Lindemann Loud popped the trunk of his battered 1998 Dodge Neon, got out into the blustery November day, and took a drag from his cigarette. A cold drizzle fell from the sky, not much, just enough to dampen the faded orange and yellow leaves in the trees, and a chilly wind blew from the west, bringing with it the acrid smell of the interstate. He blew out a plume of smoke, flung his cigarette into a murky puddle, and went around to the rear of the car, looking over his shoulder. Straker's van approached at a crawl and Lindemann watched it for a moment. White with a a sliding door, it was one of those twelve seaters the kind you always see parked outside of churches. Instead of carrying children of God, however, it carried stolen property.
They were in the slick, rain-swept parking lot of a gas station on a rough corner in a rough section of Chippewa Falls, the seat of Royal County. Being the biggest city in twenty miles of his front door, Lindemann spent lots of time here. His gang hung out at Jerry's Bar on Ross Ave and networked with the town's various underworld figures. Yes, underworld. You might not think a small town of 10,000 people had much of an underworld but you'd be wrong. There's always a network of criminals doing criminal things no matter where you go. Chippewa Falls was close enough to Detroit that thieves and drug runners - some with ties to organized crime - often came up to launder money, sell their wares, and do whatever else they did. Have tea parties? Lindemann's gang was admittedly small time. They didn't deal in anything harder than pot and got most of their money from burglaries and boosting cars.
And they never made much.
Lindemann's mom, Luna, had worked as a CNA at Belmont Nursing Home in Royal Woods for almost eight years. Last month, the place shut down and she was out of work. There was a recession on and finding work was hard. She had been looking but there was nothing out there. The bills were piling up, the electric company was threatening to shut their power off, and Mom's car was one stiff breeze away from breaking down. Lindemann hadn't been very active on the streets recently because crime didn't pay shit anymore and wasn't worth the trouble, but seeing the panic in his mother's eyes as she realized she wasn't going to find another job any time soon, he had to do something. Last night, he broke into a photography studio and stole a bunch of shit. He did it himself so that he wouldn't have to share the proceeds and almost got caught coming out the back door by a security guard who looked old enough to have sat behind Jesus in the third grade. He saw Lindemann with an armful of Nikon cameras and they both froze.
To say Lindemann was not a violent person would be a lie. He could get violent in self-defense and not feel any remose; if you stepped to him, he'd bust your head, fuck you. He was not, however, going to attack an innocent person just because they saw him doing something, and he sure as fuck wasn't going to beat up an old man. For a moment, neither moved, then the security guard waved him off. "Eh, do whatever you want." He shuffled off, rubbing his lower back and muttering under his breath, and Lindemann booked it out of there.
At home, he called a fence he knew who dealt in electronics and here they were, meeting in broad daylight because while Lindemann was no bitch, he didn't trust this guy. He'd heard rumoros that he ran weapons for the Chicago mob and beat a couple murder raps and that was enough to make him leery.
The van pulled in behind Lindemann's car and parked at an angle. The driver side door swung open and a beefy man with a walrus mustache jumped out. Andy Poffo was probably a mobster, but if so, you wouldn't know by looking at him. Instead of a tailored suit, he wore a camo army jacket over a T shirt, paint-splattered jeans, and a blue baseball cap. A cigarette jutted from his mouth and his eyes narrowed against the glare of the nonexistent sun. Without saying a word, he walked up to the trunk and looked in. Lindemann looked nervously around as Andy went through the contents of the truck. Since being defunded and largely replaced with the Department of Public Safety, cops rarely patrolled this part of town, but he still got antsy when looking sus in public.
Done, Andy threw out his cigarette; it landed on a leaf and extinguished. "250," he said.
Lindemann almost choked. "For all of it? Dude, there's gotta be at least 1,500 dollars worth of stuff in there."
"I don't pay retail."
Well, no shit. Lindemann didn't say that, though. "I know, but you can't hit with me 3 or 4? This is primo stuff. You can get a grand for it easy."
"250. Take it or leave it."
Lindemann sighed. He should have known. Andy was a tough negotiator and a cheap son of a bitch to boot. Lindemann didn't expect much but he was hoping for at least three, that way he could pay the power bill and have mom's car serviced. Andy wasn't kidding when he said take it or leave it, though.
250 was better than nothing.
"Alright," Lindemann said, "deal."
Andy nodded. "Put it in the van."
The first thing that came to Lindemann's mind was fuck you, do it yourself. He couldn't say that, so he did as he was told, transferring the equipment from his trunk to Andy's van. He looked anxiously around but no one was paying attention to him. In this part of town, people have a lot more important shit to worry about than what some random white boy is or isn't putting into a van. Andy took out his wallet, counted 250 in tens and twenties, and handed it over. Lindemann pocketed the bills with a nod and a "Thanks," and then they went their separate ways. The rain picked up on the way out of town and Lindemann turned the wipers on; they screeched and squeaked as they scraped the windshield. The rubber padding was shot and needed replacing; he had been meaning to pick up a pack of replacements at AutoZone, but he could hardly justify the expense.
250 wasn't enough. He needed another score. He wracked his brain for a target but came up empty handed. There weren't many places in Royal Woods he could hit. He knew a few drug dealers who always had lots of cash and product on hand, but he wasn't about to rob a drug dealer. Too much risk. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and pressed his fingertips to his temple. He could always go steal copper. It didn't pay very much but every cent helps when you're dirt poor.
Guilt twisted like a knife in the center of Lindemann's chest and he let out a deep exhalation. Mom worked so hard to give him and his adopted sister Allie a good life and what did she get in return for it? What did she get as thanks for sacrificing and going without? 250 mesely dollars. Not even enough to cover the full power bill.
Lindemann felt like a freeloader and a piece of shit for not bringing in more during their time of need. Despite his "endeavors" he wasn't against the idea of having a steady day job (crime doesn't give you a guaranteed check every week, washing dishes does), but he ran into the same problem Mom had. In the 2020s, the government jacked the minimum wage to 30 dollars an hour; Wal-Mart and Target could pay those prices, but mom and pop stores couldn't, so they closed off. Those big box stores that didn't die off in the Great Retail Holocaust raised their prices, reduced hours, and rarely ever hired even though they were always short-staffed and underwhelmed. That, in turn, led to massive shortages because there weren't enough people packing crates, working assembly lines, and driving trucks. In Royal Woods, everything died off. Everything. Burpin Burger? Gone. Flip's? Gone. His grandpa's restaurant, Lynn's Table? Gone. Even big business owners had to be sparing with new hires and none of them wanted an inexperienced teenage boy...which is why he and millions of other teens couldn't find a job.
But hey, at least the stores that were still around supported BiPOC and LGBTQASDHJDHSVX. Lindemann knew because their commercials told him so. One Burger King ad was literally two gay men taking each other to second base for 60 seconds before the BK logo appeared. Like, great, I'm glad they can afford fast food. They must have those rare things called jobs.
Even if it was beyond his control, Lindemann felt like a loser for not working. This was the reason that crime was through the roof. The politicians said it was poverty and they weren't right, but it was a poverty that they created through their autistic policies. Lindemann hated those bastards.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the driveway and parked next to Mom's car. He lived in a one story ranch house in a quiet neighborhood that had been going to seed for decades. When his mother was young, it was solidly middle class, but today lawns were overgrown, painted was peeling, and stalled cars sat in yards and along the curb. He got out, went up the walk, and whipped out his key, unlocking the door. Inside, Allie sat on the couch watching a game show. A slight blonde girl, she had lived with Lindemann and his mother for going on three years. When Mom originally brought her home, he wasn't happy about it, but he grew to love and accept her as a sister. "Hey," he greeted and took off his jacket. "Where's Mom?"
"In the kitchen," Allie said without looking away from the screen.
Lindemann crossed through the living room and went into the kitchen. As he expected, he found his mother at the table with her face propped in her hands and a stack of bills spread out before her. She was a thick and curvvy woman with long brown hair and freckles, attractive despite the frown lines beginning to form around her sensuous lips. She was young but stress was starting to get to her. He thought she had grays in her hair but she dyed it so he didn't know how many or for how long they had been there.
He grabbed a can of Sam's Cola, popped the tab, and sat across from her. She took a deep, watery breath and let it out in a long, even rush. Seeing her like this killed Lindemann inside and he wished there was something he could do. Life had been hard since Mom and Sam broke up two years ago and even before she lost her job, she was unhappy.
"You alright?" he asked.
She took another deep breath and seemed to draw herself up from the depths of her self-pity. Her eyes were watery but her smile, though forced, was beautiful, like the sun cresting through the rain. "I'm fine, just tired."
That was a lie but he ignored it. He reached into his pocket, took out the wad of bills he had gotten from Andy Poffo, and laid it on the table. "I helped Duke and his old man clear some brush. I figure you can get groceries or something with it."
Mom looked both touched and uncomfortable. Lindemann knew how embarrassing it must be to take money from your child but he wanted her to have it. "No, I can't, you keep it."
"No, you take it. Really."
"I don't feel right taking money from you."
He smiled. "I was going to buy groceries with it anyway, I just didn't feel like going out. If you don't take it, I will, and I'll make sure to load up on steamed broccoli."
Mom crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She hated steamed broccoli...and did Allie. "Alright," she said, "but only because Allie won't eat broccoli." She took the money and Lindemann patted her hand.
Later on, after Allie was in bed, Lindemann was sitting on the couch with a case of beer. Mom came in wearing a sheer nightie that barely covered her, sat down, and grabbed a can. She opened it and took a long sip. "What are you watching?"
Onscreen, a madman in a black leather coat and black leather gloves chased some bitch through an abandoned factory with a straight razor. "I dunno," Lindemann said, "something gay."
"I talked to the power company," she said after a moment. "They're giving us until next month to pay."
Well, that was a relief.
"It'll be a thousand dollars, though."
Lindemann winced. Ouch. There was no way Mom's unemployment check could handle even half of that. He'd just have to make another haul. There was a cellphone store in Elk Park that he was fairly sure he could rob. If he got enough hardware, he could sell it to Andy for at least five hundred. "Don't worry about it," Lindemann said. "We'll pay it somehow,"
"I hope," Mom said. There was a worried tremble in her voice.
For a while, they drank beer and talked, both of them getting tipsy. Lindemann was warm all over and his face tingled. His eyes went to his mother's leg and he blinked at the strange and unwelcome thoughts that flickered across his mind. He looked away but she filled his periphery. He swallowed around a thick lump in his throat and downed a beer to wash the thoughts away.
Without warning, Mom buried her face in her hands and began to cry. Lindemann was caught off guard and just sat there for a moment. "What's wrong?" he asked.
Mom only cried harder.
Not knowing what to do, he put his arm around her and she melted into him. For a long time, she just cried. "I've tried so hard and I keep failing," she blubbered. "I wanted so badly to givre you and your sister a decent life but I can't even keep the lights on by myself. I'm a failure."
Lindemann's heart broke. He held Mom at arm's length and said, "You are not a failure. You're the best mother ever." She tired to protest but he cut her off. "You do everything you can for us and we always get by. Life isn't perfect but we make it. It's easy to make it when you have a million dollars in the bank, anyone can do that, but it takes real skill to get by with next to nothing."
Mom sniffed.
"You're an incredible woman and I have nothing but respect for you." he cupped her cheek in his hand and their eyes met. "You're amazing," he said, "and I love you."
For a moment they gazed into one another's eyes, then they were kissing, their tongues grappling for dominance and their hands touching and squeezing each other's excited bodies. Mom's kisses were sloppy and urgent, muffled moans emanating from her throat. Her hands shook as they slipped under his shirt and her breasts quivered when he kneaded them. She shoved him back onto the couch and straddled him, her lips pressed messily to his and her breathing come in short, hot gasps. She lowered her crotch onto his and her heat scrambled Lindemann's brain. She lightly rubbed herself against his swelling bulge and raked her nails down his chest.
Finally, she broke the kiss and looked down at him. "Let's go to the bedroom."
Not giving him or herself any time for second thoughts, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the hallway. Lindemann ran his eyes over her thighs, which her nightie did little to cover, and his sinful erection thumped against the inseam of his jeans. She tossed a sexy glance over her shoulder and gave a little wink, and Lindemann's head spun. This was wrong but in his drunken state, he didn't care.
In the bedroom, she threw her arms around him and pulled him to the bed, him on top. Their tongues swirled around one another and he ran his hands up her sides, appreciating her hourglass figure and her warm skin.
He didn't know how long it had been since Mom had had sex but he intented to make up gfor all the time she hadn't had any. He pulled her thong down her thighs, whipped it over his shoulder, and took a minute to appreciate her bare sex. He ran his tongue over her clit and she bucked off the bed. Reaching up to fondle her breasts, he licked and suckled her clit like a babe at its mother breast. Mom rocked her hips and moaned his name. Her fluids gushed into his mouth and stained his lips. She gasped, purred, and said, "Oh my God."
Finally, she pushed him away. "Fuck me."
She sounded like she really wanted it.
Like she really needed it,
Yanking down his pants, he kicked out of them and mounted her,, He pressed his tip to her leaking opening and thrusted, filling her. She let out a sharp cry and her body molded around his. He slipped his fingers into her hair and kissed her as he started to pound. He went slow at first, giving her time to adjust, then increased his speed. She wrapped her legs around his hips and kissed his and he rotted her. They made love for what seemed like hours, their bodies moving in perfect tandem. Finally, Mom clenched and cried his name, and he responded by filling her with gallons of cum.
They held each other for a while before Lindemann pulled out in a gush of their mingled juices. He took his mother in his arms and they cuddled until they were both on the verge of sleep. "I love you, Lindemann," Mom said.
"I love you too, Mom," he replied.
Like that, they slept.
The end.