On Monday mornings, I send out a story via email: ultra-brief tales of 1,000 words or more, usually in genres including horror, science fiction, and the supernatural. Those stories collectively are called Once Upon A Time. I’ve also published several ebooks and compendium volumes of those stories so far.

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Here's story 182, of 240 so far.

Repo

The house looked like most of the houses that they went to: as if it was the least expensive one that the residents could find to buy.

Sutton found it tough to understand. It was like the teenaged kids who bought a garbage little car, then put ridiculous amounts of money into tarting it up — money that would be much more wisely spent on a better car in the first place. It was bad decision-making.

“What have we got today?” his colleague asked. The other man was called Hammy by everyone, short for Hamilton of course, and he never seemed to smile. Sutton consulted the job sheet.

“Uh, fifteen grand worth of… hi-fi equipment, or something,” he said. “I thought people just listened to music on their phones now.”

Hammy shrugged. People did all sorts of things, and they bought all sorts of things, too. Things they thought they needed, but actually just wanted. So here they were.

“How do you think this one will go?” Hammy asked, and Sutton considered the question.

The residential area was reasonable. Not up-market, of course, but also not one of the bad ones. He’d seen too many of those. Needles in the grass, dog shit on the pavement, graffiti on the street signs, and dealers on the corners. Feral teenagers roaming around with their hoods up, hands in pockets to conceal the knives. He’d had a few close calls in places like that, and he’d have plenty more before his time was up.

This was a better sort of street, though. The lawn was a little overgrown, but obviously taken care of. The windows had curtains, not just blinds. The car sitting in the small driveway was only four years old, and fairly clean. So there would be a confrontation — because there was always a confrontation — but probably not a fight. He doubted very much they’d have to involve the local police, either.

“I think it’ll be smooth enough, after the usual squabbling,” Sutton replied at last, and Hammy gave him a look that said something like I’ll hold you to that if it all goes south.

Sutton double-checked the address, or rather quadruple-checked it, because he’d verified it twice at the office and then again when they drove up. It was the right place. And wouldn’t you know it; there was loud music coming from one of the downstairs rooms at the front.

“Let’s get it done, then,” Sutton said. “I’ll be getting hungry soon.”

The two men got out of their vehicle and Hammy took his stance just beside the open gate of the garden. Sutton went ahead, up the path and to the front door. It was a standard tactic, from long experience. Two visible, but only one at the door. It tended to avoid two kinds of trouble right from the outset. People got jumpy when two men were on their doorstep, but they also got aggressive when only one man could be seen.

Sutton pressed the doorbell, listening to ensure that it did indeed sound within the house. It did, and he took two steps back, also from long experience. The music coming from within abruptly stopped.

Half a minute later, he heard the door unlock, and then it swung slowly open to reveal a woman who looked flustered, irritated, and who had one sleeve rolled up. Sutton read the situation effortlessly.

The guy is inside. They were expecting us. He called the wife through to answer the door. Wife was caught by surprise.

He opened his mouth to introduce himself, but the woman spoke first.

“You’re repo men, aren’t you?” she asked, practically spitting the words, like a little cobra. “You should be bloody ashamed of yourselves. Do your kids know what you do for a living?”

“Do your kids know that you buy stuff on credit and don’t keep up with the payments?” Sutton asked in response, but there was only weariness in his tone. He’d had this duel a thousand times, and would have it a thousand times more. It was just the job.

The woman glared at him, ready to slam the door in his face, and Sutton quickly moved forward to put his foot against it, also placing his palm flat against the painted wooden surface. He stood at least a foot taller than her, and when he leaned in slightly, his frame blocked out the daylight. He was close enough to see her pupils dilate.

“Send your husband out,” he said. “We have a legal right to enter the premises if necessary to enforce this collection warrant.” He pulled a folded sheet of paper from his jacket, opening it to show her. The woman didn’t even glance at it.

He heard footsteps from inside; bigger, heavier, and male. Sutton felt the old familiar adrenalin surge as he stepped back once again, and he made the usual signal — tilting his head to one side, as if trying to get a better view around the edge of the door. Immediately, he heard Hammy walking briskly up the garden path to join him. His colleague had barely reached him when the door was pulled open from within, and a man appeared.

It took Sutton all of about a second to realise that it would be a good start to the day; this guy wasn’t a fighter, or even a shouter. The man looked embarrassed, more than anything, and he shooed his wife or girlfriend back into the house. The woman threw the usual final glare, but Sutton had seen worse from barmaids before they served him. He focused his attention on the man instead.

“I assume you’re who I’m here to see,” he said, and the man nodded, with resignation written all over his face.

“I just got behind on a few payments,” the man said, glancing nervously down at Sutton’s hands, one of which held the warrant, the other being empty. “I’ll catch up. You don’t need to do this.”

“Not personal, mate,” Sutton said. “I don’t have anything against you. This is my job. You’re four months behind, and you failed to respond to repeated attempts to renegotiate payment. Sounds like a nice music system, right enough.”

“So you’re here to repossess,” the man said, looking from Sutton to Hammy and back again. Sutton nodded, his expression sympathetic. Hammy didn’t say or do anything at all.

“Fine,” the man said at last, pushing the door fully open beside him. “Just do it and go away. But I’ll get it back once I catch up, won’t I?”

There was alarm in his eyes now, and Sutton gave him a smile. “Of course. That’s how it works. We’re not monsters.”

The man nodded several times, clearly relieved, up to a point. Sutton gave him a few moments, then reached into his own jacket with his free hand and took out his company-issue phone, with the attachment already inserted into the data port. He pulled up the relevant app and forms, navigating the interface with practised ease. Finally, he held the phone up in front of the man and tapped an on-screen control. The flash was feeble, even in the dull light of the doorway.

Sutton nodded, satisfied, then he rotated the device to landscape orientation, and turned it so that the man could see the screen.

Your ability to hear has been repossessed until your late payments have been settled, it said.

JINX

KESTREL face a new and terrifying enemy: an all-seeing mastermind who already knows exactly who they are, and many of their deepest secrets. Nothing stays hidden forever, and the line between privacy and liberty is razor-thin…

Book 3 in the KESTREL action-thriller series.

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