Repo Madness by W. Bruce Cameron Read Free Book Online

the guilt to seep into it, but it didn’t happen. Apparently, she had herself convinced of the truth of her words.
    â€œI guess Katie doesn’t see it that way, Marget. And I have to be honest: Neither do I.”
    â€œWell, here’s the way I see it,” she spat in icy fury. “My daughter needs me. When Alan died—”
    â€œWhen Alan was murdered,” I interrupted rudely.
    She gave me a look of utter contempt. “When that happened, I was there for her, and I’ve always been there for her. Then you come along with your lies, an ex-con loser who steals cars from people, and you think you can take her away from me? You think I am going to let you do that? You know nothing about her. You’re no good for her. You’re no good for anybody.”
    *   *   *
    I came up with several pointed, devastating things to say to Katie’s mother once I was back in my truck. The conversation haunted me on the drive back because it peeled back the covers from my own insecurities. I really wasn’t good enough for a woman like Katie, probably, but who would be? And lately, it seemed, I really did know nothing about her—I was having more and more trouble understanding some of the things she was saying. Clearly, I was doing a few things wrong, but I wasn’t sure what .
    I followed a caravan of cars to Kalkaska and hustled into the warmth of the Black Bear, where Jimmy had been standing guard over a mostly empty business. The mourners crammed up to the bar and things flipped pretty quickly into a party. Becky caught my eye and held up two fingers—the Bear would cover two drinks for everyone. I stood behind the bar and made mental note of everyone’s tab.
    I’d like to think Milt would have wanted this: a big gathering, people laughing and talking. In reality, though, I had trouble picturing him anywhere but behind his desk. He hadn’t been in the Black Bear since my sister put in booths and a new kitchen and soft lights. All kinds of people came to the Bear now, not just guys who wanted to argue about snowmobiles or chain saws. Maybe that’s why Milt stayed away—the place had lost its charm.
    â€œHey, Kermit, that was nice, what you said at your uncle’s service,” I told my brother-in-law. He regarded me warily, maybe looking for an insult. “No, I mean it,” I insisted.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYou think Milt would be glad the funeral ended in a party?” I gestured around the room at all the people.
    Kermit gave it some thought, frowning. “I think he would be embracive, yeah.”
    â€œEmbracive.” I nodded. “Okay, sure.”
    â€œHe may not have been the most conversable convivialist, but he would have enjoyed the festivities.”
    â€œI don’t know, Kermit. Sometimes it’s like your words come out of a sausage factory.”
    He blinked. “Sorry?”
    â€œWhen I repo a car, I say, ‘I’m here to repo your car.’ I don’t say, ‘My … My inhabitance on your property is with the cause to, uh, reappropriate the collateral on your defaulted financial instrument.’”
    He was back to eyeing me like I was the schoolyard bully getting ready to beat him up for winning the spelling bee, when I had really been trying to just have a little fun with him. Why did it seem that we were always at odds with each other? I might not have been friendly toward him when he started dating my sister, but that’s because I didn’t think he was good enough for her. And while I still held that view, it had more to do with my love for her than with my opinion of him. That was okay, wasn’t it?
    This was the sort of thing I used to be able to talk to Alan about.
    I switched gears. “Hey, do you know any mediums? Like, local people? I’m thinking it is a lot like those psychics you used to be in business with.”
    â€œMedia?” he pondered, his