Get up offa that thing, p.6
Get Up Offa That Thing, page 6
Because somebody named Reynaldo Samosa had all of her dad’s money.
Teresa spent too much time thinking of ways to get it back. The police plainly weren’t going to be able to help; even if they caught him today—and she doubted they were looking—she knew it would be months before it went to trial.
She didn’t have months.
She considered hiring a private detective to track him down, but figured that would be expensive—one more thing she didn’t have the money for.
Maybe she could do something on her own, though.
Teresa started by digging online for any records about this guy. Not much came up. She lost a few dollars to websites that promised information, only to be given nothing but background stuff, a string of old addresses and the phone number he didn’t answer.
Next, she dug through social media. Searches for “Reynaldo Samosa” came up with a few hits, but they were mostly kids and all in other cities.
She finally thought to search for “Ray Samosa”.
Bingo.
Teresa knew it was him the moment she saw the photo of the guy with the new leather jacket and the dyed-blonde hair sitting in a car flashing a fistful of cash, while the entrance to a casino was visible behind him. The hashtags were #livingmybestlife and #bankroll.
Oh, and #luckybastard.
Samosa was a tall, skinny guy with white teeth and a dark tan complexion; other women probably thought he was good-looking, but Teresa knew who he really was. The date on the photo was three days after he’d cashed the checks. There were no posts from the two weeks he’d been Dad’s caregiver. She sent the photo to her brother, who couldn’t be sure, but thought it was Ray. How can you not be sure? Teresa texted.
Eddie responded, I only met him once.
A search through Ray’s social media accounts showed a guy who liked to spend money, but mainly he liked to gamble. He usually went to one particular cardroom just south of L.A. called California Kings Casino, where he shot selfies in the parking lot because the casino didn’t allow pictures on the main floor. He liked snaps of himself flashing cash; he liked to play the big man. He obviously had money to burn.
Her father’s money.
She knew she should turn this discovery over to the police, but she couldn’t see them doing anything with it. Were they going to use an officer to stake out a casino, looking for one guy who ripped off an old man when there were shooters to catch?
No. This was up to her.
Her recovery went well; she was already out of the wheelchair by the time she found Reynaldo. She was walking with just a cane when the plan formed in her head. She’d once heard someone say that conmen were the easiest people to con.
Reynaldo liked blackjack. A few of his old social media posts were about things he’d put money into that he was sure were going to pay off. That none of those posts ever had follow-ups proved only that he had been scamming other people, or that he was stupid. Probably both.
She could work with that. But she knew he was losing more of Dad’s money every day, so she had to work now.
The fact that she’d never met Reynaldo was an advantage. There were a few photos of her around the house, but most of them were old (her hair color had changed from light to dark, she was a little heavier now), and she bet that, in the two weeks he’d been here, Ray probably hadn’t paid much attention to pictures. He’d been too busy lying about his poor dying mama.
The disadvantage, of course, was that Teresa had never done anything like what she planned. She’d always been cautious, lived by the rules, worked hard…and look where that had gotten her.
It was time to break the rules. Time to challenge her bad luck.
Her plan would need some money. Her Auntie Jo loaned her $500. Teresa didn’t mention what she’d be spending it on.
First, she got a haircut; between the pandemic and the accident, she’d let her hair grow long, shaggy. She needed to look her best now; she not only got a trim, but spent the extra money on a stylish dye job, dark auburn with highlights and streaks. She needed to sell herself; image was all. When she got home from the salon and looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t know herself. She looked like a boss.
That was good.
She found an old business suit that she thought would work. She bought a decorative cane, which she needed to be functional as well as looking like an affectation.
Next, she made up a company name: Browne Investment Partners. She printed up a dozen business cards. In the past, when she’d actually worked, she’d overseen online marketing for a small business, so she knew how to make a decent website. She spent money registering a domain name and buying a hosting service. A day later, Browne Investment Partners had a website that she thought was sleek and believable…as long as you didn’t bother to dig into the company’s (non-existent) history or status.
Since she’d gotten out of the hospital, she’d either used ride-share or friends to get around, but for this she’d need her own wheels. Her car was totaled, so she rented one for a week. It looked expensive and new, just what she needed.
The morning came when she was ready. As she left the house, Dad told her she looked really nice. Angie asked if she was going to a job interview.
“Sort of,” Teresa said.
An hour later, she sat parked in front of the California Kings Casino. Teresa had read online about how it had recently been remodeled; it now sported a glittering entryway under huge, shimmering letters, with perfectly trimmed palm trees lining the walk on either side. The casino sat incongruously in the middle of a sprawl of freeways, warehouses, car dealers, and hotels. At 10 a.m. on a Monday, the lot was half-full, the weekend visitors already gone, the night-owls not yet arrived. Since Ray’s selfies were all shot in daylight, she guessed he wasn’t one of the latter.
Teresa’s stomach was in knots. She had no idea if her quarry would show up here again. If he did, could she pull this off? How convincing would she be? Would it work? Would he catch on, walk away? Or worse…threaten her? Her gut told her that his persona depended on scamming, not violence…but he was a big man.
She checked her make-up in the car mirror, went over her plan one more time, took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and stepped out of the car.
As she entered the casino, a blast of cool air and a hum of voices hit her. The lobby was spacious and glitzy, with screens flashing ads and odds. Restaurants and bars were off to the right and left; the main casino was straight ahead. Approaching the card tables, Teresa realized she looked out of place; the gamblers were mostly male, mostly badly dressed, some already sipping glasses of cheap booze at eleven in the morning. None seemed to enjoy what they were doing; they squinted down at their cards as if they could will them to become something else, something winning.
She walked around the tables, but nobody there looked like Reynaldo. Fine—she’d planned for this. There was a lounge at one side of the entrance, a comfortable area lined with couches and chairs. She could relax there and see who came and went. She went to the nearest bar, ordered an orange juice, and made sure to tip the bartender handsomely, since it might help down the line. She carried her drink back to the lounge, lowered herself into a chair facing the entrance, and waited.
An hour went by. Others came and went into the lounge. One man sat nearby, offered to buy her drink, but Teresa told him she was waiting to meet someone, and he left. She took a pain pill for the ache in her shoulder and hip.
Two hours. Three. Four. Five. Six.
No Reynaldo.
At last, she gave up, hungry and disappointed. She drove home, trying to tell herself that Reynaldo’s social media didn’t suggest he went to California Kings every day; she hadn’t detected any pattern in his visits, but it seemed like he was there at least twice a week. She’d go tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, until he showed.
“How’d the job interview go?” Angie asked, as Teresa walked in.
“I have to go back tomorrow,” Teresa answered, just to make sure Angie would return.
After she fixed dinner for herself and Dad, Teresa checked Reynaldo’s accounts. He’d apparently gone to the beach today, but posted that “these bills are burning a hole in my pocket—time to go turn ’em into bigger bills.”
Was he there right now, throwing Dad’s money at a blackjack dealer? Or would he show tomorrow? She was too tired to head back to the casino tonight, so she’d have to hope for tomorrow.
Her luck started to change, because he was there the next day.
She’d been in the same chair for maybe forty minutes when he walked in. She knew him instantly, her heart already racing as she watched him pick his way through the tables to a favorite.
She realized then she didn’t even know for sure if he’d head to one of the casino’s three bars at some point; he liked selfies with cocktails, so she thought he would…but her plan would be useless if he didn’t.
Walking the edge of the pit floor, Teresa felt too visible; there was nowhere to sit and observe here, for obvious reasons. She soon realized, though, that she didn’t have to watch from here; the only way out was the way they’d both come in. As long as she kept an eye on the path from the casino, she couldn’t miss him. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could stand to watch him lose more of Dad’s money.
She waited in the lounge an hour before Reynaldo strode by, his walk angry, his brow furrowed. He’d obviously lost.
Teresa rose, trying to remain calm as she followed him. At least he wasn’t walking out the exit…but she felt her hopes crash when she realized he was heading for the restroom.
She waited, pretending to make a phone call, until he came back out, straightening the new jacket. He paused, considering, and then started walking.
He went to the nearest and smallest of the bars. Teresa watched as he pulled up a stool and ordered a drink. Like the rest of California Kings, the bar had recently been remodeled; stylish and industrial, with silver ducts running overhead and stools made of welded pipe.
Her good luck was holding—there was only one other patron at the bar right now, a man with long gray hair so bent over his drink that it looked like he was cuddling it.
Teresa waited until Reynaldo finished his first drink and ordered two more. Good—he’d had a losing streak, was pissed off, wanted to drown his sorrows. Perfect…or at least as perfect as it was ever likely to get.
The big moment was here. She inhaled, smoothed down her clothing and hair, and walked into the bar, taking a stool two places from Reynaldo.
As the bartender approached, Teresa tried to radiate excitement, triumph. “What can I get you?” the bartender, a buff, bored-looking young man asked.
“I’ll take,” Teresa said, pitching her volume higher than usual, “a Grey Goose and tonic…and buy both of these fine gentlemen another of whatever they’re having.”
The bartender’s eyebrow arched. “Sounds like you’re having a good day,” he said, as he mixed three drinks.
“Oh, yes, I am,” she said, sliding a fifty across the bar, “maybe the best day ever.”
The bartender put new glasses before the gray-haired man, who barely noticed, and Reynaldo, who toasted her. As her vodka and tonic was set before her, Teresa returned the toast.
Reynaldo sipped his drink before turning in her direction. “You’re having a better day here than me,” he said, and she was pleased to hear that he already sounded a little drunk.
“Oh, I’m not having a great day here,” she said. “I’m not a gambler…well, not unless you count the markets.”
“Really?” Reynaldo set an empty glass down. Teresa motioned to the bartender for a refill.
“Thanks,” Reynaldo said, picking up the new drink. “Markets, huh? So is that why you’re celebrating?”
“Could be.” Teresa sipped her own drink slowly, hoping no one would notice that she hadn’t finished her first drink while they were on their fourth or fifth or sixth. “Could be that by this time tomorrow, I’m going to be kind of rich.”
Reynaldo edged his stool closer. “Fuck, that sounds great. Anything you can share?”
“Not really…”
“Aww, come on. How about if I buy the next round?”
Teresa laughed, looked down at her cocktail as she stirred it with a finger. “Well, I guess I can tell you a little: it’s a new tech firm specializing in renewable energy. They’ve got something that’s going to blow solar out of the water, and they’re going out with their IPO tomorrow morning.”
Reynaldo got up, staggering slightly as he moved to the stool next to her. “So…how’s that going to make you rich?”
“Maybe I got a little pre-IPO action. Picked up a thousand shares for a steal.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“I used to be a broker at one of the big firms. Got my own company now.” She slid one of the business cards across the bar to him. He took it, held it up before his reddening eyes, squinting. Teresa added, “I’ve still got some ins at my old company, though, and they cut me in on the deal. Me and a few of my clients.”
“No shit?” Reynaldo looked from the card up to her. “So, how does somebody get to be one of your clients?”
Teresa laughed, partly to continue the act, but partly from her own happy disbelief: This is actually working. “If you’re asking about getting in on this action…Sorry, but it’s not a cheap buy-in.”
“How much?”
“Minimum investment is a thousand shares at twenty-two dollars each.” Teresa guessed he had at least that much left of Dad’s money.
“Shit,” Reynaldo muttered, shaking his head, “too rich for my blood.”
Teresa’s heart sank. She mentally cursed herself for going too high. She’d figured wrong, and now it was all going to crash and burn. She slid off the barstool, clutching her purse and cane. “That’s too bad for you, I guess. Enjoy your drink.”
She turned to go. She’d had one shot at this, and she’d blown it. She walked quickly, head down, putting on sunglasses as she reached the exit and the doors slid back, the hot Southern California air slapping her like a knockout punch. Before she’d made it five feet outside, though, a voice called after her: “Hey, wait…”
She turned, felt hope returning as Reynaldo ran up, his steps clumsy from drink, his fingers still clutching the fake business card.
“Why did you follow me?” she asked.
He gestured with the card. “After you left, I checked out your company’s website. You know, just to make sure you were for real. Look, I got fifteen thousand. You can’t cut me in for maybe seven hundred shares?”
Heart pounding, Teresa tried to stay calm, to appear as if she were considering. After a few seconds, while Reynaldo waited, panting in the afternoon heat, she said, “Okay, tell you what: I’d like a few more shares myself, so how about if I make up the difference? You get seven hundred shares, I get another three hundred.”
Reynaldo grinned. “Oh yeaaahhh. Yeah, that’s awesome.”
Teresa mustered authority, turning a scowl on him. “But you get that this has to happen today, I mean—right now, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. How do we do it?”
“EBT. You cool with that?”
“Sure. I got it.”
Teresa had memorized her dad’s routing and bank accounts numbers; she took the card back from Reynaldo, rested the cane in the crook of her arm, wrote down the numbers, handed it back.
He was already pulling out his phone. “Look, I’ll do it right now.” He turned away, swiping and stabbing at the screen.
Teresa opened Dad’s banking app, logged in, waited…and sure enough, there was the transfer a few minutes later.
Fifteen thousand dollars. She’d hoped for more, but at least it was enough to get the property taxes straightened out.
“Got it,” she said, as Reynaldo turned back to her. “If you want to follow me back to my car now, I’ll just have some paperwork for you, and you’re set.”
“Fantastic.” He gestured, then trailed her across the parking lot.
Teresa swallowed in a suddenly dry throat, wondering if she could really do what had to come next. She thought about what could have happened—her dad in some county facility that smelled of piss and death, not understanding what was happening, why he’d been abandoned—and it gave her the courage she needed.
As they reached the car, she waved at the passenger side. “Take a seat. This’ll just take a few minutes.”
They both climbed into the car. “Nice wheels,” Reynaldo said, running a hand over the leather armrest on his door.
“Let me just get the paperwork.” Teresa reached behind the front seat for the tote bag she had back there.
Instead of forms, she pulled out a handgun—Dad’s old .38 pistol, the one she’d unloaded and hidden on a top shelf in her closet a while ago since a gun wasn’t something a man with dementia should have access to—and pressed the barrel to Reynaldo’s temple. He froze, only his eyes moving as he tried to look at her. “What the fuck—”
“Reynaldo Samosa, my Dad is Bill Michaud.” She paused to let that work its way through his drunkenness and panic, saw it sink in, heard the heavy groan that escaped him. “What I just took from you is his, and I’m telling you right now that if you ever come around either one of us again, I will use this gun without hesitation. If you try to report what happened here today, I will find you again, and I’ll have this with me. Am I making myself clear?”
He nodded rapidly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
She’d won, but she still regretted how much of Dad’s money was lost. “God damn it, Ray, you burned through fifteen K just at this casino?”
He stopped moving, and she saw his sodden brain trying to work through a problem. Suddenly, he pulled away to look at her, opened his mouth, and laughed. In between guffaws, he got out, “You don’t even fuckin’ know, do you?”
