Scam Mom, Push Me at Cars Chapter 1

My mother was a professional con artist. Her specialty was staging accidents.

Every day, she’d drag me to a busy intersection, and we’d hunt for our mark. As soon as a car slowed down, she’d shove me into its path.

I’d get hit, and she’d rush over, wailing and screaming, clutching me as if I were dying. She’d tell the driver they’d hit a child, and if they didn’t hand over a hundred thousand dollars, this would not end well.

I’ve had three broken bones. Each time she got the money, she’d buy me an ice cream cone as a reward.

But the sweetness of the ice cream could never mask the agony of a fractured bone.

…

* * *

“Nina, are you ready?” my mother whispered, crouching at the mouth of an alley.

I clutched my backpack and nodded, my eyes glued to a black sedan making a slow right turn at the intersection.

My leg was still in a cast, the "trophy" from last month’s job.

“Mom, my leg still hurts…”

“Suck it up!” she snapped. “Look at that car. You can tell they’re rich. This one’s the big score. If we land this, we can take the rest of the month off!”

Then, timing it perfectly, she gave me a vicious shove from behind.

I flew forward, landing hard in front of the car.

The driver’s door flew open, and a man in a sharp suit scrambled out.

“Little girl, are you okay?”

My mother was on him in a flash, launching into her performance.

“My baby! My poor, cursed child! You bastard! Are you blind?!”

I lay on the pavement, expertly shutting my eyes and letting out a low moan. Over the years, we’d perfected this routine, scamming dozens of people. The fear I’d felt in the beginning had hardened into a numb resignation. It only took two years.

“One million,” my mother screeched, naming a price that was pure fantasy. “Not a penny less, or I’ll die right here with you!”

The man’s brow furrowed for a moment, as if he were considering it.

“Fine,” he said, stunning us both. “But not here.”

He opened his car door. “Get in. We’ll go to the hospital. I’ll pay for the examination, the medical bills, the emotional distress. I won’t short you a dime.”

My mother was speechless. She’d never expected it to be this easy. Overjoyed, she scooped me up and bundled me into the car.

But the car didn’t head toward the city. It drove further and further into the outskirts, until it finally stopped in front of an abandoned factory.

“Mister, this isn’t the way to the hospital…” I whispered.

He turned, his face stripped of its earlier kindness.

“I know,” he said with a chilling smile. “This is a place for teaching lessons.”