Chapter 6
Foster slid into the passenger seat of Cary’s Porsche, freshly showered and dressed. His stomach was a jumble of nerves, yet there was a low hum of excitement lingering under all that emotion. He was out of his depth, but so what? At worst, he’d watch the fun and not participate.
“You clean up nice,” Cary said, lifting a brow and grinning. “But I don’t know why you made that much effort when those clothes are coming off.”
Foster chuckled nervously, one knee bouncing like mad.
Cary eyed him. “Chill, man. It’ll be cool.”
“I’ve never been to something like this.”
“I’m aware.” Cary reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tin. He removed a pill from it and handed it over to Foster. “This’ll help take the edge off.”
“What is it?”
“Legal,” Cary said before backing out.
“Weed?”
Cary nodded.
Foster handed it back. “That shit makes me sleepy.”
“That won’t,” Cary said as he peeled out onto the street. “It’s mild and mixed with vitamins. Chills you out without getting you groggy.” Cary snickered. “And as wired as you look, I doubt the other stuff would put you to sleep, either.”
Foster eyed the pill a moment. He supposed there was no harm in one. He popped it and sat back, staring at the town going by outside the window.
“I get being nervous. I was the first time,” Cary said. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to help you navigate.”
Foster adjusted himself again. He’d had a half hard-on most of the day and felt like a kid on prom night, ready to bust a nut from an accidental swipe of a hand.
How long does it take for this pill to kick in?
Foster turned to eye Cary. “You could tell me about this repo business you’re in to take my mind off things.”
Cary burst out laughing. “If I tell you, you have to swear you’ll keep it to yourself.”
“Who the fuck am I telling, Cary? Hardly anyone talks to me these days but you.”
Cary glanced at him and then back to the road. “I repossess luxury vehicles. Planes, jets, yachts. Not the piddly shit, but the multi-million dollar kind. The stuff overextended capitalist assholes buy and later can’t afford.”
“You mean capitalist assholes like me?” Foster asked, grinning.
“Something like that,” Cary said. He glanced over. “Have you got a boat or plane that you can’t afford?”
“Nope. If I did, Ashley would’ve gotten it in the divorce.”
“Then we’re golden,” Cary said.
Foster thought about that a moment. “One night when I couldn’t sleep, I stumbled over some show about these guys who repo’d cars. That shit looked dangerous as hell—and they were only Kias and Camrys. I can’t imagine what some coked out CEO might do to keep his stuff.”
“It can be dangerous.” Cary’s smile was infectious. “That’s why I like it.”
“Adrenaline junkie, hmm?” Made sense. Foster was overdosing on the shit, and he hadn’t even walked into the party yet.
Cary, on the other hand, looked as cool as a cucumber.
“I’ve had guns pulled on me. I’ve been shot at.” Cary grinned. “I’ve had foreign governments chasing me. Had vicious guard dogs on my tail—canine and human varieties.”
“Why the fuck do you do it?”
“I flunked out of college and didn’t want to go to work for my dad.”
Foster waited a moment, but it didn’t appear Cary was going to add anything else to that statement. “That’s it? You picked danger over daddy?”
“No, I picked anything else over daddy.” Cary grew quiet for a moment. “My dad had a heart attack right after I turned sixteen and he had his Charles Dickens, come to Jesus moment. He’d gotten a second chance and said he was going to be a better father and husband.”
Cary scoffed, shaking his head. “It didn’t last, as I expected, but when during that short span, he convinced me to get my pilot’s license with him.
I didn’t really want to be there with that asshole, but I appreciated it after the fact.
I love flying. When I was kicked out of Yale, he tore into me and said I was getting a job or else.
” Cary waved his fist in the air, mocking the dad speech he’d likely gotten.
“I decided to put that pilot license to good use and become a professional. Did the training and then spent a year as a co-pilot before I was ready to tear my hair out. I’d had delusions of grandeur.
Visions of partying on the Eiffel Tower and fucking my way across Europe in between flights.
The four dailys between here and Cleveland wasn’t that. ”
Foster groaned. “No, I suspect not.”
“A snowstorm grounded us that winter and landed me in an airport bar beside an old guy who had a tale to tell. He said he’d been repoing planes and boats for nearly forty years and told me some wild shit.
I thought he was full of it, but then he showed me some photos that looked pretty legit.
He invited me to come with him on his next job.
” Cary grinned. “I took him up on it and after that one job, I suddenly knew what I was doing with the next twenty or thirty years of my life, which is exactly what he’d been hoping for.
He wanted to retire, so he took me under his wing for about a year, showed me the ropes, and then let me buy out his business. And that was that.”
“Is it a one-man thing?”
“I have someone who communicates with clients when I’m out in the field and also assists me in locating targets. We sometimes have to comb through aviation or port of call records, which can be tedious as fuck, especially if someone’s paid to cover their tracks in another country.”
“If they pay to cover it up, why not pay their bills?” Foster asked.
“Doesn’t take much to bribe someone in some of the poorer countries.
A whole lot less than you might owe the bank.
” Cary shrugged. “For a few, the failure to pay almost seems compulsive. It’s an adrenaline rush for them.
Like, these fuckers have the money, they just don’t want to pay for their toys and want to see how far they can push it.
I’ve caught up with a few who’ve thrown big rolls of cash at me, trying to get me to leave.
I then have to explain that it’s too late.
You don’t own it anymore, buddy. The bank does. ”
“That’s wild.” Foster couldn’t see himself doing that kind of work. It was incredibly dangerous from the sounds of it. “I get not wanting to be stuck between here and Cleveland, but shots fired? You could die, dude. One dumbass and it’s over.”
“The really dangerous jobs aren’t an everyday occurrence.
Most are pretty standard. Slide in, drive or fly it back to the client.
It’s a minimal amount of adrenaline. Sometimes I can even convince the owner to hand it over if I let them pretend they’re selling it to me.
Avoids a little embarrassment and lets them save face.
But it’s those wild ones that really get my juices flowing, though. ”
“Wildest one?”
Cary thought about that for a minute. “I found a fifteen-foot anaconda inside one of the boats.”
“What?”
“I’d staked out this smaller yacht for a couple of days and saw an opportunity to grab it, so I did.
I was in a rush. I didn’t check the boat for passengers before I took it.
Once I was safely away from port I stopped to do a quick tour and make sure I hadn’t abducted anyone.
” Cary grinned. “I heard a noise behind a door and freaked. I peeked in and nearly lost my shit. It lunged for me. I slammed the door and prayed the whole time that it couldn’t get out.
I was never so happy to be back on dry land. ”
“I bet,” Foster murmured.
“I later found out his wife had demanded he take the snake to a sanctuary—it had gotten a lot bigger than he’d told her it would. He wasn’t ready to give up his baby, so he decided the boat was the perfect place to store her until he could figure something out.”
“What happened to her?”
“I called in some snake wranglers. She ended up at a sanctuary after all.”
“Wow.”
“I know it sounds ridiculous and dangerous… but…” Cary said. His gaze whipped to Foster before he turned back to the road. “I’m my own boss. I work when I want to. And the money’s good.”
“How good?”
“I charge a straight fee for the service itself. Two thousand, in most cases. Then I clean up and auction off whatever I recover. I get a cut from the sale. I’ve made as little as twenty grand to as much as three million for two to three weeks’ worth of work. And most of what I do is legal.”
“What do you mean… most?”
“The defaulters sometimes take their goodies to countries outside the US where the repo laws can be a bit… murky. Sometimes I skirt around the rules here or there to get access and then get the fuck out and back home as soon as possible.”
“Which is why you have whole ass countries chasing after you?”
“I’m no longer allowed to step foot in Bolivia. Venezuela is a bit of a gray area,” Cary replied. “I might get locked up if I returned, but it’s unclear.”
Foster sat back in the seat, shaking his head. “Who thought our skinny, nerdy little team manager would turn into the big, wild-assed dude sitting beside me. You’re living life like it’s a Fast and Furious movie. I’m the boring one now.”
“Not boring. You just made questionable choices,” Cary said. “Now you’re free of the worst poor choice and can be who you were meant to be all along.”
“And just who is that?”
“I don’t know. That’s for you to figure out,” Cary replied.
Jude eyed Anton as they sat across from one another on the Q.
He couldn’t remember the last time Anton looked so nervous.
One leg was motoring, bouncing like mad.
He kept staring around, his expressions vaulting from casing the joint to a junkie looking for his next hit.
Thank heavens no one was sitting too close to them because he’d probably freak them out.
“What’s up with tonight?”
Anton searched around them again before leveling his gaze at Jude. “Just a bit of fun.”
Jude eyed him. “Nah. There’s something up with you.”
“Nothing up with me.”
Jude raised a brow. “Don’t lie to me.”