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<blockquote data-quote="Piratecat" data-source="post: 5869379" data-attributes="member: 2"><p><span style="font-size: 15px"><strong>Repo the Seal</strong></span></p><p><em>Round 2, Match 1: <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/5867743-post326.html" target="_blank">phoamslinger vs. Piratecat vs. UselessTriviaMan</a></em></p><p></p><p></p><p>I'd had it up to here with the squonking. I kinda lost it. "No, there's no water. Does it look like there's any water? We're in the middle of the friggin' Mojave!" I think I was spitting. "That's a cactus, moron. This is a yucca. You don't see these in Antarctica. There's no water here. So shut. The hell. Up." I punctuated each period by poking him with my finger. He didn't care. He just looked up at me with these black, adorable blobby eyes.</p><p></p><p>But obediently the little bastard rolled over, <a href="http://www.sitka.org/includes/media/images/White-Seal-from-Tava-Island-Don-Kluting-2nd-Place.jpg" target="_blank">squirmed off the rock</a> and happily flippered around in the sand. He squonked at me. I was ready to squonk him up his squonkhole, but the first rule of the repo man is to never damage the merchandise. That's also why I wasn't sitting on the stone head. That was something I really didn't want to hurt.</p><p></p><p>We'd gotten both the head and the seal out of the hot van. The head Sheila covered with flowers and made a little Indian headdress out of, tried to make it feel at home, maybe? The seal we let loose to roam around and graze. I think that seals graze. Who the hell knows? </p><p></p><p>Jimmy Bagatelli turned his head towards me. "Tony, I'm pretty sure the Antarctic is down south. You gotta mean the Arctic. Seals is from the Arctic. Like Canada." He spoke slowly, kinda like he had sunstroke, but Jimmy always spoke like that.</p><p></p><p>I turned on him, probably with a sneer. "Thank you, Mrs. Carmen Sandiego. You're fulla crap. Canada ain't the Arctic."</p><p></p><p>He stood up and clenched a big fist, but I just looked at him. Embarrassed, he sat back down. I could smell him from here. That sun was hot, and he smelled like stale beer and warm seal. "No, man, it is. I saw it on TV."</p><p></p><p>Sheila frowned. Her makeup was running and she was outta coke and she kinda looked like a sunburnt raccoon. That pale skin never does well in the desert sun. "Like Tonto, Jimmy? That's in Canada. They got seals in Tonto?" I didn't bother to correct her. </p><p></p><p>Jimmy thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, I think so. The Tonto Seals, that's a hockey team. Or maybe Montreal? It's cold there, right? That could be the Arctic."</p><p></p><p>"Nope." Sheila shook her head, and her long dirty hair fell back into her eyes. "That would make him French. Does he sound French to you?" Sheila rubbed its back and the baby seal squonked. It slapped the stone head with one of its flippers and flopped over in the flowers. </p><p></p><p>"He kinda does," said Jimmy.</p><p></p><p>"No he don't, moron." Sheila gave him the stinkeye. "Jimmy, you don't know crap about accents."</p><p></p><p>It was too much for me. "How the hell can either of you tell? It's a friggin' seal!"</p><p></p><p>"You can tell," said Jimmy. "You can always tell." He always tried to sound smarter than he was.</p><p></p><p>Sheila sniffled and then frowned again. She didn't smile much nowadays. I missed it. "I bet seals are from Calgary."</p><p></p><p>Even I knew better than that. "Calgary? They got that stampede thing there. Some kind of rodeo."</p><p></p><p>Jimmy squinted his eyes as he tried to think. "Is it a seal rodeo? That'd make sense. People ride seals, right? I think I saw that on YouTube."</p><p></p><p>Sheila rubbed her nose, sniffing a little. "You're thinking of walruses, dumbass."</p><p></p><p>"No I'm not. And don't call me a dumbass." Jimmy glared at her. "I'll show <em>you</em> a walrus."</p><p></p><p>She snorted knowingly. "Only if they come in mini-size." And then the two of them were at it once again, fingers poking chests and voices screaming in each others' faces, and the sun beat down on us. Buzzards circled, insects buzzed, and the Indian head just stared at me accusingly. Dust coated my skin. Our van *pinged* a little as the dead motor cooled. The baby seal rooted around near the cactus while we waited, and from far away I heard the sound of a car. Police? Maybe they were looking for us, but that damn musician was going to find us first.</p><p></p><p>We should never have tried to repo the seal.</p><p></p><p>We were so screwed.</p><p></p><p>-- o -- </p><p> </p><p>Yesterday morning had been Sunday, so I'd been to church. A lotta people in my profession don't go to church in Vegas, they're too busy working, but I try to make an exception. My ma raised me religious. I may be a repo guy nowadays, taking away crap that gambling scumbags bought and don't wanna pay for, but that don't mean I ain't got God in my heart. I'll throatpunch anyone who says otherwise. Jimmy and me'd already had a busy morning, getting up at 6am to grab a bright yellow Hummer while the douchebag owner was buying coffee at Taco Feliz. We'd floored it down South Tropicana while the guy ran out, dropped his coffee and fumbled for his cell phone. Way too slow. Jimmy was driving the Hummer, doing all the dirty work. He's younger than I am, and stupider, and stronger, and he likes the excitement. Sheila's with Jimmy most of the time, and she handles our paperwork and all the stealthy work. Just the three of us at Tony's Repo and Repair, and makin' a decent living if you judge by the amount of empty takeout boxes scattered around the office or the amount of cocaine Sheila snorts. </p><p></p><p>Jimmy loves this life. Sheila loves blow and Jimmy in that order. And me, I'm starting to look for the big score to get the hell out. You can only repossess cars for so long before someone puts a slug in you. And with respect to Jimmy and Sheila, I ain't exactly palling around with a high class of people at work. They're skeezebags. So am I. I just happen to know it. </p><p></p><p>So there I am at church. It's real fancy for a casino church, you know? They named the casino "Cloud Nine" and their ads say, "Don't gamble on Heaven, gamble IN Heaven!" or somethin' like that, and it worked. They got angels in bikinis lowered down from the ceiling, and hymns in the bathrooms, and religion-themed slot machines, and a nightclub named "Perdition," and they're raking in money hand over friggin' fist. Their chapel is great. The organist learned from Liberace. They got statuary from Rome, icons from some church in Russia that ain't even Catholic but who cares, right? They got a freakin' wall of candles you can light to honor dead folks, and they got really hot nuns. </p><p></p><p>Right after services I was sitting in front of one of those, and staring at the other.</p><p></p><p>Sister Katie isn't what you'd call a real nun, but how would you tell? She's a showgirl from Muncie who would make you want to convert pretty damn quick. We used to have a thing going back when she first came into town, at least on my part. I still have a thing for her. The casino puts her in this stripper-themed nun's habit, and gave her a jeweled wimple that makes her look like a piece of art, so <em>yowsa.</em> I saw her standing back there behind the white roses and candelabras, <a href="http://www.isep.org/students/photo_essays/photoessayfiles/2010-almaguer1.jpg" target="_blank">her face barely visible</a>, but I knew she was looking at me. I could feel her eyes on me. I may have preened a little, but it's hard to look sexy when you're saying prayers for the soul of the ex-partner who you think someone whacked.</p><p></p><p>When I stood up, Sister Katie came on over, click click click. Her heels echoed on the marble and the rhinestones on her wimple really picked up the candle flames. No wonder this church always brings in the tourists. "Tony," she whispered, "we gotta talk." </p><p></p><p>I grinned at her. "Honey, you're a nun now. That's kinda dirty."</p><p></p><p>"Not that kind of talk, silly. They call it 'none' for a reason." She punched my arm just hard enough to get my attention. "C'mon." A fat guy in a flowered shirt left the confessional and we both slipped past him into the small dark chamber. Same side. It was sorta awkward.</p><p></p><p>"Father," said Sister Katie, "this here's Tony the repo guy. The guy I told you about." I could see her wink. She was warm on my lap.</p><p></p><p>A shadow moved on the other side of the screen. Katie gave me a quick peck on the cheek and slipped back out of the confessional. It was just me and the priest now. Well, and the small slot machine built into the confessional, but that hardly counts. </p><p></p><p>"Father?" I probably sounded confused.</p><p></p><p>"My son," said the priest, and you could tell he was one of them Native Americans. He also sounded pissed off at someone. "I've got a special job for you."</p><p></p><p>-- o --</p><p></p><p>I got confused when the security cameras turned off. We was watching them, and all at once their little red lights faded away. The power to the walled estate was still on, so someone in building security must have flipped 'em off on purpose. Interesting. The reason became clear about thirty seconds later when a white panel van turned the corner, pulled up to the wrought iron gates, and the gates slowly swung open. </p><p></p><p>"A delivery at 1am?" asked Sheila.</p><p></p><p>"They got something they don't want no one else to see," said Jimmy. He swigged his beer and smiled, feeling smart.</p><p></p><p>"Never complain about good luck," I said, "C'mon. Jimmy, you be ready." Jimmy can't sneak worth a damn. Sheila and me slipped out the van and down the street and ever so carefully through the mansion's gates before they swung shut again. You always turn off the dome light in your surveillance vehicle. It makes getting in and out of cars without being spotted much easier.</p><p></p><p>We was wearing black. A good repo guy always wears a lot of black. Here in Vegas it makes you look badass, and it's friggin' superb for sneaking onto the estates of rich jackholes in the middle of the night. I'm not saying this was how I'd handle a normal repo job, but this one was special. I kept thinking about our contract.</p><p></p><p>"Fifty thousand dollars," the casino priest had told me. "And a bonus if there's no damage. Las Vegas performers always think they're above the law. In this case, he stole the head off the statue of an old First Nations shaman. One of my ancestors. An important man."</p><p></p><p>"First Nations?" I'd asked. "Like Africa?" Inside, I was still gulping about the money. This was my payday.</p><p></p><p>"No," said the priest. He sounded annoyed. "Like Native Americans. Indians. It's a little bit like someone stealing the head off your Lincoln Memorial. The problem is that our musician friend here has a fantastic reputation, and a lot of mobster associates, and my tribe has no proof. So we're hiring you to go in and steal it back."</p><p></p><p>"From who?" I asked. He told me. I may have gone a little pale. I ain't gonna tell you, but I'll say this: no audience members were gonna throw their panties at me if I got caught. This fat bastard was famous but mobbed up beyond belief. He had a reputation as a great performer and a sadistic, selfish son of a bitch. But fifty grand is fifty grand, am I right?</p><p></p><p>So there I was on his estate, in the shadows with Sheila clinging to me, and the sonnavabitch himself comes out of the mansion to meet the van.</p><p></p><p>"Do you have it?" He sounded eager, and his voice carried. Must be all that singing. He's old but I couldn't see many wrinkles on his face. Then again, the lighting was bad and they say he's had work done.</p><p></p><p>"Yessir," said the driver. "One baby seal from the San Diego Aquarium, smuggled out this morning." He was young and sounded scared.</p><p></p><p>The musician giggled. I know you don't believe me, but I swear he did. "Here's your money, young man." I heard the crackling of new bills, and then a muffled "squonk" from the covered cage. He whipped off the cover. I'm not exactly sentimental, but even I had to admit that white seal was pretty damn cute. Beside me I felt Sheila sigh. </p><p></p><p>The old guy spoke. "Perfect. Perfect!" He turned, carrying the seal cage with difficulty. He finally figured out it rolled. That made it easier for him to move.</p><p></p><p>"Sir?" The driver had gotten his courage up. "What are you going to do with it? Is it for your private zoo?"</p><p></p><p>The old guy turned. "Not at all, young man." He smiled that famous gigawatt smile that had opened a thousand legs. "I'm going to eat it."</p><p></p><p>I think we all gaped. The driver said, "Wha-what?"</p><p></p><p>"I'm going to eat it. My chef - and he is a very good chef indeed, flown here from Paris after I bought out his restaurant - is going to cook it for me with shallots and a white wine reduction. I eat all sorts of animals, young man. I have eaten mountain gorilla, rhinoceros, giant squid, bald eagle, dolphin, and - on one very memorable occasion in China - giant panda." He was ticking them off on his fingers, smiling, lost in thought. "It was a little fatty, honestly, but better than that place in New Guinea." He refocused. "And now I'm going to eat baby seal. If you want to stay employed and alive, you will now take that large sum of money and drive very far away indeed."</p><p></p><p>The driver went. The seal squonked plaintively. Mr. Entertainment went up the stairs rolling the cage, step-THUMP-squonk-step-THUMP-squonk. And Sheila and me stood alone in the hot summer darkness. </p><p></p><p>"Tony." Sheila's voice was loud in my ear. Her breath was sour. "We gotta save that seal."</p><p></p><p>I gave her a look, not that she could see it in the dark. "You crazy? We're here after an Indian head. C'mon." She came, but I could feel her seething. It took us ten minutes to find the statue's head, stuck on a pillar back by the pool with a baseball cap on top. Sheila hadn't said a thing this whole time. She helped after I friggin' ruptured myself picking it up. We staggered back around through shadow to the front of the house and I put it down by the gate controls. Looks like they'd forgotten to turn the cameras back on. Even better. Then Sheila spoke up.</p><p></p><p>"We're goin' in for the baby seal."</p><p></p><p>"No we ain't."</p><p></p><p>"Yes we is, Tony, or I'm blowing this whole deal."</p><p></p><p>I looked at her. "You wouldn't." But I know her face. She surely would. She'd scream, we'd have to run, fifty grand out the window, and that would be bye-bye to my dream. She was looking at my face, too. She knew she had me beat.</p><p></p><p>"Tony, you're gonna have to repo that seal. Just think of it this way. What are you getting for this job, five grand?"</p><p></p><p>"Right," I said. "Maybe a little bonus." What she don't know won't hurt her.</p><p></p><p>"I bet the zoo'll pay double that to get the little guy back."</p><p></p><p>She was right. So I took a few precautions and in we went. The house was quiet and dark and I'm still not sure when we tripped the silent alarm. We'd hit the kitchens by then, big as a hotel kitchen but with nicer gear, and I had the baby seal all covered up and ready to move. "Squonk?" it asked, and I told it to shut up, and we was by the servant's door when all the lights flipped on. </p><p></p><p>"What do we have here?" I'd heard that voice a thousand times on my radio. He stood in a belted bathrobe with a big-ass pistol pointed at me. "Home invaders? Goodness me. And you've got my seal. Once I shoot you, I'll have to hide him until the detectives leave. You're moderately annoying."</p><p></p><p>"This ain't your seal, mister," Sheila was saying, "and you ain't gonna eat him!" Her pupils were dilated. </p><p></p><p>"Oh my dear," he smiled and stepped closer, "you're so very wrong."</p><p></p><p>That's when Sheila started firing. I never even seen her pull out the gun. And it wasn't a gun, it was a friggin' hand cannon, and the old guy with the perfect hair leaped backward as if someone goosed him. Part of the door frame disintegrated. She'd missed, but it was a hell of a miss. She emptied her clip in his direction as I was running down those stairs with the seal, bump-squonk!-bump-squonk!-bump, and then Jimmy was at the gate, and the lights were going on all over the house, and I smacked the gate button and ran for the van. Sheila was right behind me. Jimmy struggled to carry the statue head.</p><p></p><p>"What the hell just happened?" asked Jimmy. </p><p></p><p>"Sheila got us a new mascot," I said, and the baby seal squonked.</p><p></p><p>"Aww, he's adorable!" said Jimmy. "Let's name him Repo." Then someone shot at us from the house, Jimmy was behind the wheel, and we were the hell out of there, tearing down the road and away from the estate.</p><p></p><p>"I knifed a few tires," I said, "but they'll have other cars. We get caught on the cameras as we left?"</p><p></p><p>"Uh huh," said Jimmy, "they got turned back on. Where's the handoff for the head?" </p><p></p><p>"Little shack in the Mojave down 15 West. I'll call." I glanced back. Sheila was crouching beside the head and playing with her seal through the bars of its cage. It looked happy, not that you can really tell.</p><p></p><p>"Five grand," mused Jimmy. "Good money. It'll be worth the risk."</p><p></p><p>"Yup." I kept my mouth shut. They were probably right behind us, and if we got killed Jimmy wouldn't need to know anyway. Then Repo the seal started to squonk, kept squonking, and didn't stop for hours. I think the little jerk gets car sick.</p><p></p><p>We made it past Nipton and into the Mojave at sunrise, jolting down a dirt road as fast as we dared. A big-ass pothole did something very bad to our transmission. No way to move the oven-hot van. No cell service. Two pissed off and exhausted partners. Not enough beer. A hungry seal. An illegal head. The blazing morning sun. And yup, right on schedule, the people who wanted to kill us. </p><p></p><p>-- o --</p><p></p><p>"Who do I have the honor of addressing?" Mr. Entertainment stood there in a tailor-made hunting jacket that had probably cost him three grand. Maybe more; it was monogrammed. He was armed, and so were the three guys with him. It's easy to find goons in Vegas. The hard part is paying them enough to stay loyal.</p><p></p><p>"Tommy's gonna kick your ass!" said Sheila, and I coulda shot her myself. I'd have used her gun for it, too, only she was outta ammo.</p><p></p><p>"I hardly think so. You have some property of mine, I think. I'd hate to have to cancel my dinner plans."</p><p></p><p>"Squonk!"</p><p></p><p>"Just so, my dear dinner, just so. Tommy, this is how it will go. If you hand over the seal right now, with no fuss, I am going to shoot you in the knee and leave you here. Your employees can get you back to a hospital before you bleed to death. If you do not hand over my seal, we will shoot all three of you and leave you here to rot. What's your preference?" He smiled warmly, like he was talking to Jay Leno.</p><p></p><p>Jimmy put a big hand on Repo's back, gently lifted the little flippery blob of fat, hugged him, patted him lovingly. "If we give you Repo and you shoot Tommy, do we get to keep the Indian head?"</p><p></p><p>"The what?" the old guy asked, and then Sheila stepped to the side and he saw the head on the ground. With the plants around it the head <a href="http://uploads.arcanepalette.com/2009/08/arcanepalette_random-objects-002.jpg" target="_blank">almost looked like a warrior come back to life</a>, feathered headdress and everything, and it looked pissed. But not as pissed as the old guy. "My statue!" Now his cultured accent shifted a bit and you could hear the old Virginia in his voice. "You jackasses, I stole that trophy fair and square." He took two steps toward it, angry as hell.</p><p></p><p>That's when Jimmy hit him with the seal. </p><p></p><p>He didn't exactly use Repo as a club, although that would have been pretty funny. Instead he threw him, catching the old guy in the middle of the chest with a very surprised "Squonk!" and knocking him down. Then Jimmy and Sheila were in between the goons and it was all fists, kicks, and crotches. I may have gotten a few in myself. It couldn't have been more than 20 seconds before I was putting a final boot in, there were three moaning goons on the ground, and Mr. Entertainment was lying there looking surprised and covered in seal crap. Jimmy reached down to pick up Repo. </p><p></p><p>"Jimmy!" I said. "First rule of the repo man?"</p><p></p><p>"Aww, he's fine," said Jimmy. Repo bit him a little. "No harm done." Sheila rushed over to check on the seal as well, and Jimmy and Sheila locked eyes. They both had huge smiles. For today, at least, they were back in love.</p><p></p><p>I knelt down on the old guy's neck. "Here's how it's gonna go," I said. "We're takin' your Jeep, and we're takin' your wallet, and we're takin' your stone head, and we're takin' your seal. We're leaving you your reputation and your life. You think that's a fair bargain?" He nodded desperately. Bullies. They always break when they're cornered. </p><p></p><p>I turned and took a good look around. <a href="http://cdn-www.trails.com/imagecache/articles/295x195/places-winter-camping-southern-california-295x195.png" target="_blank">Pretty damn desolate.</a> I figured I'd call someone to go get them once I had a cell signal. "You're a jackhole," I advised. "Quit stealin' stuff and stick to singing."</p><p></p><p>"I'm going to find you," he said as we walked away to his Jeep. Sheila carried the little squonker, and Jimmy staggered under the weight of the stone head. "I will!" </p><p></p><p>I turned. "Mister, you sing for a living. We take away the things that other people love. My advice? Don't mess with a repo guy." And then we left.</p><p></p><p>Repo ended up returned to the zoo, and we got paid for the Indian head. I split it fair and square then blew part of my share on a vacation with Sister Katie. I'm still looking for my big break, but you gotta do what's right, you know? For instance, this thing you're reading? I'm gonna post this on the internet.</p><p></p><p>I may have lied a bit about leaving him his reputation. What the hell.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Piratecat, post: 5869379, member: 2"] [size=4][b]Repo the Seal[/b][/size] [i]Round 2, Match 1: [url=http://www.enworld.org/forum/5867743-post326.html]phoamslinger vs. Piratecat vs. UselessTriviaMan[/url][/i] I'd had it up to here with the squonking. I kinda lost it. "No, there's no water. Does it look like there's any water? We're in the middle of the friggin' Mojave!" I think I was spitting. "That's a cactus, moron. This is a yucca. You don't see these in Antarctica. There's no water here. So shut. The hell. Up." I punctuated each period by poking him with my finger. He didn't care. He just looked up at me with these black, adorable blobby eyes. But obediently the little bastard rolled over, [url= http://www.sitka.org/includes/media/images/White-Seal-from-Tava-Island-Don-Kluting-2nd-Place.jpg]squirmed off the rock[/url] and happily flippered around in the sand. He squonked at me. I was ready to squonk him up his squonkhole, but the first rule of the repo man is to never damage the merchandise. That's also why I wasn't sitting on the stone head. That was something I really didn't want to hurt. We'd gotten both the head and the seal out of the hot van. The head Sheila covered with flowers and made a little Indian headdress out of, tried to make it feel at home, maybe? The seal we let loose to roam around and graze. I think that seals graze. Who the hell knows? Jimmy Bagatelli turned his head towards me. "Tony, I'm pretty sure the Antarctic is down south. You gotta mean the Arctic. Seals is from the Arctic. Like Canada." He spoke slowly, kinda like he had sunstroke, but Jimmy always spoke like that. I turned on him, probably with a sneer. "Thank you, Mrs. Carmen Sandiego. You're fulla crap. Canada ain't the Arctic." He stood up and clenched a big fist, but I just looked at him. Embarrassed, he sat back down. I could smell him from here. That sun was hot, and he smelled like stale beer and warm seal. "No, man, it is. I saw it on TV." Sheila frowned. Her makeup was running and she was outta coke and she kinda looked like a sunburnt raccoon. That pale skin never does well in the desert sun. "Like Tonto, Jimmy? That's in Canada. They got seals in Tonto?" I didn't bother to correct her. Jimmy thought about it for a minute. "Yeah, I think so. The Tonto Seals, that's a hockey team. Or maybe Montreal? It's cold there, right? That could be the Arctic." "Nope." Sheila shook her head, and her long dirty hair fell back into her eyes. "That would make him French. Does he sound French to you?" Sheila rubbed its back and the baby seal squonked. It slapped the stone head with one of its flippers and flopped over in the flowers. "He kinda does," said Jimmy. "No he don't, moron." Sheila gave him the stinkeye. "Jimmy, you don't know crap about accents." It was too much for me. "How the hell can either of you tell? It's a friggin' seal!" "You can tell," said Jimmy. "You can always tell." He always tried to sound smarter than he was. Sheila sniffled and then frowned again. She didn't smile much nowadays. I missed it. "I bet seals are from Calgary." Even I knew better than that. "Calgary? They got that stampede thing there. Some kind of rodeo." Jimmy squinted his eyes as he tried to think. "Is it a seal rodeo? That'd make sense. People ride seals, right? I think I saw that on YouTube." Sheila rubbed her nose, sniffing a little. "You're thinking of walruses, dumbass." "No I'm not. And don't call me a dumbass." Jimmy glared at her. "I'll show [i]you[/i] a walrus." She snorted knowingly. "Only if they come in mini-size." And then the two of them were at it once again, fingers poking chests and voices screaming in each others' faces, and the sun beat down on us. Buzzards circled, insects buzzed, and the Indian head just stared at me accusingly. Dust coated my skin. Our van *pinged* a little as the dead motor cooled. The baby seal rooted around near the cactus while we waited, and from far away I heard the sound of a car. Police? Maybe they were looking for us, but that damn musician was going to find us first. We should never have tried to repo the seal. We were so screwed. -- o -- Yesterday morning had been Sunday, so I'd been to church. A lotta people in my profession don't go to church in Vegas, they're too busy working, but I try to make an exception. My ma raised me religious. I may be a repo guy nowadays, taking away crap that gambling scumbags bought and don't wanna pay for, but that don't mean I ain't got God in my heart. I'll throatpunch anyone who says otherwise. Jimmy and me'd already had a busy morning, getting up at 6am to grab a bright yellow Hummer while the douchebag owner was buying coffee at Taco Feliz. We'd floored it down South Tropicana while the guy ran out, dropped his coffee and fumbled for his cell phone. Way too slow. Jimmy was driving the Hummer, doing all the dirty work. He's younger than I am, and stupider, and stronger, and he likes the excitement. Sheila's with Jimmy most of the time, and she handles our paperwork and all the stealthy work. Just the three of us at Tony's Repo and Repair, and makin' a decent living if you judge by the amount of empty takeout boxes scattered around the office or the amount of cocaine Sheila snorts. Jimmy loves this life. Sheila loves blow and Jimmy in that order. And me, I'm starting to look for the big score to get the hell out. You can only repossess cars for so long before someone puts a slug in you. And with respect to Jimmy and Sheila, I ain't exactly palling around with a high class of people at work. They're skeezebags. So am I. I just happen to know it. So there I am at church. It's real fancy for a casino church, you know? They named the casino "Cloud Nine" and their ads say, "Don't gamble on Heaven, gamble IN Heaven!" or somethin' like that, and it worked. They got angels in bikinis lowered down from the ceiling, and hymns in the bathrooms, and religion-themed slot machines, and a nightclub named "Perdition," and they're raking in money hand over friggin' fist. Their chapel is great. The organist learned from Liberace. They got statuary from Rome, icons from some church in Russia that ain't even Catholic but who cares, right? They got a freakin' wall of candles you can light to honor dead folks, and they got really hot nuns. Right after services I was sitting in front of one of those, and staring at the other. Sister Katie isn't what you'd call a real nun, but how would you tell? She's a showgirl from Muncie who would make you want to convert pretty damn quick. We used to have a thing going back when she first came into town, at least on my part. I still have a thing for her. The casino puts her in this stripper-themed nun's habit, and gave her a jeweled wimple that makes her look like a piece of art, so [i]yowsa.[/i] I saw her standing back there behind the white roses and candelabras, [url= http://www.isep.org/students/photo_essays/photoessayfiles/2010-almaguer1.jpg]her face barely visible[/url], but I knew she was looking at me. I could feel her eyes on me. I may have preened a little, but it's hard to look sexy when you're saying prayers for the soul of the ex-partner who you think someone whacked. When I stood up, Sister Katie came on over, click click click. Her heels echoed on the marble and the rhinestones on her wimple really picked up the candle flames. No wonder this church always brings in the tourists. "Tony," she whispered, "we gotta talk." I grinned at her. "Honey, you're a nun now. That's kinda dirty." "Not that kind of talk, silly. They call it 'none' for a reason." She punched my arm just hard enough to get my attention. "C'mon." A fat guy in a flowered shirt left the confessional and we both slipped past him into the small dark chamber. Same side. It was sorta awkward. "Father," said Sister Katie, "this here's Tony the repo guy. The guy I told you about." I could see her wink. She was warm on my lap. A shadow moved on the other side of the screen. Katie gave me a quick peck on the cheek and slipped back out of the confessional. It was just me and the priest now. Well, and the small slot machine built into the confessional, but that hardly counts. "Father?" I probably sounded confused. "My son," said the priest, and you could tell he was one of them Native Americans. He also sounded pissed off at someone. "I've got a special job for you." -- o -- I got confused when the security cameras turned off. We was watching them, and all at once their little red lights faded away. The power to the walled estate was still on, so someone in building security must have flipped 'em off on purpose. Interesting. The reason became clear about thirty seconds later when a white panel van turned the corner, pulled up to the wrought iron gates, and the gates slowly swung open. "A delivery at 1am?" asked Sheila. "They got something they don't want no one else to see," said Jimmy. He swigged his beer and smiled, feeling smart. "Never complain about good luck," I said, "C'mon. Jimmy, you be ready." Jimmy can't sneak worth a damn. Sheila and me slipped out the van and down the street and ever so carefully through the mansion's gates before they swung shut again. You always turn off the dome light in your surveillance vehicle. It makes getting in and out of cars without being spotted much easier. We was wearing black. A good repo guy always wears a lot of black. Here in Vegas it makes you look badass, and it's friggin' superb for sneaking onto the estates of rich jackholes in the middle of the night. I'm not saying this was how I'd handle a normal repo job, but this one was special. I kept thinking about our contract. "Fifty thousand dollars," the casino priest had told me. "And a bonus if there's no damage. Las Vegas performers always think they're above the law. In this case, he stole the head off the statue of an old First Nations shaman. One of my ancestors. An important man." "First Nations?" I'd asked. "Like Africa?" Inside, I was still gulping about the money. This was my payday. "No," said the priest. He sounded annoyed. "Like Native Americans. Indians. It's a little bit like someone stealing the head off your Lincoln Memorial. The problem is that our musician friend here has a fantastic reputation, and a lot of mobster associates, and my tribe has no proof. So we're hiring you to go in and steal it back." "From who?" I asked. He told me. I may have gone a little pale. I ain't gonna tell you, but I'll say this: no audience members were gonna throw their panties at me if I got caught. This fat bastard was famous but mobbed up beyond belief. He had a reputation as a great performer and a sadistic, selfish son of a bitch. But fifty grand is fifty grand, am I right? So there I was on his estate, in the shadows with Sheila clinging to me, and the sonnavabitch himself comes out of the mansion to meet the van. "Do you have it?" He sounded eager, and his voice carried. Must be all that singing. He's old but I couldn't see many wrinkles on his face. Then again, the lighting was bad and they say he's had work done. "Yessir," said the driver. "One baby seal from the San Diego Aquarium, smuggled out this morning." He was young and sounded scared. The musician giggled. I know you don't believe me, but I swear he did. "Here's your money, young man." I heard the crackling of new bills, and then a muffled "squonk" from the covered cage. He whipped off the cover. I'm not exactly sentimental, but even I had to admit that white seal was pretty damn cute. Beside me I felt Sheila sigh. The old guy spoke. "Perfect. Perfect!" He turned, carrying the seal cage with difficulty. He finally figured out it rolled. That made it easier for him to move. "Sir?" The driver had gotten his courage up. "What are you going to do with it? Is it for your private zoo?" The old guy turned. "Not at all, young man." He smiled that famous gigawatt smile that had opened a thousand legs. "I'm going to eat it." I think we all gaped. The driver said, "Wha-what?" "I'm going to eat it. My chef - and he is a very good chef indeed, flown here from Paris after I bought out his restaurant - is going to cook it for me with shallots and a white wine reduction. I eat all sorts of animals, young man. I have eaten mountain gorilla, rhinoceros, giant squid, bald eagle, dolphin, and - on one very memorable occasion in China - giant panda." He was ticking them off on his fingers, smiling, lost in thought. "It was a little fatty, honestly, but better than that place in New Guinea." He refocused. "And now I'm going to eat baby seal. If you want to stay employed and alive, you will now take that large sum of money and drive very far away indeed." The driver went. The seal squonked plaintively. Mr. Entertainment went up the stairs rolling the cage, step-THUMP-squonk-step-THUMP-squonk. And Sheila and me stood alone in the hot summer darkness. "Tony." Sheila's voice was loud in my ear. Her breath was sour. "We gotta save that seal." I gave her a look, not that she could see it in the dark. "You crazy? We're here after an Indian head. C'mon." She came, but I could feel her seething. It took us ten minutes to find the statue's head, stuck on a pillar back by the pool with a baseball cap on top. Sheila hadn't said a thing this whole time. She helped after I friggin' ruptured myself picking it up. We staggered back around through shadow to the front of the house and I put it down by the gate controls. Looks like they'd forgotten to turn the cameras back on. Even better. Then Sheila spoke up. "We're goin' in for the baby seal." "No we ain't." "Yes we is, Tony, or I'm blowing this whole deal." I looked at her. "You wouldn't." But I know her face. She surely would. She'd scream, we'd have to run, fifty grand out the window, and that would be bye-bye to my dream. She was looking at my face, too. She knew she had me beat. "Tony, you're gonna have to repo that seal. Just think of it this way. What are you getting for this job, five grand?" "Right," I said. "Maybe a little bonus." What she don't know won't hurt her. "I bet the zoo'll pay double that to get the little guy back." She was right. So I took a few precautions and in we went. The house was quiet and dark and I'm still not sure when we tripped the silent alarm. We'd hit the kitchens by then, big as a hotel kitchen but with nicer gear, and I had the baby seal all covered up and ready to move. "Squonk?" it asked, and I told it to shut up, and we was by the servant's door when all the lights flipped on. "What do we have here?" I'd heard that voice a thousand times on my radio. He stood in a belted bathrobe with a big-ass pistol pointed at me. "Home invaders? Goodness me. And you've got my seal. Once I shoot you, I'll have to hide him until the detectives leave. You're moderately annoying." "This ain't your seal, mister," Sheila was saying, "and you ain't gonna eat him!" Her pupils were dilated. "Oh my dear," he smiled and stepped closer, "you're so very wrong." That's when Sheila started firing. I never even seen her pull out the gun. And it wasn't a gun, it was a friggin' hand cannon, and the old guy with the perfect hair leaped backward as if someone goosed him. Part of the door frame disintegrated. She'd missed, but it was a hell of a miss. She emptied her clip in his direction as I was running down those stairs with the seal, bump-squonk!-bump-squonk!-bump, and then Jimmy was at the gate, and the lights were going on all over the house, and I smacked the gate button and ran for the van. Sheila was right behind me. Jimmy struggled to carry the statue head. "What the hell just happened?" asked Jimmy. "Sheila got us a new mascot," I said, and the baby seal squonked. "Aww, he's adorable!" said Jimmy. "Let's name him Repo." Then someone shot at us from the house, Jimmy was behind the wheel, and we were the hell out of there, tearing down the road and away from the estate. "I knifed a few tires," I said, "but they'll have other cars. We get caught on the cameras as we left?" "Uh huh," said Jimmy, "they got turned back on. Where's the handoff for the head?" "Little shack in the Mojave down 15 West. I'll call." I glanced back. Sheila was crouching beside the head and playing with her seal through the bars of its cage. It looked happy, not that you can really tell. "Five grand," mused Jimmy. "Good money. It'll be worth the risk." "Yup." I kept my mouth shut. They were probably right behind us, and if we got killed Jimmy wouldn't need to know anyway. Then Repo the seal started to squonk, kept squonking, and didn't stop for hours. I think the little jerk gets car sick. We made it past Nipton and into the Mojave at sunrise, jolting down a dirt road as fast as we dared. A big-ass pothole did something very bad to our transmission. No way to move the oven-hot van. No cell service. Two pissed off and exhausted partners. Not enough beer. A hungry seal. An illegal head. The blazing morning sun. And yup, right on schedule, the people who wanted to kill us. -- o -- "Who do I have the honor of addressing?" Mr. Entertainment stood there in a tailor-made hunting jacket that had probably cost him three grand. Maybe more; it was monogrammed. He was armed, and so were the three guys with him. It's easy to find goons in Vegas. The hard part is paying them enough to stay loyal. "Tommy's gonna kick your ass!" said Sheila, and I coulda shot her myself. I'd have used her gun for it, too, only she was outta ammo. "I hardly think so. You have some property of mine, I think. I'd hate to have to cancel my dinner plans." "Squonk!" "Just so, my dear dinner, just so. Tommy, this is how it will go. If you hand over the seal right now, with no fuss, I am going to shoot you in the knee and leave you here. Your employees can get you back to a hospital before you bleed to death. If you do not hand over my seal, we will shoot all three of you and leave you here to rot. What's your preference?" He smiled warmly, like he was talking to Jay Leno. Jimmy put a big hand on Repo's back, gently lifted the little flippery blob of fat, hugged him, patted him lovingly. "If we give you Repo and you shoot Tommy, do we get to keep the Indian head?" "The what?" the old guy asked, and then Sheila stepped to the side and he saw the head on the ground. With the plants around it the head [url= http://uploads.arcanepalette.com/2009/08/arcanepalette_random-objects-002.jpg]almost looked like a warrior come back to life[/url], feathered headdress and everything, and it looked pissed. But not as pissed as the old guy. "My statue!" Now his cultured accent shifted a bit and you could hear the old Virginia in his voice. "You jackasses, I stole that trophy fair and square." He took two steps toward it, angry as hell. That's when Jimmy hit him with the seal. He didn't exactly use Repo as a club, although that would have been pretty funny. Instead he threw him, catching the old guy in the middle of the chest with a very surprised "Squonk!" and knocking him down. Then Jimmy and Sheila were in between the goons and it was all fists, kicks, and crotches. I may have gotten a few in myself. It couldn't have been more than 20 seconds before I was putting a final boot in, there were three moaning goons on the ground, and Mr. Entertainment was lying there looking surprised and covered in seal crap. Jimmy reached down to pick up Repo. "Jimmy!" I said. "First rule of the repo man?" "Aww, he's fine," said Jimmy. Repo bit him a little. "No harm done." Sheila rushed over to check on the seal as well, and Jimmy and Sheila locked eyes. They both had huge smiles. For today, at least, they were back in love. I knelt down on the old guy's neck. "Here's how it's gonna go," I said. "We're takin' your Jeep, and we're takin' your wallet, and we're takin' your stone head, and we're takin' your seal. We're leaving you your reputation and your life. You think that's a fair bargain?" He nodded desperately. Bullies. They always break when they're cornered. I turned and took a good look around. [url= http://cdn-www.trails.com/imagecache/articles/295x195/places-winter-camping-southern-california-295x195.png]Pretty damn desolate.[/url] I figured I'd call someone to go get them once I had a cell signal. "You're a jackhole," I advised. "Quit stealin' stuff and stick to singing." "I'm going to find you," he said as we walked away to his Jeep. Sheila carried the little squonker, and Jimmy staggered under the weight of the stone head. "I will!" I turned. "Mister, you sing for a living. We take away the things that other people love. My advice? Don't mess with a repo guy." And then we left. Repo ended up returned to the zoo, and we got paid for the Indian head. I split it fair and square then blew part of my share on a vacation with Sister Katie. I'm still looking for my big break, but you gotta do what's right, you know? For instance, this thing you're reading? I'm gonna post this on the internet. I may have lied a bit about leaving him his reputation. What the hell. [/QUOTE]
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