Page 41 of Property of Mongrel

I box the items up as the clerk pushes them down the conveyor belt, my mind racing at what could’ve possibly happened. I know for a fact my paycheck hit, because I paid all my monthly bills that were left, transferred money to my savings account and money market account, and still had quite a bit left. It’s amazing how much wiggle room I now have since my student loans and car are paid off. Still, having my card declined has the little girl who remembers those days crying. Too many times, as a child I would watch as my mother put things back until she was able to pay for whatever she was trying to buy. More often than not, though, we left the store with nothing.

I walk out next to Mongrel, silent and mortified. When we get to his truck, I try to help him load, but he insists on me getting in the passenger side. So, while I wait, I pull up my mobile app on my phone to see if maybe I screwed something up, even though I know I didn’t.

Betty made sure I understood finances. She eased me into it, of course, and I earned an allowance for the chores I helped her with, as well as the few she gave me, like keeping my room clean and setting the table. Then, when I got my allowance, she explained that we always put at least ten percent aside to save, ten percent aside to give, and that would leave us with eighty percent to use for the things we needed.

As I got older, my allowance got bigger, and I became enthralled with how my savings account balance grew. When I was given money for my birthday, I would divvy it up the same way, because it became a habit, and by the time I got my first part-time job, I was paying ‘rent’ which she turned around and gave right back to me when I graduated to purchase a used car.

“Where is it?” I mutter as Mongrel finally gets in on the driver’s side. “It’s gone, it’s all gone, how is that possible?”

“What’s gone, Addy?” he asks, looking at me.

“My money, nothing’s left,” I shout, turning my phone screen toward him. “How could it be there on Friday and gone on Monday?”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Mongrel

I see nothing but zeroes and look at her with my brow raised. “You said you just got paid, right?” I ask, trying to understand what I’m seeing. “Are you… do you think the bank has a maintenance thing going on?”

“It was there on Friday, Mongrel, I swear it was,” she replies, tears now streaming down her face. “I took care of the rest of my monthly bills and even wiped out a few for next month as well.” I know I must look shocked, because most people literally live from paycheck to paycheck, but not only has she got this month all taken care of, she’s working through next month’s bills as well!

“I’m impressed, babe, because most folks can’t do that,” I admit. I mean, I can, but I get a nice payout every month from the club’s profits, especially now that I’m a full patch brother and an officer. Outside of my vehicle insurance, my cell phone bill, and gas for said vehicles, my expenses are negligible at best, so my own accounts are rather healthy, even with purchasing two new Harleys with cash.

“About a month or so ago, we had an office manager who ended up losing her job because she was double-booking and overworking five of us at the clinic. Mrs. Rockmartin went back through the logs and found out that I was doing a month’s worth of patient visits every week and it had been like that for months. So, she figured out how many ‘months’ I should’ve been paid based on the work I did, paid me for that and also gave me a bonus to thank me for handling the workload and not quitting. I went ahead and paid my car off two years early, or maybe it was three, I can’t remember right this second, plus I paid off the last of the student loans I still owed. Basically, I took care of everything, then added to my money market account, my savings account, and my Roth IRA! So, what I paid out Friday night was maybe five hundred bucks, tops. I left a grand in my checking, then transferred the rest like I normally do. But right now, none of my accounts have any money in them!” she shrieks.

“Okay, let’s get back to the clubhouse and we’ll see what we can do to figure shit out,” I reply, trying to calm her down.

It’s useless, however, as she completely breaks down in hysterics. All I want to do is pull her to me and hold her, but I need a computer, possibly Nerd, and maybe even Jonah, to make sure nothing nefarious is going on with her money.

“Y-y-y-ou don’t understand,” she stammers as she wrings her hands. “G-g-growing up, my mother’s only concern was for her-herself. We never really had food in the house, and if… if not for the aid I got through the school, I would have been hungry all the time instead of just on the weekends and holidays.”

My heart drops. I’ve gone hungry but it was by my choice at the foster homes where money didn’t stretch far enough to feed all the mouths. It was never because there wasn’t food, though. And I always lied and said I was full, so the younger kids got enough to eat. But hearing that my woman, the one I can see beside me for the rest of my life went hungry living with her mom? That incites my wrath.

She’s now rocking in the passenger seat, lost in her memories, so I just listen, my hand rubbing up and down her arm in a futile attempt to soothe her. “Necessities weren’t bought, so I didn’t have soap or shampoo to bathe properly, and my clothes were dirty and stained. Seems plain water doesn’t do much for a dirty body or clothes,” she bitterly says. “But I didn’t know any better. Mongrel, I lived in filth as a child. My mother was always looking for her next high or the next man who could get her that high or bottle of booze, and she had no problems having a revolving door in order to get what she wanted. I wasn’t even part of that equation. Sometimes, the elderly neighbor would see me outside and bring me a plate of food, but when my mother figured out what she was doing, that stopped.”

“Is that when your aunt stepped in?” I ask.

She laughs, but the sound is so grating it hurts my heart to hear. “Yeah. She knocked on our door one night and my mother opened it thinking it was her new man. When Betty saw the condition of the house, she made me pack my stuff and she took me home with her. Mongrel, it took three baths before I was clean! And I still don’t know how she got all the mats and tangles out of my hair. The other kids used to call me horrible names. When I went to live with Betty and found out that how I was living wasn’t appropriate, I vowed then that I’d never be dirty again and I’d always have food in my house and money in the bank. Betty saved me, Mongrel, but my mother left deep, ugly scars. I’m a hot mess.”

“Oh, honey,” I whisper. “I know I had it rough at times, but nothing like what you dealt with. I’m glad your aunt saved you, Addy.”

“Me too,” she says, still crying. “But having my card declined has me spiraling, Mongrel, and I feel like that ten-year-old little girl, dirty, filthy, and grungy, who learned to be quiet and not draw attention to herself all over again.”

We pull into the driveway for the clubhouse and Jonah opens the gate for us. “Let me get someone to unload this so we can try and figure out what the hell happened, okay?”

“Okay.”

She sounds so fucking defeated right now. I’m confident that between me, Nerd, and possibly Jonah, we’ll figure out what happened, but she’s hurting. Once I park, I shoot a text to Doc and let him know we’re back, but I need to take care of Addy. He texts back that he’ll unload the truck and he’ll let Gretchen know we’re going to be down after we take care of something.

“Okay, here’s my bank register,” Addy says, pulling it out of her purse and opening it on Nerd’s desk. “Here’s my last bank statement which just came in on Saturday. I was going to reconcile my account, so I put it in my purse to do at work tomorrow.”

“You don’t mind me seeing this?” Nerd asks.

“No,” she replies. She’s calmer now; not by much, but she’s stopped crying and now she appears to be angry. She’s already called the bank who had no answers they were able to give her other than to say they show the withdrawals happened today.

Nerd looks at the bank balance, then slowly turns each page of her bank statement. I’m not surprised that she does everything manually based on what she shared. For someone who had little to no control as a child, she would want to know where every penny was and that it was accounted for with no deviations. Nerd opens up the online portal for her bank and pushes the keyboard toward her so she can input her user identification and password.