The Midnight Plan of the Repo Man (6 page)

“You've got to be kidding,”
my voice said.

Sticking with my game plan, I didn't gasp and jerk around to see who'd spoken. “You hear that, Jake?” I asked calmly. Jake didn't even seem to hear
me
. He lay motionless, not even coming over to check out the meat loaf.

“You can't eat like that for breakfast, you'll clog your arteries,”
the voice admonished.

“So I've developed a split personality and it's become a nutritionist,” I announced out loud.

“No, I'm not,”
it answered defensively.

“So you're what, a boxing manager?”

“No, I mean I'm not a split anything, I am my own person.”

“Yeah? Where are you, then?”

There was a pause. “
I'm not sure.
”

“Well, you sure as heck aren't here. Unless … you're not an eight-foot rabbit, are you?”

“I'm not Harvey. My name is Alan Lottner.”

“Alan Lottner.” I cut another slice of cold meat loaf. Play it cool, play it cool. “Uh-huh. Well, what can I do for you, Alan?”

“I'm … I'm not sure what is going on.”

“Well, I think I have a pretty good idea. I've been living alone for a long time now so my brain has furnished me with a friend to play with. An invisible friend who will soon start telling me it's okay to set fires.”

There was a silence. I stopped eating and cocked my head. Maybe all I had to do was identify the problem and the neurosis would simply go away. Self-administered psychotherapy.

“I admit this is weird,”
the voice stated slowly,
“but somehow I am inside of you. When you look around, I can see what you see.”

“Great, I am a man trapped in a man's body.”

Alan Lottner chuckled: I actually heard him laughing in my ear. The sound unnerved me—whatever was going on inside my head, it couldn't be good that I could hear
laughter.

“I don't know how I got here,”
he confided after a moment.

“Well, as soon as you figure it out you can leave the same way.” I was pretty pleased with how cool I was playing this—maybe he would leave.

“At first I thought it was a dream. It's like that, because even though I can see and hear and even feel everything, I don't have any control over my body.”

“Whose body?”

“Okay, your body … but where's my body? What's happening to me?”

“Sorry to have to tell you this, but I think the real concern is what's happening to
me,
” I corrected. “I'm having a conversation with a voice inside my head. Clearly, the stress of living life in the fast lane in Kalkaska is getting to me.” I finished my meat loaf and tossed the aluminum foil at the trash can. It bounced off the rim and joined the pile of missed shots cluttering the floor.

“Are you going to pick that up?”

“No, it's how I keep score,” I answered. The silence I received in reply had a huffy quality to it. Great, my voice had no sense of humor. “So Alan, why don't you go out and do some work while I stay home and watch a little basketball?”

“I … look, is your name Ruddy?”

“Ruddy McCann.”

“I thought so, though at first I thought they were saying ‘Buddy.' Like Buddy Hackett.”

“No, it's Ruddy, for Ruddick. Mother's maiden name.”

“Ah.”

I pulled on some clothes and went into the bathroom to comb my hair and brush my teeth. “
Stop!
” Alan commanded.

I froze, raising an eyebrow.

“This is just really strange, looking at my reflection, only having it be somebody else,”
he told me.

“Didn't we already have this conversation? Whose reflection is it?”

“You know what I mean. I guess I sort of halfway thought that it would be me in the mirror, and that I would find out that I had amnesia and suddenly woke up six four and three hundred pounds.”

“Six two and two-twenty. Watch it.”

“What happened to your nose?”

“Broke it. Car accident. What happened to your body?”

“I guess I lost it.”

“Tough break. Hate it when that happens.” I pulled on a jacket. “Well, I guess you might as well come along,” I told him. “Let's go, Jake.”

Jake considered it briefly, then lowered his head back down. “
Now
, boy, let's go,” I commanded sternly. He didn't move. “Hey!” I snapped my fingers. Sometimes you have to show them who the alpha male is.

Jake closed his eyes.

“Please?”

I finally got him to move by pulling a box of dog biscuits out of the cupboard. Once up, he grudgingly allowed me to walk him around the block, lifting his leg on a few leafless shrubs out of moral obligation, but when we got back he fell on his blanket with a “thank God we got that out of our system” expression.

I drove over to Milton's office. Milton Kramer is a short, stocky guy who wears white short-sleeved shirts every day of the year and has a head that looks like it has been waxed and buffed. His skin appeared to have never been exposed to even a moment of sunshine. Milt's life revolves around his work—I've almost never seen him out with his wife, whose name isn't Ruby but that's always what I want to call her when they have me over to their house for dinner.

“Hey, Milt.”

“Hello there and good morning, Ruddy. Say hello to my nephew, here. Ruddy McCann, this is Kermit Kramer.”

Kermit didn't get out of his chair, but he extended his hand with a smile. He had Milton's pushed-in-looking nose and thick features, though his hair was dark and curly and his complexion a Mediterranean shade. “Kermit” was a good name for him; he was shaped a little like a frog, with narrow sloping shoulders and big wide hips.

“Kermit's going to help me out a little this summer.”

“Summer,” I agreed dubiously. I looked down at the wet snow I'd tracked in.

“Yep. Maybe you'd take him around, show him the ropes?”

I nodded carefully. Milton didn't need two men; was I being asked to train my replacement? Milton was the sort of person who always looked out for his family, even his brother's sons. I was painfully aware that if I weren't a repo man I'd be nothing.

I sat in the metal chair facing Milton's desk. “Got anything for me?”

“Yeah, believe so.” Milton put on a pair of reading glasses and looked over the tops of them at a file. “Ford Credit. A guy somewhere in Traverse City, said he'd make up the two payments he's behind and then disappeared instead. Ford Mustang.”

“Okay.” I reached for the file.

“Mind if I matriculate a little?” Kermit asked, intersecting my reach with his own.

“If you what?” I asked politely.

“I just would like to see. You know, if I have any ideas.”

“Sure, sure, that's a good idea,” Milton beamed. “Let's let him metic-whatever, see if he can find the guy.”

“Okay.” I paused. “Milt, I heard you got some bad paper from Jimmy Growe.”

Milton glanced up sharply. “Who told you about that?”

“Jimmy.”

“Ah.” Milton took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as if looking at me over the top of the lenses was tiring him out. “Yeah, that's right. I guess he spent the money already.”

“He bought a motorcycle with some of it. I told him to sell it.”

“Good, good. I don't want the damn thing.”

“What's the deal with the checks, though? Jimmy said he didn't know where they came from.”

“That's right. Bank is up in Traverse. They won't tell me the name on the account, and they're those starter checks.”

“Why'd you cash them?”

“I know, I should have thought it through better. I knew Jimmy wouldn't be up to anything, is all. And I figured, why would someone send him the money, if it wasn't legitimate?”

“Want me to look into it for you?”

Milt shrugged. “I don't know what good it would do. No law broken, Jimmy never did anything to earn the money. I just should never have cashed them.”

“I'll be up near Traverse anyway, tracing this Mustang. Something's not right, Milt. I mean, you know Jimmy. Sending him those checks was a deliberate way to get him into trouble. Maybe I can recover something from that end for you.”

Milt grunted. “Sure, look into it. I took ten points; you can have all of it if you can recover my five grand. Last time he owed me money it took something like eight years for him to pay me back.”

I nodded, understanding. Milt was fine with paying me, but if I couldn't track down somebody to make good on the debt in Traverse City, I would be collecting from Jimmy.

I exhaled. I hated this next subject. “So, Milt. I'm wondering if I could have an advance on some of the work I'm doing? We're a little short with our suppliers down at the Bear.”

Milt loans money for a living, so the look he gave me was all business. “How's it looking with Albert Einstein?” he asked.

“I touched the collateral yesterday.” I told him about the goose named Doris, and both Kermit and Milton howled at the picture of me being run off by poultry, leading me to conclude that neither one of them had been clubbed with goose wings before.

“Ya know, if the goose really attacked you, they should euphemize it,” Kermit advised.

“Euphemize? You mean, call it ‘Christmas Dinner' or something?” I smiled.

Kermit frowned. “No, I meant put it to sleep.”

I decided it wasn't worth trying to explain. I was watching Milt pull out his big checkbook and scrawl in it. He handed me more than I was expecting: $750. “There's advance on Einstein—I know you'll get him if you've seen the truck—plus the fee on Jimmy. I figure with you babysitting him I'll get paid one way or another.” Milt wagged his finger. “One percent of the balance per month on Jimmy, my interest rate on that.”

I nodded. Twelve percent per year, better than the credit cards. Milt lends money but he's not the Mafia.

“And hey, would you mind taking Kermit along with you now? You're headed up to Traverse, right?”

“Only if he brings a dictionary.”

Milton laughed. “He does have a hell of a vocabulary, doesn't he?”

Kermit and I stood. On his feet, he appeared to be no more than five foot six; next to him I felt like a giant. In high school he would have played center—all of his weight down low like that. In college he would have sat in the stands along with everyone else his size.

I turned at the door. “Hey, catch up with you in a minute, Kermit.” Once he had passed outside I came back into the room. “Milton, can I ask you something?”

He nodded carefully.

I jammed my hands in my pockets and glanced around the room. “Have you ever had voices in your head? Talking to you?”

Milton stared. “You got voices in your head?”

“No, forget it. I mean yes, I do, but it is only one voice. He says his name is Alan.”

“You got a voice in your head named Alan?” Milton's eyes were looking sort of milky. I wondered if he was calculating how long it would take the cops to arrive if he lunged for the phone.

“Forget it, it's nothing.”

“I'm afraid you've got the madness, son,” he whispered.

“The what?”

“Repo Madness. It happens. The stress of snatching units off the streets, one day, you just crack up. I once saw a guy bigger than you sit right down on the curb and start to cry like a baby. Madness got him bad. He was never able to take another car after that day.” Milt beckoned and I reluctantly leaned forward. “Why do you think I never steal any of my own cars anymore, Ruddy?”

I thought about it. “Because Ruby would kill you?”

He blinked. “Ruby? The hell is Ruby?”

“Your wife?”

“My wife is Trisha.”

“That's her name! Trisha!”

“Jesus, you got voices in your head and you think I married some bimbo named Ruby?”

“For God's sake, Milt, it's just one voice and I have always thought your wife's name was Ruby. I mean, I knew it wasn't, but I couldn't think of her any other way.” Already, the name Trisha was fading from my brain, replaced by a giant neon sign blinking
RUBY, RUBY, RUBY
.

Milt eyed me for a minute. “It's the madness, Ruddy,” he pronounced finally. “I just got the madness. One day everything is fine, and the next, no matter how easy the snatch, I start getting so damned scared I can barely move. Then I'm pulling a voluntary, guy voluntarily hands me the keys, and the same thing happens—my heart starts to pound and my hands shake. That's when I knew I had to give it up, before I lost it completely.” He looked at me shrewdly. “Before I started hearing voices.”

I remembered the dream, and how my heart had been pounding the “Night of the Attack of Doris the Goose.” Could this really be what was going on? Repo Madness.

I shook it off. “Look, just forget about it, okay? I'm fine. Thanks. No problem. I'll find this skip and look into Jimmy's checks, okay?”

Milton nodded sadly. As I backed up, my heel caught the lip of the rug and I tripped a bit, stumbling. He just watched with wise eyes, probably thinking this was another symptom.

“So you're a repo man? That's what the whole thing was about last night? I thought you were a cop or something,”
Alan complained as I left Milt's office.

“You don't like it, go inhabit someone else's psychosis,” I growled silently, keeping the dialogue in my head where it belonged. I expected a flip response, but instead I got back silence, with a bit of an impatient flavor to it. I stopped in the hallway. “So, no lippy comment? I just called you a psychosis,” I challenged him mentally.