Arnie takes his best shot

[Hogmaster]

WARNING: Long Story. Obviously not fit for Bernie consumption.



I dropped by Arnie the repo man's place last week. Though he didn’t answer the door, Burt, his Weiner/Chow and Earl, the Poodle/Healer mongrels started yapping and yipping with their typical fervor. For little mangy mutts, they are capable of putting out incredible volumes of dog-terrorized sound from inside the house. And that’s when they aren’t even agitated.

Somehow, through the din, I heard an unmistakable sound coming from the back yard. It was a loud “Whack!” repeated every few seconds.

Huh?

I wandered around back and found Arnie standing at one end of the yard, holding a wrist rocket slingshot. On a small crate stood on end next to him was a bag of steel marbles. At the other end of the yard a tire was hung from a tree limb, and beyond the tire at the same height was a shooter’s target taped to his fence.

As I came around the corner, Arnie was fully extending the slingshot. He let go, and I watched as the marble went through the tire and hit the target nearly dead-center.

Whack!

It was an impressive display, I had to admit, and I told him so.

He just shrugged in his Arnie way, and mumbled “Not good enough.”

Whack!

When I asked him what he was doing, he stopped to explain he was training for a particularly challenging recovery operation that was to take place the following night. Then he offered me $150 to help him.

Without hesitation I said, “Sure.” Truth is a night with Arnie on an “operation” is enough of an adventure that I’d do it for free. At least usually, because he has me do things like provide surveillance and such, and often the duty is like getting a grandstand seat to a playoff game. Or train wreck.

But this time was going to be different I learned.

“You still got your class A license, right?” he asked.

I had gotten it many years ago, and for whatever reason chose not to let it expire.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, I need you to drive a tractor-trailer rig for me.”

Sounds easy, I think. Until I remember it is Arnie I am conversing with.

“Where?” I foolishly asked.

“Don’t worry about it. Just be here tomorrow night at O Three Hundred.”

He has never been in the military, but his times always are.

“Whack”

Oh boy. "What have I gotten myself into?" The thoughts of that kept me awake that entire night and the next, right up to the rendezvous time.

I arrived bleary-eyed but keyed up for action at the appointed time. 3 AM, Wednesday morning. As I drove down his street I discovered a good-sized Volvo Diesel Truck with a low-boy trailer attached to it in front of his house. It was the sort of rig that was used to carry big construction equipment. The only things strapped to the low-boy were two pole vaulter poles.

I knew not to ask.

The motor was running, and Arnie was in the cab with Burt and Earl. He waved me over to the passenger side of the cab, but I really hesitated before opening the door. Burt and Earl are nothing if not territorial, and the thought of me crossing their “new” territory was not at all appealing. In fact, they were both snarling and barking at me in a way that could best be described as though I was a cat and they were growly mangy barking foaming at the mouth crazed, well, dogs. Which other than the cat part was pretty much true.

But Arnie has a way with animals, usually involving cuffing them about the head when they don’t obey, and sometimes he even does it to his dogs as well. So they settled down enough that I finally got brave enough to open the cab door and climbed up. Burt bit my hand a couple times as I placed it on the seat while I was hopping in while Earl concentrated his attack more toward my, err, midsection. Once I was aboard, they settled a bit and showed their expressive way of letting me know I was part of the pack by leaning into me and continually letting off doggy farts as we drove off. They obviously were still maintaining their diets of Polish sausage, Pretzels and cheap beer, pretty much just like Arnie. It is apparent that I am not even a Beta dog in their social order. More like something above a cat, but not by much.

I knew not to press Arnie about the details of the mission. He has a strict policy of “need to know” and he apparently felt that keeping me in the dark more than being in a coal mine without a flashlight was entirely appropriate.

He finally explained a few things after our 20 minute drive way out past town. The item being repossessed was a D-8 Caterpillar Bulldozer. It was made extra challenging by the fact that it was sitting inside a construction yard surrounded by an electrified 8’ heavy duty chain link fence with razor wire over the top. Inside there were at least three Rottweilers with particularly nasty dispositions, and to top it off, Seymour Jackson, owner of B&B Construction and Demolition, lived inside the compound with his wife. Both he and his wife have reputations for having dispositions much like the Rotts, except they carry shotguns.

Arnie is nothing if not fearless.

He finally explained the master plan:

“You are going to keep yer pansy [behind] here with the boys just outside the yard. Make sure you back the rig up right here to that spot with the low-boy ramps down and make sure it is EXACTLY 10’ from the fence to the bottom of the ramp. You will have to back it kinda caddiewompass in the road, but it needs to be right there, OK little buddy?”

“Sure”. I tried to sound confident.

“I know you can do it. I won’t have time to help you if you screw it up, so don’t, OK? They may wake up and turn the lights on from the noise of you turning around, but since you’re outside the yard, they probably won’t shoot.”

Great.

“Then what?” I asked.

“Just wait for me to tell you when, then drive off. Piece of cake.”

Somehow I had my doubts.

Arnie said nothing else, but hopped out of the rig and unstrapped the two poles. He disappeared into the moonless night with them and left my part of the mission to the mongrels and me.

As quietly as I could back an 80,000 GVW class truck and trailer, I maneuvered the rig EXACTLY where I had been instructed to. I didn’t have a tape measure, but after getting out of the cab and walking back twice while forcing the dogs to stay inside my initial part of the operation was complete. Using my scientific “arms outstretched twice minus the forearm the second time” method, I was pretty sure the ramps were 10’ from the fence. I noticed as I looked back that the lights were still out in the double-wide inside B&B, and the Rottweilers apparently did not concern themselves with things outside their sovereign ground. I sighed relief and waited for the show by taking a seat on the trailer.

It didn’t take long.

The first thing I noticed in the far end of the yard was a pole that was slowly and deliberately being slid through the fence. A few minutes went by and suddenly I saw a silhouette literally flying through the air. It was Arnie, sure enough, using the second pole for it’s intended purpose if not place. He launched himself cleanly over the fence and landed atop a bramble thicket. Must be why he wore long sleeves and pants that night, something he rarely does.

It was an impressive display of physical prowess, thought and guile. The fiberglass pole slid off the fence without causing any jolts, and the berry patch allowed for a relatively damage-free and quiet landing.

The Rotts, wherever they were, never stirred.

I lost Arnie in the dim light and nothing happened for a good five minutes. Fortunately, no traffic came down the road, as the big Volvo was blocking both lanes and was nearly jack-knifed. I was concerned that there was a problem with the plan when I finally saw Arnie again through the darkness.

He had climbed on top of a tool shed that was directly behind the bulldozer. His wrist-rocket was pulled back and he was clearly aiming at the cab of the Cat.

“Whack!”

The next thing I heard were sounds that were surreal, scary, adrenaline juicing and crazy all at once.

The big bulldozer suddenly fired to life with a roar. Almost simultaneously, four very large and agitated canines came out from various locations under other equipment in the yard and started barking like crazy with murderous intent at the monstrous steel creature. Almost equally simultaneously, Burt and Earl were barking and snarling at the barkers and snarlers. Stereophonic demon-dog noises, some large, some scary in a slightly less-lethal but more obnoxious way.

It could not have been a second or two before the porch lights came on at the double-wide, and it was apparent Seymour and Ethel were up, barking and snarling as well.

Then I noticed Arnie, still on top of the tool shed, still unnoticed by the guard dogs of all varieties. The wrist rocket was loaded again.

“Whack!”

With that, the Cat suddenly lurched forward and began slowly but absolutely moving toward the low boy.

Right where I was sitting.

Oh oh.

Suddenly I saw Arnie with a pole vault launching himself off the toolshed roof and onto the ground. Two of the big dogs saw him and gave chase. He looked like Rusty the Rabbit at the dog track when the Greyhounds give chase. He kept the pole in hand and crossed the yard roughly where he came in. When he got near the fence, he planted the pole in an old half-barrel of scrap metal and soared back outside the yard, clearing the razor wire by a few inches. One of the dogs did not stop and let out a rather loud blood- curdling yelp as canine fur and slightly more than manufacturer's-recommended maximum voltage for a security fence met.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

I turned my attention back to the dozer which was now about 20 yards from my position and gaining speed. It was so immense I did not realize that it was closing the gap as quickly as it was, but it was, and the Rotts were biting it and coming with it. Even the fourth, now recovered from it’s dazed moment, had returned to the fray with malicious intent.

Oh, and now I could see Seymour on the porch. He appeared to be holding a Mossberg auto load 12 guage, and somehow I had doubts it was limited to three shells.

Gulp.

I decided it was time to take on my duty as getaway driver and get into the truck without delay. I figured Burt and Earl might gnaw me to death, but that seemed preferable to being eaten in large chunks or having sub-cuteaneous lead injections administered with high velocity.

As I got to the cab, a few nagging concerns surfaced; Where was Arnie? How did Arnie get the Cat moving with a wrist rocket? But most disconcerting of all was the question of how the bulldozer was going to stop!?

All came clear as out of nowhere, at the same moment the big Cat crashed through the fence in a shower of sparks and zaps, Arnie appeared and jumped aboard like the hero in the Western that stops the runaway team of horses just before they go off a cliff. The big dogs were stunned by the fact that Burt and Earl had jumped out of the cab as I jumped in, and two mongrels half the size of the trained killers were biting them on the butts, just like they do everything else.

Seymour and Ethel were somewhat in shock themselves. It was no doubt related to having passed out earlier in the evening after their nightly consumption measured in quarts of Evan Williams whiskey and Coca-Cola. But no matter, they didn’t even get a round off before the Cat drove itself onto the low-boy and Arnie shut it down. He was yelling at the top of his lungs, “Repossession! Repossession! Repossession!” The most they could stammer out was “You son-of a %^$% owe us a new fence!” They knew they had been beat.

Arnie somehow managed to scoop the mutts onto the the dozer with him and yelled for me to “Take off before we all get kilt!” so I did. I could see the still-down ramps on the low-boy sending showers of sparks out toward the Rotts until I lost them about 1/4 mile down the road and let Arnie and the boys back into the cab.

He explained to me that he had been over to B&B earlier in the day and set the stage for the recovery. After convincing Seymour he was with an oil and gas concern that was looking to buy lease rights for drilling and felt B&B might be on a “gold mine” he was allowed to wander around the yard while Ethel fed the dogs. Nothing like a good old greed scam. He had placed a brick on the accelerator of the Cat and set the glow plugs on.

“But what did you do with the wrist rocket?” I naively asked.

“The first shot was the ignition. Just had to hit the starter button. The second was to put’er in first.”

“No way!” I said. “How could a steel ball have enough power to put it in gear?”

“Inertia. I leaned a big stack of Seymour's old Girlie mags against the lever. Just a matter of hitting it the right spot and they all fell right on cue into it and away she went. Came right to you.”

Gotta love it when a plan comes together.

The $150 went to the stitches I had to get from the dog bites in my hand. Should have known.

[Fast Water]

Very very good!!!

[Splash]

Arnie rocks!!

[DogZilla15]

So that's what all the noise was down the street........

Whoever said work wasn't supposed to be fun never had a good job......

[fishkisser]

Well worth the time spent reading your dissertation ...

[veilside180sx]

That is hilarious, and definately sounds like a barrel of excitement.

[CATCH AND EAT]

Bernie here. Ah, Arnie is certainly a talented man at his profession. will he ever run for office and in fact some may wonder about his.......well........orientation so to speak.

Fun read, or is that reed, Gary. Will there be a movie?

[MustangA1X]

Thanks for starting my day with a smile.
As I read more and more about Arnie I wonder if he could be Rancid Crabtree's son

[Bloom]

Having more than a few repo's under my belt, I really got a kick out of that story. I seriously don't think I can match that one. I'm still laughing. I can see those people on the front porch as the Cat motors through the fence..classic!

[northriver1]

Can we say this is the Blue Period of your writings Gary? Nice read and thanks for sharing.

[jokester]

EXCELLENT read!!!

-jokester

[jvp]

you spin a fine yarn(sp)

[1HotTraumaMama]

Hog, you just made my crappy day a good one. and by the way, Why pay 150 for stitches when I would have done it for a small nominal fee of dinner and drinks???????????? All I need is some good fishin line and a square needle for you

[Hell-B]

So...........does this have anything to do with the ball bearing that you found in your house earlier this year?

[Reel_Big_Fish]

Originally Posted by Papermaker

So...........does this have anything to do with the ball bearing that you found in your house earlier this year?

WOW...that's a good point.

[Hogmaster]

No, but the bearing story is not complete. Watch for an update sometime soon.

Sonia, as much as I would trust you to stitch me up, you can't use dull tools. But you can come over for dinner and drinks anytime. But as much as I would like to, I don't think I can introduce you to Arnie. You see, he is, well... oh nevermind.

Glad the story is being enjoyed. I enjoy writing them, but never know if they will be appreciated by the gang around here. I'd probably post them anyway since they are kind of a form of relaxation (therapy?) that just happens. The words just come out sometimes. No idea where they come from, either.

But no, Bernie. No artificial enhancements were involved nor were any living creatures other than the normal brain cell drainage harmed in the creation of the depiction of events above.

Finally, sorry about keeping ya up, DogZilla!

[ampersat]

Gary, you're nothing if not a talented writer. I can't help but feel that your stories come from some very personal experiences.

Arnie? Bernie? Coincidence? I think not, my friends.

[Hogmaster]

You would have to pick up on the expression that was doubled up on in the story.

Personal experiences? Not really. Well, sorta, but only in the longest of ranges. Herbie was real. Burt and Earl are not. But yippie mongrels are everywhere and most everyone can imagine them. And admittedly, Arnie is a composite of many people. Maybe even some of you.

Hog's nurse tells everyone that Arnie is me. But that can't be true in the literal sense since I have never even tried pole vaulting. But I suppose in some sort of altered state reality he has attributes that are appealing, as rough and tumble as he is.

But does it project? Does anyone else feel a slight sense of envy that Arnie can be 5' 9" and 178 pounds with bad hygene, health and dietary habits, yet takes on Samoans, big cats (numerous types), can pole vault and hit targets under pressure?

As absurd as it seems, he is a hero. Or at least he is to me. Splash's comment this morning hit home, because at least someone else sees it.

What I try to do is create enough detail so that readers can form images in their minds, but not so much detail that my reality is imposed on theirs. Seymour is an example. Do you know what he looks like? I have an image, but Bloom's may be totally different. It is OK, though, because we both "see" Seymour on that porch, watching an unmanned D-8 driving off his yard in the middle of the night.

Someday maybe the stories will thread into a book, or a screenplay. In the meantime, the filler stories working around the undetermined theme will continue, occasionally anyway, to roll.

Sorry about my own hijacking drivel, but that is what is going on in my head. At least a slice of it.

[CATCH AND EAT]

Originally Posted by ampersat

Gary, you're nothing if not a talented writer. I can't help but feel that your stories come from some very personal experiences.

Arnie? Bernie? Coincidence? I think not, my friends.

Hey Now!!!!

[Hogmaster]

Sorry, I tried to protect you. You have been outed.

Arnie is Bernie!



(but Bernie isn't Arnie)

[1HotTraumaMama]

Originally Posted by Hogmaster

Sonia, as much as I would trust you to stitch me up, you can't use dull tools. But you can come over for dinner and drinks anytime. But as much as I would like to, I don't think I can introduce you to Arnie. You see, he is, well... oh nevermind.

Gary, surely I will at least give you a few shots of tequila before I stitch you up. Sorry but, I think I would only see Arnie in my dreams.

[CATCH AND EAT]

Originally Posted by Hogmaster

Sorry, I tried to protect you. You have been outed.

Arnie is Bernie!



(but Bernie isn't Arnie)

Arnie sounds more like Barney. Therefore I think you have me confused with Freespool. He looks more like a repo guy with a ponytail. Barney and Arnie are closer in pronunciation also. Arnie and Bernie, not so much. And then there is the spelling part of it. Drop the B from Barney and you automatically have Arney. If you switch the Y and put it before the E you would have Arnye. Y acts as I.......... oh never mind. Way complicated for a guy that writes about a repo man. Next thing you know he will be writing about mortgage lenders and the adventure of finding financing.

[Hogmaster]

The truth is Arnie is many many people. Who else but Bernie would release ants at a picnic after all?

But the suggestion that a story could be written about the adventures of mortgage financing is an interesting challenge.

Hmmmm...

I wonder who I could model that character after?

Actually, last time I talked to Arnie, he said he wanted to share an adventure regarding a repo being done soon at a certain collison center repair facility. Up to date on all your payments? Perhaps a little late on the copier? Or the frame straightener?