Mom's Surprising Career

The last time I saw Mom was 15 years ago.

I: The Reunion

Dad was killed in Iraq.  Mom stayed home to raise me, and see me through college.  Then she returned to work.  It was never clear to me what she did for a living.

Her call two nights ago was brief.

"I'll be in New York on Thursday.  Can we get together for dinner?" she asked.

Of course I said yes.  So here I was picking Mom up.

"Mom!" I said, giving her a big hug.

"I'll get my coat," she said.

"Impressive digs," checking the suite out.  "A good floor, in a good hotel.  Work must be going good."

"I need to talk to you about my work," she said.  "Let's go."

We didn't get far.

Four men were waiting.  They held up important looking badges.

"Come quietly," the lead guy announced.  "We don't want any trouble."

What else would they say.  "Let's slap leather and shoot it out."  That went out with the last John Wayne Western.

Surprisingly, it wasn't completely out.  One of them took Mom's shoulder bag, and removed a small deadly looking gun from it.

"Mom?" I said.

"Just be quiet," was her response.


II: The Interrogation

They separated Mom and I.

"Mr. Carlson," my inquisitor started after checking my wallet.  "What's your role in this?"

"My role?" I replied.  "Dutiful son picking up mother for dinner."

"Sure," he snapped.  "Just because her id says 'Mrs. Carlson'."

"That's her name," I replied.  "Who do you think we are?"

"Don't play dumb," he continued.  "We want answers."

"If I had any, I'd help out," I stated.  "But I know less then you.  Who are you guys?"

"We're with the Special Narcotics Task Force of the NYPD," he said.  "I'll ask the questions,"

"Narcotics?", chuckling under my breath. "Mom and I?  You've got to be kidding."

"Ya think it's funny," he growled.

Just then the door opened.  The lead guy stuck his head in.

"OK, wrap it up," he said.  "The Feds are taking these two."

"Aw captain," my questioner complained, "that's not right.  This is our bust."

"Not anymore," the captain finished.


III: The Drive To The Airport

"Ed, are you OK?" mother asked, as I was placed into the back seat of a large black SUV.  Straight out of a spy movie.

"I'm fine Mom," I answered, "but what's going on.  These guys look like B-movie spies."

My nervousness wasn't helped when she took several minutes to think over her response.

"Driver," she said first. "Please turn off the recorder, and close the privacy window."

"We think of ourselves as Drug Enforcement Agents," she started.  "These days, drug production and smuggling is so tied into international terrorism that we're housed within CIA."

"But I hope we're better then B grade," she quipped with a smile.

"My God Mom," is gulped out.  "For real?"

"Yes," she said.  "You need more of the story."

The early part of her story I knew.  Up to the time she returned to work like many other empty nesters, but not to the usual 9 to 5 world.

"I started as a translator," she continued.  "Turned out to be a valuable field capability.  First I went along to help the operatives understand what was going on.  It turned out I had a knack for dealing with the cowboys who produce and run drugs.  Who knew!"

"I came to see you because the group that I've infiltrated learned you exist.  Because of our mistakes, they think you're a part of my team."

"Me, a spy," I said in an amazed voice.

"No," she clarified, "a New York drug king pin."


IV: Singapore

During the long flight to Singapore, Mom filled me in on the plan.  Far fetched if I'd read it in a novel.

"Ed, this is Sam Yu, my partner," Mom introduced me to the head of the syndicate in his palatial headquarters

"Ah, Mr. Carlson," Mr. Yu said, shaking my hand.

"We are ready for the transaction," he said getting right to the point, "if you are ready to supply New York distribution."

"I have a strong network, but we need to talk about the distribution of profits," I said, playing the part Mom had for me.

"Greed is an ugly thing, Mr. Carlson," Yu said, losing his smile.

"Not greed, Mr. Yu," I countered.  "Look at my accounts, the expenses for police and court protection, for transportation, for daily operations."

"Let us review these accounts over dinner," Yu said, waving Mom and I into his dining room.

The accounting records had been prepared by an expert.  Hell, even I half believed them.

"OK, I can see your needs," Yu stated as the meal was finished.  "Is an additional 5% adequate?"

"Fair enough," I said offering my hand.

Riding back to our hotel, Mom held my arm and whispered, "Well done.  Tomorrow we close the deal."

The next morning, Yu and his bodyguard/driver came to a remote area of the airport with a sizeable container filled with their product.  Mom and I arrived with the payment in a large suitcase.  Once Yu had the payment, we'd load the container onto our freight liner and depart.

"Mr. Yu, this will be good business for both of us," I said.  "As agreed, if you show us the product, we will hand over the suitcase."

After entering the container, we opened the suitcase revealing what appeared to be his double.

"What is this?" Mr. Yu snarled. 

A short time later, I helped Mr. Yu carry the suitcase to his limo, helped him into the back, and handed in the suitcase.

"Mr. Yu wishes to return to his office," I told the driver.  Off they went.

The container was loaded into our plane.  Once airborne, Mom and I entered the cargo bay to check on our cargo.

Mr. Yu was in fine shape, although not as satisfied with our business deal as he'd hoped to be.  His stuffed double probably wasn't either.