By Bill Hughes
The (Westchester, N.Y.) Journal News

YONKERS, N.Y. - It's after midnight as repo man John Scanlon prowls the streets of Yonkers, N.Y., looking to pick up a few cars and a few hundred bucks. His partner, Bob Quinn, watches for the first mark of the night, a brown Chevrolet Astrovan.

Scanlon starts a grid search of the streets around the address on the repossession order from the finance company and spots the Chevy in minutes. He reaches into a glove compartment filled with keys and fishes out one specially cut to start the van.

Quinn takes the wheel as Scanlon walks casually up the deserted street, hops into the minivan as if he owns it, and within five seconds speeds south toward the 2nd Precinct to report that he's bagged another one.

As the economy declines, the repo man's work keeps going up. According to figures tracked by the American Bankers Association, vehicle repossessions for lack of payment more than doubled nationwide from December 2000 to 2002.

For many people, the image of the classic repo man is indelibly etched in their minds as the character portrayed by Harry Dean Stanton in the 1984 cult movie, Repo Man: a hard-bitten loner in a rumpled suit, breaking into cars with a slim jim, yanking a few wires out from under the dashboard and speeding off into the night.

But times have changed. Modern-day repo men spend more time these days behind a desk than behind the wheel or conducting surveillance from the shadows. They attend conventions and trade shows, take classes on new technology and buy software designed to capture radio signals and bypass alarm systems.

"I don't like to waste any time out in the streets," said Scanlon, a repo man for five years. "I do as much advance work as I can on the computer and on the phone. When I go out to get something, I like to get in and out - bam! - just like that. Get it and go."

Scanlon trained as an apprentice for three years before getting his private investigator's license and striking out on his own.

He has developed a smooth style in dealing with people, explaining their options to them and convincing them that he's just a working stiff like them - the finance companies are the bad guys.

After logging the Chevy in with the Yonkers police, Scanlon and Quinn head to the Bronx looking for yet another minivan. They find one matching the description, but with different license plates.

An old trick, Scanlon says. People know when they're behind on payments.

A lot of times, they'll switch plates or even vehicles with a friend or relative who lives elsewhere until they get current on the bills.

Scanlon climbs out of the car with the repo order in hand to check the vehicle identification number, etched onto a metal plate riveted into the dashboard above the steering wheel. The plate is covered by an envelope.

It's another old trick but, unfortunately for the target, she covered the plate with a telephone bill bearing her name and address.

It's about 1 a.m., but the hood is still warm, indicating that the woman has recently been driving the vehicle.

Scanlon calls the phone number from her credit application and begins his standard rap, trying to persuade the woman to give up the keys to the vehicle.

The woman is distraught. She swears she just made a payment today. Scanlon apologizes and tells her if there's been a mistake, she can pick the car up first thing in the morning when the company opens, but he has to take it now.

That's the repo man's cardinal rule: You never leave the car.

"Do I feel bad for this lady?" Scanlon says as he drives away. "Sure I do. But I look at it this way: If I don't take this car, somebody else will. I'm not the only guy out here, and this is my job. If I don't do my job, pretty soon, I'll be in her position and somebody will be out here looking to repo my car."