That's because the husband-and-wife team is the only Lafayette-based repossession agency. Before starting MCX in May of 2002, the couple had worked for an agency that covered Lafayette. Matt, who has a business degree, came to work with the agency after one of its agents began storing cars in the lot of his consulting business. After a couple of years of Matt doing repos on the weekends and evenings, and training Lauri to do it also, the agency changed its territory. At that time, they had to decide between giving up being repo agents or getting their own trailer and going indie.
MCX now operates almost on a clandestine-like existence to the general public. You won't find their number anywhere in the phone book - so don't bother looking. The people who need to find them - banks, lien holders and other repo agencies - do so through a Web site, www.repoman.com. To help them protect that identity, only their first names will be used in this story.
Despite what you might have seen in the movies or what you might think, the couple is not out dodging bullets or stealing people's cars in the middle of the night.
Matt circles the white 1999 Mazda 626, eyeing it, looking for possible problems. Other than a flat back tire, it looks movable. He checks the vehicle identification number and announces, "This is our car," as he drums his fingers on its hood. The car is literally in his grasp. He could easily sneak it away ... but he can't.
Instead, thanks to Louisiana law, he has to convince the owner to sign it over and literally give it up on his own accord. Unlike the other 48 states, Louisiana and Wisconsin are what are known as "no self help states" in repo-speak. That means that in those states, a repo agent cannot sneak up to a piece of defaulted property and take it away. To secure a repo in Louisiana or Wisconsin, an agent must go to the debtor's residence, knock on the door and speak to the person whose name is on the loan - and only that person. The agent must not discuss it with anyone else or even tell them what the matter is concerning. Even if the person asks, "Is this about the car?" or "Is this a repo?" the agent cannot answer. According to Matt, the issue of a debtor's privacy is just a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Once the agent finds the debtor, they must have them sign a contract allowing the agent to remove the property. If not, the agent cannot touch it. Unfortunately, the laws have less to do with consumer protection and more to do with the sheriff's department.
If the debtor denies the agent, the matter is turned over to the sheriff's department. Once the sheriff's department gets involved, the cost goes through the roof. Court costs, fines, storage and towing fees are all added in and can drive the amount owed by a debtor from, say, $5,000 to anywhere around $10,000. If the debtor cannot pay the remaining balance, his wages can be garnisheed. Matt says he always encourages debtors to sign the property over, because if not, it will cost more, spell financial ruin when a judgment is placed on their record and, "It's easier to deal with me than the guys with the guns. They're gonna get their cars." If a debtor signs his collateral to an agent, chances are his debt will be resolved on the auction block. Thanks to the added cost of a sheriff's sale, this is not always the case.
Even though it is in their best interests, debtors sometimes thumb their noses at Matt and, even though they can't afford the property, they refuse to relinquish it. Others are less concerned about losing the property than having it appear that it has been repossessed. Often, debtors ask Matt if he can smile and shake their hand, to give the illusion that he has just purchased their used car.
This assignment - to pick up the Mazda 626 in Eunice - like all others began as a fax received at Matt's Lafayette office. It is a simple office with two computers, said fax machine and a folding table laden with contracts waiting to be filled. Assignments come in from all over the country, largely because Louisiana is somewhat of a haven for people running from debt - thanks to its no self help laws. Most assignments contain the Social Security number of the debtor, allowing MCX to easily locate him with a computer program that identifies the street address of a target and the time frame that he lived there. It also maps out how to find the addresses.
Even with the location software, it can be a task. This trip to Eunice is evidence of that. It should have been an easy grab, being what is called a voluntary surrender. The debtor has called his lien holder to tell them that they can have the car. He has missed only a couple months' payments, but in Louisiana (unlike most states that give you three months to make good), two months of missed payments are enough for the bank to reach out and pull that Mazda back in. However, Matt must make it out there before 3 p.m., because the debtor has to pick up his daughter from school. This arranged repo is unlike the involuntary surrenders that he usually does. If it were an involuntary surrender, he would have tried to take the debtor by surprise.
"If they know we are coming, there's a lot of things that can happen to the condition of that vehicle. They can strip it. They can trash it," Matt says. "(They think) if I can't have it, you can't either ... even though they know they are going to have to pay for it. So, we always try to employ the element of surprise. And I tell you, if you can surprise somebody, you are going to get that car."
In the past, contacting a debtor beforehand resulted in Matt heading to Morgan City for a car, just to discover the debtor had yanked its tires and left it sitting on blocks. Another debtor, this one in Lafayette, sold their car off piece by piece for drug money.
As soon as Matt heads into the Eunice debtor's neighborhood, things start to go wrong. Matt begins scanning mailboxes and buildings for an 1160 address. Soon, he realizes that he is heading the wrong way and must turn his double-cab truck and 20-foot trailer around on a narrow street. He makes it down the street in the opposite direction, but just can't seem to find 1160.
Matt knows, however, that he is searching for a Mazda, so he keeps his eyes peeled for the car. Just as the numbers near 1160 and he approaches what seems like the right spot, he spies three Mazdas at two different locations.
Matt decides to set his truck down in front of a metal building across from a house bearing the 1159 mark. He takes out his cell phone and places a call to the debtor's residence. Even though he is supposed to be there, there is no answer.
Hoping a neighbor will help, Matt crosses the street and knocks on the door of a house. One of the advantages, he says, of working in Louisiana is that people are almost too friendly for their own good. They often seem too eager to tell you where a neighbor or relative lives, without asking what the matter concerns.
This house is no different. Even in this day and age and after a summer of highly publicized child abductions, two young boys come out of the house and try to assist him in his search, to little avail. Acting on a hunch, he ventures behind the metal building and discovers an obscured brown and white, metal, single-wide trailer.
When Matt knocks on the door, a woman answers, even though moments ago no one was there to answer the ringing phone. He asks her if this is 1160, and she says she has no idea. She also has no clue when the target will be back or where he is. Deterred, Matt starts to walk off and she asks, "Is this about the car?" To which Matt answers, "I can't tell you that."
As we leave the trailer, Matt wishfully says, "He's gotta come back," and the waiting game begins. By this time, he has decided to check out a white Mazda in front of the metal building and, to his luck, finds it a match. Matt looks it over and notes that the plates are gone - almost always a sure sign the debtor is ready to hand it over. Also missing is the radio. Anything that a debtor installs, be it a stereo, speakers or bug shield, is theirs to keep. However, if they replace something, they must leave the original in the car. There doesn't look to be any radio here, so the lien holder will probably be adding it to the amount the debtor owes.
Growing a little anxious, Matt places a call to the debtor's cell phone only to get his voice mail. What was supposed to be a done deal is starting to look like a wasted trip to Eunice. Overhead, a sky full of gray clouds threatens to bust open. Unfortunately, a repo man's job is a lot like that of the old postman's adage.
"I can't call the lien holders and say, 'But it's raining,'" Matt laughs. Eventually, the debtor calls back to say he'll be along in about 20 minutes thanks to a construction delay in Crowley. With the repo again looking to be in the bag, Matt pulls the loading ramps out of the trailer.
Half an hour later, a truck pulls into the driveway. It finally looks like the deal is going to happen, but Matt has seen it come this close before. He says that often people are ready to let it go until they see the paperwork come out and bolt without signing it. As Matt and the debtor go over paperwork, he gives Matt a look that he has seen before.
It is that second thought, that "I don't want to give this up" look. But, surprisingly, he signs it over to Matt. The debtor never questions the presence of a woman documenting this less-than-ceremonious event with her camera or the man with a notepad and tape recorder. He seems more interested in Matt's trailer, asking him, "Is that a 20-foot trailer?"
After he hands over the keys, the debtor makes another quick pass over the car to be sure he hasn't missed anything and says one last goodbye. When Matt fires up the engine, it lets out a terrible screech that dies out after a few seconds of idling. The days of its serpentine belt are numbered, and it probably will not make it too far before requiring a costly repair. Matt says that sometimes when faced with a looming repair bill and mounting payments the owner will much rather give it up than sink more money into it. Despite its flat, he cruises it onto his trailer, where it lurches to a stop. Matt slaps his leather gloves on and quickly chains the axle behind both front tires and the rear driver-side tire to the trailer, a sign that he has definitely done this a few times.
"And that's it," he says as he heads for the cab. So the sure-thing repo that almost didn't happen finally came through with a few minutes to spare for the debtor to pick up his daughter.
"We can usually get four to six in a day. Then you have these days when you just get skunked," Matt says. "We drive for miles and miles, and nobody is home, nobody signs, (and you) can't find the cars. Those are the aggravating days. So you gotta take the good with the bad."
On the way back to the yard, he opens his vault of stories and tells some of the more interesting tales and what it is like to be a repo man. His job revolves around spending hours upon hours on the road. Despite logging about 200 miles a day and going through two transmissions in his previous truck, he seems to enjoy seeing the state and spending his days outside, instead of in an office. Recently Matt had what he calls an atypical day, when he spent 15 hours in the field. On that day, he had a car in Jennings, a four-wheeler in Lake Charles, then came back to Lafayette to drop his cargo, drove to Mandeville for a car, to Slidell and then to Abita Springs, before returning home at 11 p.m.
Because MCX is not stealing cars in the middle of the night, people seldom get physical with the duo. True, nerves get frayed and tempers flare, but Matt can only recall one person ever putting his hands on him. Even though there are some tense situations, Matt says he doesn't mind his wife out doing repossessions.
Judging from some of his stories, the most offensive part of the job is not the debtors' anger, but their lies. Once, he had to drive to Shreveport to pick up a car, just to have the debtor claim to have filed for bankruptcy when he got there. If a debtor files for bankruptcy, a repo agent cannot take their property. However, when he made it back to Lafayette, he learned they had not filed and had to go back.
"She was caught dead like a rat," he laughs.
Some debtors lie about the car, saying they haven't seen it in months, don't know where it is or that they let someone borrow it, when the car is parked in their driveway. One claimed that he wouldn't have his car back until his brother returned with it from Tennessee on a certain date. Later, Matt paid him a visit and spoke to his daughter, who said she had the car all along and had just gotten out of college the day before. Obviously, her father had been letting her use it to commute.
Other than the lies, the biggest hurdle in the repo man's life, Matt says, is the insurance. Repo insurance is a very specialized and expensive venture. Matt compares the process of obtaining this type of insurance to a "full body cavity search." There are criminal background hoops to jump through, review committees, complete educational and employment histories and an onsite storage review process. In fact, of all applicants for repo insurance, 75 percent are not approved. After nine weeks of reviews, including bringing his storage lot up to code with high fences, security lights, gates and lots of barbed wire, MCX finally got the nod for its insurance coverage. And that was before they could perform the first repossession. On top of that insurance, MCX must also carry special coverage to be able to tow someone else's collateral.
When we made it to MCX's storage lot, Lauri arrived with a freshly repossessed car being driven by her assistant and niece, Courtney. After the Eunice run, Matt has decided to head home and take a break before heading to Carencro, where he will once again try to get a car from a debtor who is "in denial." Before they head to do an assignment on Pinhook Road, we arrange to meet Lauri and Courtney to do a couple of surprise involuntary assignments around town.
If you ask Lauri what's the biggest stumbling block she faces in the repo business, she will admit that when she and Courtney are on the road, a lot of their time is spent getting lost.
"If we make it to an assignment without backtracking, we are excited and giving each other high-fives," she laughs.
One of her most memorable experiences of the repo road life is when they had to retrieve a car in the East Feliciana Parish town of Clinton. As they were heading down the road, they noticed a sign that they hoped could help them on their misguided trip. To their surprise, it read, "Welcome to Louisiana."
If you met her in a grocery store, you would never guess that Lauri is a repo agent. She is a pleasant, petite, short and pretty woman with carefully arranged makeup and hair. Before becoming an agent, she held jobs as a hairdresser, substitute teacher and beauty-supply salesperson. Now, she would much rather be out "busting," as she calls it, people who haven't paid their bills instead of hawking lip gloss.
Today is starting to look like another "Welcome to Louisiana" day as she wanders through North Lafayette. Her usual driver, Courtney, is not with her because her son is ill. Making her way down a street off Moss Street, the numbers game is again playing havoc with her. The address she is searching for is 222. It seems like she is on the right path, but suddenly the numbers jump drastically and she is in the 400s. Even though the numbers are playing hell with this repo, she says her sense of direction and ability to find places have gotten much better since she took this job. Before, Lauri says she couldn't have told you where Opelousas was in relation to Lafayette. Now, she knows her way around Lake Charles and Baton Rouge.
Upon closer inspection, she finds that two houses just a stone's throw apart are numbered 116 and the elusive 222. Even though no cars are home, she heads to the door, eager to make the bust, saying, "All right, troops, let's go in for the kill." She raps on the door several times, to no avail. It looks like this bust is a bust. Undeterred, she heads across town to an apartment complex off Kaliste Saloom Road. On the way there, several streets jump out at her as places where she has done repossessions. She and Matt even use trips to see their son play soccer in Baton Rouge as a chance to pick up cars, similar to the way other families would use the trip to visit the USS Kidd or the State Capitol.
Unfortunately, the target of her Kaliste Saloom repo was also not at home. She says that is often the case with daytime repossessions. A lot of times, people just aren't home. However, she has developed a few tricks that help her rack up daytime assignments. One of them is to show up at their POE, which is repo-speak for place of employment. She admits that most debtors get rather annoyed when someone tries to repossess their car while they are at work, but that they are more likely to fork over the keys in an effort to get them out of their POE before their colleagues realize what is occurring.
Lauri admits that it's a frustrating job, and there've been three times that she thought she had had enough and nearly quit. However, she was never able to fully put it down.
"It really is exciting. It is not like any other job. We do paperwork ... so much paperwork," she says. "But when it is a pretty day like today, I don't want to be stuck in an office."
Despite her luck in the afternoon, her morning did go better when she had to venture to Rayne to claim a truck.
When Lauri reaches the house, without any trouble, she spots the Nissan 4x4 she is looking for wedged between a bush and a basketball goal in a neighbor's yard. When she knocks on the door of the small house, an older lady answers. She's not the debtor, but she lets Lauri slip inside house, leading her to a room in the back. The smell of cigarette smoke grows heavy as she walks toward the back. Upon entering the tiny room, she is greeted by a woman wearing a neck collar and pajamas sitting on a bed. A man sits by the window, with his foot propped up beneath a pink blanket. At arm's length sits an ashtray loaded with cigarette butts on his left and a mug full of tobacco spit on his right. It would appear that after crashing into a culvert, the couple has been in this impromptu clinic for quite a while - probably the reason he will have to sign over his truck today.
As he does, he asks how long he has to get it back before the transporter comes to remove it from the lot. Lauri says she thinks it's about 10 days, but is not sure because his bank is a new client. She gives him her card in case he comes up with the money in time and wishes them luck.
As Lauri eases the glass storm door of the house shut behind her, she says that it upsets her to do repossessions like that, but realizes that if she does not do it, someone else will.
At first, his truck acts like it doesn't want to start, but Lauri eventually fires it up and slowly works it out from its tight parking space and onto the road. Her assistant usually drives the repo car, followed by Lauri in her Blazer. But today, because Courtney can't be there, Lauri has some else driving her vehicle for her. As we head back to the yard in Lafayette, the truck begins to rattle because of the mud tires on it. As she accelerates to 70, it feels as though the bolts and screws are going to come flying out, and the truck will fall to pieces. However, according to Lauri, the truck is in better condition that some of her past grabs, especially one she picked up in Houma.
"It's pouring down rain, so I'm not in a good mood already, (and) they must have spilled shrimp juice," she says. "I could have sworn (the vehicle) was a seafood place and I had to drive in the rain with my windows rolled up. On the way back from Houma, I had to stop and throw up twice. I didn't enjoy that, I guarantee you!"
Surprisingly, the truck makes it to Lafayette without falling to pieces. The next stop ... the storage yard. MCX keeps the location of the lot very hush-hush, revealing only that it is "in Lafayette." As part of the couple's insurance requirements, the yard must be surrounded by a 6-foot fence, topped with barbed wire and equipped with security lights and gates.
Other than the Alcatraz-like setting, the yard resembles a used car lot, with a few boats and campers thrown in for good measure. There's also a shed holding three motorcycles and a four-wheeler. Some of the cars bear dents and dings, evidence of a hard life before being repossessed. One is even missing a bumper. Eerily enough, like a scene out of the 1984 cult classic Repo Man, despite being stripped of almost all personal items, a cheap pine tree air freshener hangs in most of the cars. One owner even left the bug bra on his recently departed car. And except for three or four, most of the cars have their plates removed.