the task at hand.
As I made my way toward the Ford pick-up, a black shape moved slowly into the line of my peripheral vision. Casually, I glanced in the direction of the movement, thinking of how I needed to do well at my first legal car break-in so as to impress the smart-ass boss, but when I realized what the dark figure was I stopped dead in my tracks.
The Rottweiler bared its teeth and growled low in its throat. It lowered its gigantic head, staring at me with cold eyes. The dog was horribly skinny, and although its muscles were bunching, preparing for attack, its ribs were clearly defined, and its hipbones jutted sharply.
I stood frozen, struggling between being paralyzed with fear and feeling horror and compassion for this creature. What kind of person did that to an animal? Starvation was probably just one of the many methods of creating a mean dog.
And this was one mean-ass dog.
He took a step toward me and growled.
I glanced back at the tow truck, trying to ascertain the distance between the dog and myself, then looked back at the dog. If I ran like hell before it came at me, I’d make it. The door would have to be open. I turned back to the truck and waved a little at Cal, who’d gotten out of the truck and was about to head in my direction, shaking his head as if thinking “dumb broad”.
Not wanting to set the dog off, I shook my head instead of yelling for Cal to stop. Then I used small tilting motions with my head in the direction of the dog. “Open my door,” I said with as little inflection as possible.
“What?”
I looked back at the dog, which was closer to me than he’d been before. I gritted my teeth. “Open my door.”
Cal came walking toward me, looking irritated. “I can’t hear you.”
I turned back toward him and opened my mouth to repeat myself, but heard the dog’s claws clicking against the pavement and my breath caught in my throat. Without looking behind me to see how close the dog was, I sprinted toward the truck.
Finally Callahan saw what was coming at us and he ran back to the truck, throwing my door open before alternately tripping and running around it to his side. I launched myself onto the seat and slammed the door just as the dog jumped at me. His huge paws hit the side of the truck and he snarled and frothed at the mouth.
“Now that’s a nice picture,” Cal said.
“I hope this isn’t a new paint job,” I murmured as the dog scratched at the side of the truck.
As I watched the dog take a step back and bark at us, I couldn’t believe it was still standing. It was in such bad shape, I doubted if it would last much longer if it wasn’t quickly taken care of. A few days at most. Flakes of skin dotted the dull, black fur, and long strings of drool hung from the sides of his mouth. The dog was very dehydrated, and probably hadn’t had anything to drink in at least a couple of days. I found it incredible that it would defend such an unloving home so ferociously when his master clearly didn’t care if he lived or died. I looked around the truck for something to feed him, and my eyes found the donut hole box.
“Are you nuts?” Cal regarded me with huge, wild eyes. “Please say you’re kidding.”
Without answering, I lowered the window just enough to fit a donut hole through and tossed one out to the dog. He snapped it up easily and swallowed it without chewing. Instantly the expression on his face changed, the cold eyes became pleading, and the snarl turned into a soft whimper. I threw him another donut hole. Then another. I sat there tossing donut holes out the window until they were all gone. When he’d swallowed the last one, he sat back and watched me, all menace gone from him. I reached for the door handle.
“No!” Cal grabbed my arm and my skin tingled beneath his touch.
“It’s okay.” I said.
“That dog would happily have both of us for lunch.”
“Trust me.”
“Famous last words.”
I opened the door just a little. The dog took two steps back and I stepped onto the ground. He looked up at me curiously.
“Hi,” I said to him.
He lifted his ears and tilted his huge head.
“You’re not doing too well, here, are you buddy?”
He grunted.
I held my hand slowly out to him. He stepped forward, sniffed, then licked my fingers. I squatted down and patted his head, wincing at a scar that ran from between his eyes up over to the left side of his head. The tips of his ears were gone, probably from having been frostbitten previous winters.
“You poor guy. I know one thing,” I said. “You’re not staying here a moment longer.”
The dog must’ve liked the tone of my voice because he leaned in and licked my face.
“Yeah, you just like me for my donut holes,” I told him. “That’s okay. Come on, bud.” I stood back up and patted the seat.
“Oh, no. No way.” Callahan shook his head.
“I’m taking this dog home.”
He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Look, I’ll call information and ask for the nearest animal control. They’ll take care of him.”
“I’m taking him home.”
“We’re not animal rescue, Leah. We’ve got a job to do.”
I stared at him. I didn’t care if I had to walk home. The dog was coming with me.
He sighed and shook his head slowly. “You are a pain in the ass, you know it? Fine. Take the tow.” He grabbed the Slim Jim and the dent puller. “I’ll repo the truck by myself. You can do the next one.”
I smiled at him. “Thanks.”
He grunted, stepping cautiously out of the truck. “Just get that thing in the truck and close the door, will ya?”
I patted the seat and the dog jumped into the truck without hesitation. He was going where the grub was.
I petted his head and scratched the back of his ear. “Good boy.”
Sure that he was safe from a dog attack, Callahan made his way to the Ford pick-up which waited to be repossessed.
I clicked the seatbelt home and patted the dog’s head again before starting the truck. It struck me that I’d have to choose a name for him. Of course, there was a slim chance that the dog’s current owner may come looking for him, remembering that the last time he saw his dog was also the last time he saw his truck.
“I guess he should’ve fed his dog, better,” I said out loud as I drove out of the junky lot. “Huh, buddy?”
The dog lifted his head and grunted much as Callahan had done moments before.
* * *
Not wanting the dog to suffer in hunger a moment longer, I drove straight to the pet warehouse which was down the road from my house. I left the window open enough for him to hang his head out while I went in to gather a few basics to tide him over.
It turned out that “tiding him over” was a much heavier and more expensive venture than I thought. I left the store pushing a cart full of various dog toys, a case of canned dog food, a bag of dry dog food which was half my height, a five-gallon sized self-feeding water dish, a dog brush, dog shampoo, de-ticking pills, multi-worm prevention, four rawhide bones which were each at least two feet long, and a book all about Rottweilers. I certainly wasn’t acting like a woman who was close to being homeless for lack of funds. Perhaps the dog and I could share a cardboard box.
Somehow, after ten minutes of struggling, I managed to get my items into the back of the tow truck. Out of breath and sweating, I climbed back onto the seat feeling exhausted. I sat for a moment, trying to catch my breath, and watched as a man approached the car beside us. He looked down at the keys he fiddled with in his hand, and when he reached the space between the tow truck and his car, the dog let out a deep, booming bark. The man’s head snapped up and he plastered his back to his car.
“Oh, my lord,” he said. He was as white as a ghost.
“Sorry!” I called to him, but he ignored me as he climbed into his car and backed out quickly, avoiding the dog’s steady gaze.
“I guess you are my new friend, huh?” I leaned over, scratching the dog behind the ear. He seemed to really like that. He tilted his head in my direction and closed his eyes, thumping his foot against his seat.
Chapter Five
My new friend drank over half the water from the five-gallon jug I’d filled for him. I’d almost given myself a hernia tipping it over into the dish, and I sighed, having to fill it up again so soon. It was a good thing I lifted weights. “Thirsty, huh?” I said as he sat watching me and wagging his tail. “You’re not so tough. It’s all just a bold façade, isn’t it?”
After struggling with the jug freshly re-filled with water, I quickly washed his new food dish and filled it halfway with dry food, which had been a job to drag to my front door, then mixed in half a can of beef gravy. I’d barely gotten my hand out of the way before he plunged face first into his dinner. He made various snorting noises as he ate and within seconds, he was done.
“We’ve gotta work on your table manners, buddy.”
As I went to work putting away my new roommate’s belongings for him, I wondered again what I’d name him. I couldn’t keep calling him “buddy”, could I? On the other hand, why not? Buddy wasn’t such a bad name, and it beat “Octavio”, which was the name of my aunt’s little mop-like dog.
“Buddy, it is, then.”
I decided I’d better go look for Frank. The minute he laid eyes on Buddy he ran screeching, orange fur standing on end, up the stairs.