The soul collections agency was devious; Franz had to give them that much. They went so far as to hire an old friend of his from school to invite him (Franz) to lunch, merely as a pretext for serving him with the legally binding paperwork which, once confirmed to be received (and not lost in the mail or whatever other technical excuse a debtor might use), constituted a fairly ironclad case for the collections agency to move forward in spite of the strenuously debtor-favoring laws in place.
The agent introduced himself in front of the table at the crowded café (where people tended to avoid awkward confrontations and presented less of a flight risk) and informed Franz of his debt.
"That's ridiculous," Franz said. "I sold my soul to the devil, not to your company. My only business is with Satan and his minions, which pardon me for saying so, but I can hardly imagine the enemy of all truth and light retaining your services."
Collections agents of all kinds have a thick skin, and this one noticed the insult less than he would have noticed a gnat's dropping. He smiled as he always did when he got to give this speech. "Ah, but you are mistaken, sir. The devil routinely sells off bad debts, where collection of a particular soul is difficult or unlikely to succeed for any number of reasons, to agencies like my own. We have a right to collect your soul for goods and/or services tendered by Satan and documented in full, and we will not give up so easily as the prince of hell."
Franz was too dumbstruck to move or speak. The collections agent made a final remark before parting: "Be apprised, also, sir, that we charge a hefty, not to mention...unpleasant...rate of interest. There are worse things to lose than one's soul, believe it or not."