"The shaft broke"

[Hogmaster]

Note: This tale is long. You have been warned. For better context of the characters involved you might consider reading this:

http://www.ifish.net/board/showthrea...017#post243017

And/or this:

http://www.ifish.net/board/showthrea...416#post243416

OK, Here goes:


Said Arnie, in his typically obscure method of explanation in answer to my question of why he was sitting on an old and rusty Stingray bicycle.

A little prodding later resulted in me learning that the drive line on his bondo and primer-coated 88’ Buick Regal had apparently separated itself from the tranny and rear end while Arnie was driving down Highway 39 at 60 MPH. So instead, his primary form of transportation became the bike which he had “borrowed” from Travis, a neighbor kid, for 12 bucks and a promise to get him a turtle “someday”.

I had happened upon Arnie as he was sitting on the Stingray at a stakeout.

You see, Arnie is a repo man.

He was accompanied by Burt and Earl, his two small, somewhat mangy and smelly mutts of undeterminable heritage. They both sat in a hand-carry basket he obviously liberated from the local Piggly Wiggly supermarket and managed to secure to the handlebars with zip ties. As usual, they were barking up a storm at anything and everything that moved, and several things that didn’t.

Arnie’s long and straggly dishwater blond hair showed under a WWI era flight helmet and goggles, as well as by the stubble on his seldom shaved face. He wore one of his usual stained tank tops (this one in black with cheap silk screen of Metallica in concert), frayed cut offs and no socks with his scuffed and well-worn tennis shoes.

The really strange thing, however, was that he had attached a rototiller to the back of the bicycle with a rope. I noticed it had a trailer ball welded to the tine guard above the tines, and he had been towing it backwards on the bike by the handles. No, I did not immediately ask.

Since I had been on a long bike ride myself and could use a rest, I decided to hang out and see what a real life repo man stakeout was all about. Arnie explained to me that his mission was to repossess a boat. Specifically, a 22’ Glas-Ply, a big fiberglass ski boat with a large inboard/outboard engine that was currently possessed by Randall C. Chauncy, who had fallen seriously behind on his payments.

He further explained that he had developed his elaborate plan after observing Randall’s habits over the prior few days. It seemed Randall would take his boat out every morning and water ski on the Coweena river with a couple of buddies. When he was done, he would invariably stop at Gus’s Real Guy Sports Tavern, where he would buy a pack of smokes and drink cervesa until taking the boat home prior to his swing shift job at the box factory.

Arnie, as a trained repo man, knows that quick, stealth repossession is always preferable to confrontation. Especially if you are 5’ 9” on a good day like Arnie and the person being repo’d from is 6’ 3” and mean like Randall.

Since Randall was either with the boat or locked it tightly in his garage when he wasn’t, Arnie had determined that the only time he could perform the duty was while the boat was parked in front of Gus’s.

Though Arnie doubted if the loan was current, he did not have a repo order for Randall’s truck. This was the bad news. A greater factor which complicated his mission was that Randall owned the trailer free and clear, and as such, it could not legally be taken.

The good news was there was a small, undeveloped launch into the river right across the highway from Gus’s Bar.

So…

Shortly after Randall showed up right on schedule, Arnie engaged in his master plan. The first step was to turn Burt and Earl loose in the bar to create a diversion. Sure enough, that part of the plan worked to perfection, as unbenounced to Arnie, there was a huge old tabby that the bar owner kept as a pet. He cracked the door, tossed both mutts inside, and an incredible cacophony of barking, yipping, hissing, growling, whimpering and shrieking ensued. The animals made a lot of noise too.

While all this was going on Arnie sprinted to Randall’s truck and used his bolt cutters to snip the lock off the trailer. He positioned the tiller next to the bumper and managed to drop the trailer tongue onto the ball. Then he started pulling the starter.

After about 15 pulls the tiller coughed to life with a few smoky belches. Unfortunately, whatever it may have had as a muffler on its once new Briggs and Stratton was long rusted to oblivion, and the throttle control was non-existent, all resulting in a 6000 RPM sound not unlike what one might hear at the timber carnival as the log cutting contest starts.

Which got everyone in the bar’s immediate attention.

Especially one Randall C. Chauncy.

After seeing what was happening through the window, Randall came flying out the door with fire in his eyes, cursing out his mouth and snot flying out of his nose like a man who was getting his boat stolen from him. Which, of course, he was.

But by then Arnie had engaged the drive train of the rototill, and was already most of the way across the busy highway, letting the tiller push the boat for him in double time step.

Burt and Earl, exhibiting their natural behavior of attacking anything moving and not feline in nature, had chased Randall out of the bar and were viciously biting his ankles and barking like crazy. Well OK, they were nipping at his ankles since they can’t really do enough damage to be characterized as a bite. But it was obviously highly annoying to Randall, who decided to hop into his truck to continue his chase. Or maybe get away from the dogs.

He slammed the truck into reverse and with tires smoking immediately ran over the Stingray while narrowly missing the dogs. Then he jerked the truck into Drive and ran over it again. But as he did so, the bike flipped up and got caught in the undercarriage of the rig.

In a more controlled circumstance he probably would have elected to figure out how to extract the bike from under his vehicle, but this was obviously, in Randall’s mind, time for decisive action. So he flew out of the parking lot without looking for crossing traffic and nearly broadsided an 18 wheeler that was traveling down the highway immediately between him and his target. When he stood on the brakes, the bike continued on out from under the truck with inertia and was promptly flattened by a family in a Chrysler minivan also moving down the highway in the far lane. For good measure, Randall ran over it one more time as he laid rubber to the other side of the road and toward the ramp.

While all this was going on, Arnie had managed to momentarily stop the tiller at the top of the ramp and unstrap the boat. He was following the tiller down the ramp as Randall, with murderous intent, screeched the big GMC 4X4 to the top of the ramp, got out screaming and yelling obscentities, then started running down it, no doubt fully intending to break Arnie in half.

But as the trailer hit the water, Arnie did a very strange and wonderful (for him) thing. He, in one sweet act of deft balance and guile, stepped up on the trailer and jumped into the boat as he simultaneously banged the shift lever on the old tiller into reverse. Sure enough, the boat floated off the trailer, and after a moment of skidding, Randall suddenly became very aware that the out of control, full throttle tiller with churning blades was now pulling the trailer up the ramp on a full collision course with, if not him, certainly with the grill of his truck.

OH %^^%$##&**!!!!!!!!

Arnie gave him a friendly wave.

Randall got back to his truck just in time to realize the dogs also made it across the highway without becoming road pizza and that in all the excitement of the moment he had managed to lock his keys in the rig. He gave a look of exasperation and defeat as the metal tiller handles (the rubber hand-grips having long ago rotted away) shot right through his plastic grill and embedded in his radiator while dogs yelped and nipped, the tiller roared at full throttle and the blades chipped the concrete at the top of the ramp, creating a shower of sparks as metal hit rock.

Randall finally grabbed the coil wire from the tiller and received about a dozen good jolts as the engine died, then took a rock and broke out the passenger window to resolve the immediate issue. I think he was frustrated that he couldn’t actually even succeed at kicking the dogs (who are very adept at avoiding being kicked since they have a lot of experience).

By this time Arnie had started the Glas-Ply and had disappeared down river to points unkown.

I saw Arnie again last week. He told me that, after the expenses of a new {old} bike for Travis ($50), a replacement tiller for the one he borrowed from his mom that Randall sent down the ramp and into the river ($75), springing the two dogs from the pound for being at large ($100) a replacement lock for Randall ($8) and fixing Randall’s grill and radiator ($340), he netted $56 for the job. Randall wanted him to pay for the window too, but Arnie refused on the grounds he was not responsible for that.

He mentioned that the repo business is a tough living.

Don’t know when he is getting his shaft fixed, or when Travis is getting his turtle…

[Hogmaster]

Wow!

130 views, and nary a single response.

It is either really bad, or I finally wrote something that just can't be replied to!

Arnie says "Hi"

[fishboys]

I want those five minutes of my life back

[Mad Mikey]

I want those five minutes of my life back

Easy now, that's the editor's job...

Another notch in the belt for a Hogmaster yarn. Gary your talent with detail is enviable to say the least. I've often struggled with that, you make it look easy.....

[lucky2]

I hope you didn't try to say all of that in just one breath!

[fishboys]

Hog I was just razzing ya. I don't want my five minutes back but I do want to exchange them.

[Snakebite]

I for one, thought it as brilliant! How did you come to derive this story? Articulate at the very least.

[Hogmaster]

Originally Posted by Snakebite

I for one, thought it as brilliant! How did you come to derive this story? Articulate at the very least.

I wish I could answer that. If you read the other two posts, you see Arnie developed as a character a couple of years ago. These stories are random thoughts that someday - who knows - may be assembled into a novel. A mystery story, if you will, about a repo man. I've tried to be consistent with the attributes.

This particular one started out with a thought about Arnie repo'ing a boat and how he might go about it. The rest just sort of rolled out. It took about an hour of free writing before it was posted last night, though I edited it several times today. It is fun for me to try to make stories "viewable" by the reader.

Anyway, thanks for the feedback.

And fishboys, I'll let you trade your five in for another installment sometime soon.

[fishboys]

I cant wait

[Chas]

Well done! In consideration of the fact the rivers are still a tad high your rendition of the repo man put a smile on the old chopper.

Thanks
Chas

[Fast Water]

Very good!

Are you a fan of the late Douglas Adams by chance?

More Arnie please!

[Hogmaster]

No Mark, I have not read any of his work. I'll have to look for him.

My inspiration comes primarily from Carl Hiassen (my favorite), Janet Evanovich, Pat McManus and few others.

I'm in the process of writing another tale involving Arnie (took a break for the Beaver game), but this one is going to be edited several times prior to posting so that the story doesn't have to evolve after people have already read it like this one did.

Rivers around here are too high to fish anyway, might as well do a little writing.