The Art of Making Money - Jason Kersten [96]
“I’ll think about it,” he told his dad, but by the time they reached the house he’d already made up his mind.
CONVINCING NATALIE WAS NOT SO EASY. As a country girl who adored hiking and camping as much as Art, she found Alaska the most epic, awe-inspiring place she’d ever seen—even a great place to live if you could endure the winter—but she did not trust Senior. Although she’d kept it to herself, she had come to believe that the only reason they were still there was because Art had shown his dad a bill that first night.
“Granted, he hasn’t seen you in twenty years, but don’t you think it’s a bit odd that he’s so nice to us?” she said after Art related his father’s plan. “He’s been an asshole your whole life, and now all of a sudden he gives you a car, wants to build you a house. You really think that’s sincere?”
“Yeah, I do,” Art said. Although he’d told Natalie about the fight during the dog food run, she hadn’t seen how shaken Senior had been, how Art had verbally ripped off his skin, and how beneath it he’d sensed genuine regret and fear of losing his son again. His father had told him that he loved him twice, but just as importantly, Art knew that his father liked him. Senior was having as much fun hanging out as he was. “You’re wrong about him,” he told Natalie, “I know you’re wrong, because you haven’t been there during these moments. This isn’t about the money.”
“You’re right, I haven’t been there,” Natalie said. “I’ve been stuck in this fucking trailer, or getting away from Granny Clampett.” She’d been trying to avoid both Senior and Anice as much as possible, often taking Alex on tours of the region in one of Senior’s cars while Art and his dad bonded. “Fine,” she told Art. “If you think your dad is so sincere, then tell him no. Refuse to print and see what he says about living here then.”
That was as far she’d go. She saw how much Art wanted it, and there was no way she was going to insist that he couldn’t live near his dad after being deprived of him for most his life. She didn’t want to be that woman, the one who makes her husband choose between her and his family. She was also almost nine months pregnant and tired.
“If we’re staying here, I’m not gonna have my baby out in the sticks,” she said. “You either find me a place in Anchorage where I’m five minutes from the hospital, or my ass is going back to Texas. I’ll have the baby and get a job, you can stay here yourself and have a nice life.”
She meant it, but Art knew he’d won. He swore to Natalie that he’d start searching for a place in Anchorage the next morning. He hugged her with joy, poured out the sugar, then walked back to the main house to deliver the good news. Senior had the look of a man eager for an answer when Art walked in the door. For the briefest moment, Art thought about employing Natalie’s test: What would Senior do if he told him no? But he wanted to see the look in his old man’s eyes when he heard yes.
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Art got them into a place in Anchorage the very next day. It was too easy: At Senior’s suggestion, Chrissy put them up at her place until after the baby was born and they had time to arrange something more permanent. The baby, a girl, arrived on May 30. In keeping with the tradition of having all his kids’ names begin with the letter A, she was Andrea.
Once they were back from the hospital Art, having successfully copied his own genes, began searching in earnest for equipment to copy the money he’d need to pay for her.
In the Windy City, a counterfeiter can spend months visiting industrial printing houses and small graphic arts-shops and still not see all of them. In Anchorage, it took Art less than a week to visit every printer in the area. He could not find a single plate-burner, process camera, or offset for sale that met his requirements. He also struck out when it came to finding a local distributor of the all-important Abitibi paper.
While he could order some of the items he needed from Seattle, he knew that there was simply no way he could set up a proper shop without returning to the lower forty-eight,