Here's your payment

So here I am. Smack dab in the middle. I can’t go forward and I can't go back. What am I going to do now? I have no choice left. I have to go forward.

Late last week a man came from the bank to collect on a long overdue loan. He was a somewhat older gentleman with a thin wisp of silver hair combed across his bald head. He wore what looked like an expensive suit; one that was tailor made and not off the rack. He carried a dark briefcase that swung side to side on its hinges, causing it to bump into his leg each time he took a step. He introduced himself as Mr. Arnold Troy, Loan Supervisor at Greendale Savings and Loan.

His manner at the door gave me the impression that he meant me no harm, so I let him into the house. He was very polite up until the time we sat at the kitchen table. It seemed like a switch flipped when his butt hit the wooden seat. He slammed his briefcase on the table and opened the latches. In the quiet of the room, I heard the distinct sound each snap made as they released their hold. He reached into it and pulled out a file folder, placed it on the table, and closed his briefcase with a loud bang that nearly scared me out of my chair. Then he grabbed the handle, slid it over the table, and set it on the floor.

He opened the folder and flipped through the pages of its contents. “Do you realize that it has been over six months since your last payment?” he snarled.

This caught me completely by surprise. I knew I’d missed a few payments but I saw no reason for him to be so hateful. I went to the bank right after I was laid off. I explained the situation to the loan manager, Mr. Coffey. A kind and helpful man. He didn’t wear high priced suits or drive fancy cars. He greeted his customers by name and treated everyone with respect.

We discussed my payment options, none of which i could meet with the small unemployment check that I received each week.  Being more than sympathetic to my situation, he promised that he would put a hold on my payments until I found another job. It felt like a giant weight lifted from my shoulders. When I left the bank, I grabbed a paper from one of the coin-operated racks outside, and headed home to check the employment section.

I tried to explain the situation and agreement between Mr. Coffey and myself to Mr. Troy, but he refused to listen. Instead, he pointed his long, haggard finger in my face. I am pretty sure that I could feel little drops of spittle hitting me as he spit out his words. I had to suppress my laughter at the thought of him sounding like Daffy Duck.

“This is not my problem.” He spat. “He’s not the one to decide these kinds of matters. You will either repay the whole amount of what is left on the loan, or you will be sorry.”
“Just give me a couple of days, Mr. Troy, I will find the money.”
“And just why should I believe that you will have it in a couple of days when you can’t even make your payments as it is?”
“I’ll find the money. Somehow, somewhere, I will get you the money. I just need a couple of days to find it.”
“Alright. You have two days. After that,  this loan will be paid, one way or another. This is your one and only warning.”

He closed the folder and shoved it under his arm. He picked up his briefcase, and stormed through the house and out the front door. I felt a shiver run up my back when the door slammed shut behind him.  It echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the house. It came as such a shock I didn’t know what to think. Just what did he mean by “you’ll be sorry, and one way or the other?” I kept asking myself these questions, not really sure if I wanted to know the answers.

“Where am I going to get the money to pay him?” I asked the empty room. I didn’t expect an answer but I would have appreciated one at that moment. These simple questions followed me to bed, making sleep nearly impossible. When I did doze off, I awakened with nightmares of what he might do. These unanswered questions filled my mind all the next day making it hard to concentrate on much else.

The first idea to pop into my mind I  rejected. Sure, I could ask some of my friends or my family. But they are pretty well tapped out. Times were hard all over. Next, I thought about a loan shark, but that sounded too risky and dirty. After I exhausted all of my options, I came to the conclusion there seemed to be no way for me to pay it all. What’s the worst he could do? Kill me. Now that’s a thought. What if that’s exactly what he meant?

The next day he was back knocking on my door. Not the friendly “Are you home?” kind of knock, but the “You had better be home!” kind of knock. I could feel the vibrations through the floor. It stopped me in my tracks, and I concentrated on calming the fear that wanted to spring up inside me. I shook it off, went to the door and opened it. There he stood with briefcase in hand looking just as he did a few days ago.

“Well, where’s my money? You had better have it,” he growled.
“I’ve not been able to get it. Times are hard right now.”
“You agreed that you would have my money by today and I expect you to honor that agreement. If you can’t then WHAT good are you?”
“I can’t get it right now. I need more time. Maybe we can work something out.”
“That’s just what I thought you would say. That’s why I came prepared.”

He held up his briefcase and laid it in his opened palm, balancing it on that hand while the other one unlatched the clasps. He raised the top, reached in, and pulled out a small hatchet, letting the briefcase fall, its contents scattering all over the floor. It took a moment for it to register what he held in his hand. When I saw the big sneer cross his face, it all started to click. My mind was working overtime to process what I saw. I started to panic.

“Wh...wh..what’s that for?” I stammered.
“I told you that you'd be sorry, and I'd have my payment one way or the other. I’m going to chop off a finger for every week I have to wait.”
“You can’t do that.” My mind was starting to function again.
“I can and I will. It’s nothing personal. Just business.” His voice became deep and menacing.
“Please, you don’t want to do this,” I begged, trying to stall for time while my mind came up with a plan.
“Stop your whimpering. How else are you going to realize the seriousness of this matter? “

He reached out to grab my wrist with his other hand. Instinct kicked in and I began backing away from him. His long fingers grazed my hand as I pulled it away. When he lunged for it again, I turned and ran out of the open door as fast as my legs would carry me. I don’t know why, but my legs thought that the safest place for me to hide happened to be in the garden shed around back. I ran in closing the door behind me. I felt around in the dark, searching for something to protect myself with. My hand drifted across the scattered items until it grasped onto an old rake.

It didn’t occur to me then that this was a cliché of all of the horror movies I ever watched. In those, there is always some stupid person running from a deranged killer - right into the first place they will look - searching for something to kill them with and get away.

I picked it up and held it in a defensive position. When the door flew open, I struck out with all of my might, aiming at his head. The rake handle broke in two on impact. He collapsed to the ground with a low thump. I scurried out of the shed, my eyes never leaving his motionless body. I just about jumped out of my skin when a low groan emitted from inside his throat. Unable to think, my body took over. I felt my arms moving up and back down, driving the handle into his chest over and over. I couldn’t get my arms to stop. They stabbed until I could hardly lift them any more.

So now here I was. What to do? I searched the shed over looking for anything that would help me dispose of the body. All I found that could be of any possible use happened to be a shovel and a rusty hacksaw. I brought them into the kitchen and dropped them beside the table. The clinks and clanks as they fell onto the tile floor, echoed through the room. I was too tired to care if they even broke the tiles. I put on a fresh pot of coffee and waited for it to brew.

I drank every drop while I contemplated the situation. I rejected all of my ideas for one reason or another. I couldn’t bury him in the yard. I couldn’t bury him under the house or porch. These places were just too obvious. I sure didn’t need a body just lying around here either. Throwing him in the landfill sounded like a  good start, but of course, it’s been done before. I racked my brain for hours. Just when I thought there wasn’t a suitable answer, I came up with my plan. It wasn’t perfect but it would have to do.

Now here I am, about to put it into action. I took a pair of gloves out of the kitchen drawer and put them on, grabbed a box of trash bags, and some fish from out of the freezer. I needed to do some spring-cleaning, so I went through the house looking for anything and everything that I could throw away. I searched every nook and cranny in the house, taking it all out by the armloads. I dropped it all outside in  a pile on the back porch

With this task completed, I returned into the house to gather up the fish, trash bags, shovel and saw. I sat the fish and trash bags on the porch along with the odds and ends that were already there. I walked across the yard to the shed taking the shovel and saw with me. When I got to his body, I laid down my tools and picked up the part of the rake that had broken off when I hit him, and used it to pull his arm away from his body. I knelt down and checked his pulse to make sure he was dead. When I didn’t feel one, I put my palm across his nose and mouth to feel for his breath, but none came.

Kneeling beside his body, I took the hacksaw and begun cutting him into small pieces. I used his hatchet on the parts that were too hard to cut . Once I got him cut into smaller pieces, I unrolled the water hose and sprayed away all of the dirt and blood that I could from the pieces and the yard. I put them into the wheelbarrow and pushed it to the pile of trash on the porch. I started layering the bags with trash, a few hunks of him, and then more trash. When each bag seemed almost to its limit, I threw in a piece of fish for good measure. I figured it would help cover the smell.

I loaded the bags into the back of my truck and hauled them away to the landfill. It’s the best plan I could think of. It’s not like I do these kinds of things every day. I drove around to the far side so that anyone who happened by wouldn’t see me. I took the bags out of the truck bed and set them on the littered ground.

One by one, I looked for spots where I could hide each bag.  I searched for areas where I could remove a few bags and place one of mine underneath them. It was like hiding Easter Eggs. I tried to bury them among the other bags, in different places as best as I could.

When I was satisfied, I climbed back into the truck and headed for home. Out of nowhere, I thought  I could hear the faint sound of a horn blowing. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, turning my knuckles white. I checked all of the mirrors, but the road behind me was clear.  It continued to get louder as I drove on toward home. In a panic, I took one final glance behind me and saw a car speeding toward me, its lights flashing impatiently.

It took a moment for it register that the noise was coming from the alarm clock on the nightstand beside the bed. Moving in slow motion, I reach up and slap the snooze button.