The Art of Making Money - Jason Kersten [95]
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Cartwall said warmly as they shook hands. “In fact, your pop can’t stop talking about you.” Art blushed, wondering how much Cartwall really knew. He doubted his dad had bragged much to his friends about how they hadn’t seen each other in twenty years. Until a few months ago, probably none of them had even known he existed.
The five men small-talked about Chicago and Alaska and drank beer in Cartwall’s TV room. After half an hour, Senior and Cartwall excused themselves and went into a back room. Art assumed that they were buying weed from his dad. Fifteen minutes later they popped back out, and Senior indicated it was time to head home.
“I got a question for you,” Senior said once they were back on the highway.
“Go ahead, Pops.”
“You can make more of that counterfeit if you want, right?”
Art didn’t answer at first. He had been amazed it had taken him this long to ask, and had started to think that his dad might let it lie.
“You can always make more,” Art said noncommittally. “Why do you ask?”
“Please don’t get mad, but I showed Terry the bill you gave me. Before you say anything you have to take my word that I trust this guy with my life—”
“So what?” Art interrupted. “I asked you not to show it to anyone and you fucking did. I can’t believe it.”
“Just listen to me for a minute,” Senior said forcefully. “I don’t think you know what you got. Terry was completely astonished. He had to pull out a real bill and compare it to be convinced that yours was fake. Once he was sure, he said he’d buy as much as we can bring him. He has major connections in California. He’ll ship the money down there and we won’t be anywhere near it. We can do a few deals, then we’re out. We’ll use it to build your house.”
It was nothing Art hadn’t heard before. He was pissed at his dad for breaking his promise, but mostly at himself. These were the kind of things that happened once people saw the money, and he should have seen it coming. The tour of the underground grow lab his dad had given him was about more than honesty; it was about showing his son that he, too, knew how to operate. Luckily, Art had the perfect reason for telling his dad no: the House of Blues bust. On the way back to Chickaloon, he finally told Senior the whole story, emphasizing that, for all he knew, the Service was on the lookout for both him and his bills. Although his primary reason for coming to Alaska had been to see his dad, he now admitted to his father that it had practically been a necessity.
“I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t want you to think the only reason I’d come up here was to escape the Service,” he explained.
“They don’t know you’re here, do they?”
“It’s pretty unlikely.”
“That’s good. You wouldn’t have to do anything other than make the bills. I’d handle the deals, and you won’t have to be involved in any other aspect of it.”
“Did you tell those guys that I was the one who made that bill?”
“No,” Senior said, but Art didn’t believe him. “Just think it over. There’s no hurry. But I think we could make a lot of money with these guys. I know for a fact that they have access to lots of funds.”
Despite his anger, Art found reasons to think it might not be a bad idea. Since their big print run for Beto had failed to produce a nest egg, he and Natalie had nothing but the fifty grand in counterfeit they’d brought with them, along with another seven thousand in genuine that they’d converted prior to their arrival. While that was good traveling money, it was hardly enough to settle down with, since they’d first have to convert it, which they couldn’t do locally without alerting the authorities. They’d even discussed doing another big batch and proceeding with their plans in Arkansas once things calmed down in the lower forty-eight. But printing in Alaska made a lot of sense. Nobody knew he was there, it was off the map, and the land they’d be building their house on was far more beautiful and free. Best of all, he and his pops would get to make up for lost time.