In a way, Jay Walt fascinated him; it was like the guy was playing a part, the little hotshot in his tinted glasses and leisure suit. Everything was a big deal, but the guy never paid an invoice sooner than ninety days. Ryan figured he was so tight with a buck he must still have his bar mitzvah money. Ryan didn’t know he was being a smart-ass when he thought this; he believed he was being funny. He didn’t own a leisure suit and hadn’t gotten a dime when he made his first communion.

One time Jay Walt took Ryan along to show him how to handle a repossession. With them were two outside men who waited by the U-haul van and would do the lifting once Jay Walt cleared the way. Unbelievable. He walked right in, brushed past the woman in hair curlers who opened the door, and started looking around, hands on his hips, locating the stereo outfit and the color TV, where the little kid was sitting on the floor with a bowl of Spaghetti-Os watching General Hospital. The woman was asking Jay Walt who he was, what he wanted. Jay Walt said, “Honey, all the times we’ve talked on the phone, we’re old friends. Allied Credit Service, Mr. Walt. Yeah, now you remember.”

The husband came out from the kitchen wiping his hands on his T-shirt. Jay Walt didn’t give him a chance.

“What’s this, you’re on your vacation? Taking a holiday? Your wife said you were working.”

“What? I’m working,” the husband said. “Over at Ranco, second shift.” He was anxious, on the defensive in his own home, not even knowing what was going on.

“So how come you haven’t made any payments?”

“For what?”

“For what? The home entertainment center. Hi-fi, speakers, nineteen-inch color TV. You’re four payments behind. I told your wife, I didn’t get it last week, on my desk, attention Mr. Walt, that’s it, you don’t own it anymore.”