The Repo Man

No one ever liked hearing me knocking at their door. Some hid, some fought, some cried, some even packed heat. But they all paid up in the end - I was the best goddam repo man this side of Detroit. Five years in the can when I was just out of school made sure I knew the tricks of the trade.

Today was my last day on the job. About time too, some of these ‘clients’ were just pigs. Crazy fucking pigs. Twenty years and not one had ever thanked me. Time to take on some new challenges, get the home fixed up, maybe take a holiday with my broad.

The boss had a doozie for my last day. Three home repos all in the same street. And this was a real down at heel neighbourhood, more like a goddam farmyard than a neighbourhood. I smoothed down my hair, lit a cigarette, and got out of the Chevy.

The first one was a pushover, he tried fighting but I chewed him up and spat him out. Too easy. Plenty of time for a smoke before number two.

He was tougher; crying about his family, his mom, brothers… nothing I couldn’t handle. I’d nearly had my fill, just one more - one last hit. I could almost taste the bourbon I had planned for after.

The last one was known as a tough cookie. He had form, some thought he was a stool-pigeon, a real cake-eater. Walking up to his house I saw him in the window. Was he packing? He looked smug, that’s for sure, best house on the street.

I reached the front door.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Let me come in,” I whispered.

“Not by the hair on my chinny-chin-chin,” came the reply.

This one was a lush, ‘fuck’s sake…’ I muttered under my breath, this was going to be a tough one…