The Midnight Plan of the Repo Man by W. Bruce Cameron

some bad paper from Jimmy Growe.”
    Milton glanced up sharply. “Who told you about that?”
    â€œJimmy.”
    â€œAh.” Milton took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as if looking at me over the top of the lenses was tiring him out. “Yeah, that’s right. I guess he spent the money already.”
    â€œHe bought a motorcycle with some of it. I told him to sell it.”
    â€œGood, good. I don’t want the damn thing.”
    â€œWhat’s the deal with the checks, though? Jimmy said he didn’t know where they came from.”
    â€œThat’s right. Bank is up in Traverse. They won’t tell me the name on the account, and they’re those starter checks.”
    â€œWhy’d you cash them?”
    â€œI know, I should have thought it through better. I knew Jimmy wouldn’t be up to anything, is all. And I figured, why would someone send him the money, if it wasn’t legitimate?”
    â€œWant me to look into it for you?”
    Milt shrugged. “I don’t know what good it would do. No law broken, Jimmy never did anything to earn the money. I just should never have cashed them.”
    â€œI’ll be up near Traverse anyway, tracing this Mustang. Something’s not right, Milt. I mean, you know Jimmy. Sending him those checks was a deliberate way to get him into trouble. Maybe I can recover something from that end for you.”
    Milt grunted. “Sure, look into it. I took ten points; you can have all of it if you can recover my five grand. Last time he owed me money it took something like eight years for him to pay me back.”
    I nodded, understanding. Milt was fine with paying me, but if I couldn’t track down somebody to make good on the debt in Traverse City, I would be collecting from Jimmy.
    I exhaled. I hated this next subject. “So, Milt. I’m wondering if I could have an advance on some of the work I’m doing? We’re a little short with our suppliers down at the Bear.”
    Milt loans money for a living, so the look he gave me was all business. “How’s it looking with Albert Einstein?” he asked.
    â€œI touched the collateral yesterday.” I told him about the goose named Doris, and both Kermit and Milton howled at the picture of me being run off by poultry, leading me to conclude that neither one of them had been clubbed with goose wings before.
    â€œYa know, if the goose really attacked you, they should euphemize it,” Kermit advised.
    â€œEuphemize? You mean, call it ‘Christmas Dinner’ or something?” I smiled.
    Kermit frowned. “No, I meant put it to sleep.”
    I decided it wasn’t worth trying to explain. I was watching Milt pull out his big checkbook and scrawl in it. He handed me more than I was expecting: $750. “There’s advance on Einstein—I know you’ll get him if you’ve seen the truck—plus the fee on Jimmy. I figure with you babysitting him I’ll get paid one way or another.” Milt wagged his finger. “One percent of the balance per month on Jimmy, my interest rate on that.”
    I nodded. Twelve percent per year, better than the credit cards. Milt lends money but he’s not the Mafia.
    â€œAnd hey, would you mind taking Kermit along with you now? You’re headed up to Traverse, right?”
    â€œOnly if he brings a dictionary.”
    Milton laughed. “He does have a hell of a vocabulary, doesn’t he?”
    Kermit and I stood. On his feet, he appeared to be no more than five foot six; next to him I felt like a giant. In high school he would have played center—all of his weight down low like that. In college he would have sat in the stands along with everyone else his size.
    I turned at the door. “Hey, catch up with you in a minute, Kermit.” Once he had passed outside I came back into the room. “Milton, can I ask you something?”
    He nodded carefully.
    I jammed my hands in my