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The waiter walks nearby, and I wave for his attention. “Can I get the check?”
“You have to go already?” my mom whines, her lower lip stuck out. “I was having so much fun.”
“I know. Me too. But I’ve got to get back. I’m trying out a new beer distributor, and I’ve got to meet the rep in half an hour.”
“Well, in that case… I guess I ought to bring up one other thing.”
Immediately, all the goodwill and warm, fuzzy feelings I’d been having from our genuine girl talk evaporates. I can hear it in her voice—she wants something from me, and I brace for it.
“I’m in a really bad place, Stevie,” she says, playing with her napkin and refusing to look me in the eye.
“What do you mean?”
“Well… I’m in a bit of a financial pickle.”
Of course, she is. “How much?”
Her fingers twist at her napkin as she raises her gaze to meet mine. “Ten thousand. Dollars.”
I gasp, my eyes feeling like they’re going to pop out of my head. “You’re kidding me? I don’t have that type of money, if that’s why you’re bringing this up.”
“I thought you would. You own a business.” She worries at her bottom lip, glancing out across the restaurant before looking back at me. “And I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t dire.”
I have to force myself not to roll my eyes because my mom can be dramatic. Dire probably means she and Randy are a few months behind on rent or car payments. “I don’t have it,” I say again.
Because I don’t.
My mom looks around erratically before leaning in and lowering her voice. “If I don’t get the money, I could get seriously hurt. Maybe even killed.”
I rear back, chin jerking with shock. “What?”
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, and I can see she believes what she just said.
“What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?” I demand, leaning forward to keep the conversation private.
“Not me… Randy. But, well, okay, me too. I’ve been helping him on this side hustle—”
“Side hustles aren’t usually dangerous,” I snap. “What exactly is it?”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “Okay, Randy has been laundering some money.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing my hands over my face. I close my eyes, take in a breath. When I let it out, I glare at my mom. “What are you doing?”
She tells me a story that sounds ridiculous, but I suppose could be true. She and Randy are given counterfeit bills, and they go around the state and make purchases with it. Later, they return the item for a refund.
The dirty money stays in circulation, and they get clean bills back.
“We get twenty percent,” my mom explains.
My lips curl in disgust. “And you kept ten thousand dollars, which I’m guessing is far more than the twenty percent you earned?”
“No, we didn’t keep it. We used it to make more money.”
“How?”
“At Rivers Casino,” she admits quietly.
“Jesus, Mom. You gambled away ten thousand dollars.”
“It’s not like it happened in one night. It happened over time and now they’re demanding an accounting, and we’re in the hole. I don’t know what to do.”
I slump back in my chair. Over the last few years while my mom and I have worked to rebuild a relationship, I figured out she can be flighty, gullible, and blundering. But I never thought she’d get sucked into something criminal.
Of course, now that she’s sucked into doing something like laundering counterfeit money, and adding her cluelessness on top, it appears she’s in some deep shit. I have no fucking idea how to help her.
“Maybe your dad could give you the money,” she suggests.
My eyes snap to hers in fury. “No. Don’t ever suggest he get involved to bail you out. You have no right.”
“Of course,” she simpers, her hands lifted before her. “I can see that was a bad idea.”
Sighing, I sit up straight again, pushing my plate to the side. My food churns in my stomach, but I know it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the spiciness of the dishes.
“Okay… start from the beginning and tell me everything.”
My mom talks for a solid fifteen minutes and the more I hear, the more I feel like I’m going to throw up. I have no obvious answers, and when we part ways with an awkward hug on the sidewalk, the only thing I know for sure is that she’s in serious trouble.
On the drive back to my house, I consider my options. Without a doubt, I will not involve my father, even though he’d find a way to come up with the money if I asked him. I consider calling Harlow. She does criminal defense work, and she’d have good advice. But for now, I’m hesitant to let anyone in on this, mostly because I’m embarrassed. Anyone who knows me and knows what I went through struggling to grow up with a mom who didn’t care about me, would never understand my need to help her through this. And I don’t feel like justifying my actions. This goes double for my father who would give me major hell for even considering it.
