By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
Cowboy backs up to the van. He and Foo Dog hook it up just like before. Its odometer shows less than 6,000 miles. But once again, there's a lot of stuff in it, and Cowboy doesn't want the hassle of making a key. So he and Foo Dog knock on the door.
When the attorney answers, Cowboy tells him they're repossessing his car.
"Which one?" he asks. He has three.
After a few moments, they come back, and the attorney starts cleaning out the van.
"He's kind of a nice guy," says Cowboy.
"Yeah, I almost feel sorry for him," says Foo Dog.
When the guy's finished, they meet at the Hyundai and get their stuff together. The eastern sky is a bright orange.
"Shit, we loaded 'em up tonight," says Foo Dog. "It's time to go home."
Their cut is $500—$125 for each car. "That's typical," says Cowboy. "Then again, we may get zero tomorrow night."
Foo Dog drives the F-150 back. Cowboy drives the van. On the 5 freeway headed back to Costa Mesa, we pass a tow truck on the shoulder.
"Now that's a crazy job," says Cowboy. "So dangerous. Guys get hit on the freeway all the time. The most dangerous part of the job is towing on the freeway. It's murderous out there."
Around 6:30 a.m., they drop me off at my car.
"So do you own your car or do you finance?" asks Cowboy as I get out.
I finance it.
I give him the bank's name.
"Oh, yeah," he says, smiling. "We've done work for them."