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large ears.
    Roberta and Riley could eavesdrop on the conversation as they pulled up to the curb, right behind Cavanaugh’s old Ford which would soon be driven away by R3 Recovery.
    “Maddie, c’mon, baby! One date, whaddya got to lose, huh?” Cavanaugh said, throwing his arms out. One hand held some withered flowers that had clearly been bought at the gas station.
    The old woman was clearly unmoved, her arms now folded beneath an improbably large diamond necklace that seemed likely to snap the scrawny retiree’s neck at any moment.
    “Never, Joseph Cavanaugh! I will never! Get off my porch, or I will call the police on you again, and this time I’ll ask them to beat you! Hard!” She hopped a fraction of an inch off the floor with her last word.
    “Should we…” Roberta began.
    “Stop them? Hell no, this is going to be great. When was the last time you saw anything like this?” Riley said, grinning, and then felt a little bad as she was about to repossess this lovelorn geriatric’s wheels. Riley again, as she often did, seemed to read her elder sister’s mind.
    “Oh, no! Hell, no! We are doing this. There’s no room for soft hearts in the repo business, just like there isn’t in the bail jumping business,” Riley preempted.
    “But just look at the poor guy, his suit is a wreck, we’ve seen his house, and he’s lost his girl, if he ever had her. While it’s a great blues song, it’s pretty miserable in real life. We gotta let him go, we can’t do it. It’s not even worth anything to us really,” she replied, glumly.
    “I know, Sis. I understand, but Ricki would have a fit, and we need the money. If we don’t do the repo, someone else will, and they probably won’t be as kind about it as you will,” Riley said, putting her arm round Roberta’s shoulder.
    “We have to keep our focus here. We have to look after our business, even if it sucks to make it work. It’d kill Ricki to lose it. You’d be ok, you’re tough. But she’s put everything into R3. We gotta do it for her, OK?” Roberta smiled at Riley’s words, but it was weak.
    “Alright, I’ll do it. Let’s get it over with.”
    Joseph Cavanaugh was so embarrassed when Riley presented him with a receipt for his car, he got into the passenger side of his own vehicle without complaint, handing the keys to Riley. Roberta knew that Riley was heartbroken for him. She was about to return to her pickup truck, having gotten out to back up Riley more out of habit than any fear that Riley would be under any danger of attack from Cavanaugh, when a thin, shrill voice came from behind her.
    “Hey, are you the police? Is he a criminal? I bet he is a criminal, the dirty mick swine!”
    Roberta turned. It was the old woman. She decided to ignore the anti-Irish sentiment, and no doubt the further implication of a wider racist mindset.
    “No ma’am, we’re just repossessing the car. Is he a friend of yours?”
    “Pah!” she said as flecks of spittle were sent flying from the corners of her mouth. “That wimp is no friend of mine, my name is Miss Madeline Frome, of the Frome family, and we come from old money. He has none, and has delusions that I would marry him! The cheek! Who are you, then? Company, then personal names, please.” Madeline Frome stood in her haughty cross armed pose again. Roberta had never heard of the Frome family in her life, but judging by the evident former grandeur of the home of Miss Frome, they had once been quite powerful.
    “We’re from R3 Recovery, downtown Savannah. I’m Roberta Vaughan, that’s my sister Riley.”
    “I shall remember. Good day, Roberta Vaughan.”
    With that, she spun alarmingly fast, and tottered back up the steps to her house, went inside, and slammed the door.
    What an utterly bizarre woman, Roberta thought to herself.

 
    Chapter Six
    Riley
     
    Eight days passed, and the heat hadn’t let up for a moment.
    Riley was exhausted. Every morning she had woken up to the knowledge that for the