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“Don’t forget the parking brake!” she shouts over the Toyota’s alarm. “You have to use it, or it’ll roll.”
And then she’s in the car, seconds later the taillights are glowing red. She shoots out in the parking lot with crazy insane reverse skills kicking rocks all over her own truck, a maniacal laugh coming out of her! “Hell, yes! Possession is nine-tenths of the law. Stay close to my tail, Houseman!”
“You’re stealing a fucking car?”
“Best hurry up, this heifer keeps a roscoe in her purse!”
“What’s a roscoe?”
“A gun. Last time she shot at me.” She tears off, and I floor the gas to her hooptie and am thrown forward with the stall before the ancient artifact finally picks up speed, my chest up against a steering wheel that feels like it may come off any second. Laney motors ahead going warp speed as I scream like a girl when I hit my first pothole. I white-knuckle the wheel, terrified that by the time I get to her I’ll be left with nothing but bald tires. Ten, excruciatingly long minutes later we make it into town, and she pulls into the parking lot of a gas station before prancing back over toward me doing a victory dance.
“Had a hotkey for that one!” She exclaims, taking back the driver’s seat as I slide over.
“Laney, what the hell? You chop cars?”
She raises a finger and puts the phone on speaker.
“Polk County non-emergency.”
“This is Laney Cox with Mueller’s Wrecker.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m calling to advise you of four repossessions from County Road.”
“That’s the bonfire, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ve already gotten one call for a stolen vehicle.”
Laney reads off the VIN numbers, makes and models of all the cars that she got towed and ends the call.
“You repo cars?”
“Yep.” She tilts her head. “Well, kind of. I don’t drive the trucks, but I get a finder’s fee for each car I spot. By not attending the bonfire, I just made six hundred bucks.”
“A hundred and fifty a car?”
“Yep. Sometimes more, if the bank is close to charging it off.”
“Not bad. But you’ve been shot at?”
“Only by that crazy cow.”
“And this is just, I don’t know, normal, to you?” I spit sarcastically.
“Course not, but no one is shooting at us now. This is just business, Houseman. And no one is broker than college students. I used to feel guilty for it, but I tell you, some of the excuses are bullshit, and I’ve heard them all. I like to think I now have a heavy hand in teaching them a little responsibility. And it’s an adrenaline rush, isn’t it?”
“Not much of a fan of gunshot adrenaline.”
“You get used to it.”
“Pretty sure I wouldn’t.”
The tow truck pulls up, and a guy around our age saunters over with a grin.
“Good job, Laney.”
