My grandfather made his money collecting debts. I don’t mean he sent heavies around with baseball bats demanding payment. He had a legitimate collections business, which utilized the persuasion of the law. I have never found out which method is more affective.
My earliest memory of work was in the mailroom of the business, folding the Demand letters in a special way so the large red finger pointing to ‘FINAL NOTICE’ would be the first thing the recipient would see.
The rows of filing cabinets were packed with files of bad debtors. The first page was always a person’s life boiled down to basic details and a list of assets, credits and debts. The debts were in bold. Their reasons for defaulting were not important and not recorded.
If debtors didn’t respond, then litigation would begin. All the while the debt grew bigger and bigger, as letters went out and interest, costs, and fines were heaped on top. I remembered wondering if people couldn’t pay their bill the first time, how could they pay when it was so much more? However the company kept going, making a healthy profit, so some debtors at least, must have found a way.
I was brought up with the principle that I always needed to pay my debts. Owing any money to anyone was like something dark dragging me down. I couldn’t understand people who ignored what they owed, spending before they paid.
My grandfather said ‘People see what others have and a little devil whispers in their ear to grab it and settle accounts later.’
That little devil gave me nightmares.
I was free of all debts, the night of Sarah’s party. That night my car, paid off in full, had been giving me trouble for a couple of days. After the engine had refused to answer with anything but an annoyed hiccup, I locked it, deciding to leave it. It was still sitting there when the party was over; I walked in the direction of the main street to get a taxi home. I
always carried enough for cab fare. I would deal with the car tomorrow.
I wish Jillian had come to Sarah’s party, or any party, but instead of a fun night out, she completed her homework, then picked up her jogging shoes and went out for a run. Jillian liked the road at night.
It was quiet and cool. Few cars ever travelled this route, through semi wasteland, even though it was a convenient short-cut for those who knew about it.
It was not lit very well but she knew the way.
I met Jillian for the first time when she was lying at the side of the road, bleeding. The police told me her name. That night they also told me I’d failed the breathalyser test.
Was it the devil that spoke to my ear in front of my car that evening, telling me that I should try to start it one more time?
The police made a spot in a filing cabinet for me, my first one. After a few days the hospital called and my file got moved to a more important drawer. I don’t know how I’ll ever cover this debt.