The Repo Man

Tom Lake: Crickets at three in the morning on Chica­mauga Avenue in West Atlanta and the fog had lifted enough so that Ken could see the blue BMW naked in the driveway and he figured he could snatch it if he moved fast. He parked his truck on the fractured asphalt and walked toward a shotgun house with brick-red shutters and geraniums along the front walk. When he reached the BMW he saw a small red light above the dash, flashing like a firefly, warning of an alarm to wake the dead. And through the flood of adrenaline, Ken the repo man felt something like fear.

This strange transaction would ramify through several economies. Sleeping at their home in Suwanee, Ken Lynam's wife and five young children were relying on him for their sustenance. In turn, the nation's slumbering financial system rested on men like him. Without the threat of repossession to cajole the debtor into making payments, there could be no car loans. And without car loans, hardly anyone would buy a new car. A legitimate industry depended on legal theft.