Poor bloke looks like a myopic egg.
The woman waited patiently as the man excused himself and reached into his jacket. Producing a tan silk handkerchief with a flourish, he proceeded to pat it delicately across his sweaty forehead. Finished, he tucked the cloth back into his vest pocket while still clutching the briefcase to his chest. Clearing his throat he smiled with a bit of embarrassment.
“Sorry about that Miss Thompson. Please go on.”
“I’m quite sure that this location will suit all of your requirements Mr. Rickenbacker,” Laurina Hawks continued, lifting her hands to indicate her surroundings. She recited the order back to him. “Medium sized river front warehouse, two-thousand square meters in volume, separate electrical shack with backup generator in good working order, 3 one hundred meter berths and a loading ramp complete with access into the bay. It’s even got a nice private office for you to boot.” She smiled at the egg-man with confidence.
“Im-p-p-pressive,” Harvey Rickenbacker stammered anxiously. “And the price, w-what a bargain. H-How did you come b-by this property so cheaply?”
The red head continued to smile winningly at him, even though the man’s stuttering was getting on her nerves. “Well,” she began, “my clients are quite resourceful, and shrewd bargainers. They seek out properties with potential like this one and strike while the iron is hot. Then they seek out certain uh…'discriminating' customers like yourself who recognize a bargain when they see one, and make an offer. By offering to help them avoid certain odious surcharges by dealing only in cash, my clients are able to offer properties at a substantial discount.”
“Indeed, I under-s-s-stand completely,” the plump man nodded vigorously, speaking in a conspiratorial tone. “The Crown’s taxes for businesses can be quite, er excessive.”
Taking a breath, he made his decision. “I will accept your terms Miss Thompson, provided that the wording of deed of sale is in order. If you have the d-d-document with you, I’ll give it a thorough going over now.” He extended his chubby hand her way, grasping at the empty air like a child begging for candy.
“I do indeed,” Laurina replied, holding a slim palm up to his face. “You do have the funds I trust?”
“Oh! Y-y-yes,” he stammered, while flushing with embarrassment. He shakily laid the grey briefcase on the steel table next to the woman’s red umbrella, and clicked the latches open with a snap. Multiple images of the Queen smiled back at the young woman as she gazed lovingly at the large stacks of bank notes. He giggled a bit before speaking again.
“Sorry, but I feel a bit like one of those ballsy drug lords they show on the telly. Nasty buggers. Well then, here’s the 250,000 pounds sterling as agreed Miss Thompson. Would you like to verify the contents?”
A slight frown appeared on the woman’s face before quickly vanishing; hastily replaced by a small smile of professionalism. Somehow, even hearing this egg man refer to her by her chosen alias irritated her immensely. “That is not necessary Mr. Rickenbacker. Your reputation as a trustworthy businessman precedes you, but please, just call me Nancy,” she replied, smiling sweetly.
Reaching into the folds of her trench coat, she produced a large manila envelope. She withdrew a document made of thick parchment paper from inside, and placed it on the table for his inspection. Rickenbacker picked it up and noted its weight. His eyes then carefully scanned the parchment looking for any abnormalities. He also verbalized each word in a low prim and proper voice as he read, hoping that his ear would catch what his eyes did not.
The closer he came to the end of the document, the more excited his voice became. His palms became even sweatier, and the paper began to rattle as it shook in his hands. By the time he reached the bottom, a smile of triumph emerged on his round face. The language of the document was correct, the certificate was signed in all the appropriate places, and yes, the official gold foil seal stood out like an exclamation on the right bottom corner. Everything seemed to be in order. He couldn’t believe his good fortune. The Dover property was finally his, and at a bargain price to boot!
“Then it’s a deal?” she asked sweetly.
“Certainly,” Rickenbacker replied excitedly.
Laurina reached forward to shake his sweaty hand. Finishing the handshake with a nod, the chubby man made a flourish with his right hand inviting her to take the money. The slim woman nodded with a smile, snapped the lid of the briefcase shut and lifted it from the table, while he folded up and placed the deed to the Dover Shipyards into an inner jacket pocket.
A sudden scraping noise drew their attention to the east side of the warehouse. The gritty sound of booted footfalls echoed loudly on the concrete walk outside, while at the same time an authoritative voice could be heard speaking loudly through a megaphone.
“Laurina Hawks, you are under arrest for crimes against the Crown! Come out with your hands where we can see them!”
“Bloody fuzz. Shit!” Laurina murmured under her breath.
Not now! Not when I’ve just scored this deal, and I’m this close to meeting up with Abel and going after Galicia. Interference from the Bizzies is the last thing I need.
“W-w-what are they t-t-talking about?” Harvey Rickenbacker stuttered. “Who is this Hawks person they’re referring to?”
Laurina ignored the egg man as she reached into her coat and produced a leather strap which she clipped onto the handle of the case. Once secured, she looped it over her opposite shoulder. “Mr. Rickenbacker,” she turned and bade him farewell with a formal bow.
The nervous man blinked with astonishment as the woman rushed past him and darted up the metal stairs, as a group of constables burst into the warehouse, followed by a tall man in civilian clothes. The men hesitated slightly as they caught sight of the beautiful woman in fishnet stockings and miniskirt bounding upstairs.
“Don’t even rest there you dolts! Go after her!” the tall man shouted with frustration.
As he spoke, Laurina reached the landing of the catwalk, turned, and continued running toward the office at the opposite corner of the warehouse. The air vibrated with the hollow echoes of the heavy footfalls as five of the men pursued the con artist, taking the stairs two at a time to gain ground on her. Several of the constables headed back outside of the large building to cut off any potential external escape route, while their fellows upstairs pursued the woman. Each man secretly hoped against hope that they would capture the Hawks woman before she could elude them once again, and thereby avoid another tongue lashing or worse from their superior.
Laurina flung open the door of the darkened office, ducked inside, and quickly locked it behind her. After propping a chair back against the doorknob, she rushed over to her predetermined exit, a wooden door beside the manager’s desk which opened outside to a fire escape which overlooked the docks. She carefully glanced outside, looking for signs of pursuit. Judging that the coast was clear, the redhead slipped outside just as her pursuers crashed against the locked door. Grabbing hold of the railing, the beautiful redhead raced down the stairs as quietly as possible. Reaching the landing, she ignored the rusty extension ladder to the ground, clambering over the railing instead, and dropped onto a large ancient cargo container long abandoned by its previous owners.
One of the officers, alerted by the sound, rounded the corner at a full run, hoping to be the one lucky enough to catch her. What he caught instead was a booted foot from above that landed flush against his face, breaking his nose and knocking his head backwards. The force of the blow, coupled with his forward momentum, knocked the man off his feet, flipping him end over end until he landed face first into a large puddle of mud. The hapless officer gurgled in pain as he extracted his face from the muck long enough to catch a breath. Dazed by the impact of the blow, he was barely conscious enough to catch sight of a lone figure jumping onto the wet ground and swiftly making its way into the concealing fog.
Inside the warehouse, someone else was also enveloped in a fog of sorts.
“W-w-w-what h
appened? What’s going on?” demanded a flustered Rickenbacker in a shaky voice amid the chaos of uniformed men running to and fro.
He watched with dread as one of the officers came back inside the warehouse, hastily making his way toward the tall, slightly rumpled figure in a worn trench coat and an aged tweed hat; a commanding presence who stood nearby. Behind him, two other policemen were carrying in one of their own, covered in mud with a bloodied face. After a short discussion, the face of the tall man reddened, and after several terse words, the messenger quickly backed away from him in fear. Shaking with rage, tweed hat quickly regained his composure, and marched over to the little round man, producing a pair of handcuffs in a scarred right hand.
“I’m Inspector Richard Kelder,” he began, before spitting a gnawed toothpick from his thin mouth. “And by order of the Crown, you Harvey Rickenbacker are under arrest for business fraud and evasion of taxes.”
He spun the rotund suspect easily and quickly cuffed his wrists behind his back. Before the shaken man could protest, the Inspector leaned down and whispered grimly, “Sorry to inform you guv, but on top of everything else, you’ve been scammed. This is the third property that this little lady has “sold” without ownership or authorization this year, and with her on the run, it looks like she left you up the bloomin’ creek without a paddle.”
The blood drained from the portly man’s face. His fleshy lips pursed like a fish. “T-t-this cannot be,” he said in a quivering voice, nodding toward his heart. “I’ve got the original deed for the property from Miss Thompson here in my breast pocket.”
“Nancy Thompson, incidentally, is just one of several aliases that our Miss Hawks uses to scam unsuspecting blokes like you. May I?” Kelder asked, reaching into the fold of Rickenbacker’s coat without waiting for a response. The tall Inspector’s eyes squinted as he quickly scanned the document with an expert’s detachment.
“It’s almost perfect to be sure, but as I suspected, definitely forged,” he pronounced with finality while pointing to a flaw only his trained eyes could see.
“Unfortunately for you, Laurina Hawks just happens to be one of the best document forgers in all of London. Poor bugger. Your greed bought you nothing but a beautiful piece of paper, and a trip down to Scotland Yard.”
Harvey Rickenbacker’s mind whirled as the reality of the situation came crashing down on him like a lead weight, but not because he was worried about doing any jail time. His barristers could get him out of that easily, or at least keep the courts tied up indefinitely. It was the thought of his professional reputation being tarnished that made him suffer the most. He considered himself to be a wise and savvy businessman who watched dispassionately, while many of his contemporaries had been fooled into bad deals. And oh, had he needled them for it.
“T-t-tough break there, chap” he would say while clicking his tongue condescendingly. “It could happen to anyone.”
The words while soothing on the outside, would always hold the mocking undertone of, “But of course never to me.” Over the years many of his contemporaries had chafed under his smugness, and now, because of his own greed, it has come back to haunt him. Now, with this terrible turn of events, Rickenbacker had lost more money than all of them put together, frittering away 250,000 pounds sterling with absolutely nothing to show for it. What grated on him even more was the fact that he had lost it due to the charms of a woman!
“I still can’t believe it!” the fleshy man exclaimed. “She knew all the right things to say, down to the proper business terminology!”
The Inspector nodded. “Quite. She knows her craft, I’ll give ‘er that. As I said, you’re not the only one Hawks has deceived. There have been a number of these “occurrences” over the last five years or so.”
What he didn’t tell Rickenbacher was that Metropolitan Police Service suspected that a large portion of the funds from these confidence games ended up being laundered and then deposited into the coffers of various charities scattered across London, including one in particular: Paddington Foundling Home; the orphanage that Laurina Hawks grew up in. Unfortunately due to lack of evidence, they couldn’t move on the charities themselves. Until she becomes careless, or someone makes a mistake, they had no choice but bide their time.
The egg man remained silent as he considered his current position. He would most certainly be removed from the company and shown the door of course, but not before there was a hearing in front of his own board of directors. There he would be a made a laughingstock in front of the same group of men he had passively ridiculed. Worse still was the fact that once word of this embarrassment got out into the business community, he wouldn’t be able to get a job anywhere; not even as a lowly clerk. He might even be held personally liable for the loss and compelled to repay it himself, out of his own holdings. His career and his life were ruined.
The shock of this realization caused Rickenbacker’s stomach to lurch sickeningly, as his vision began to darken. The hapless man wobbled a bit before finding himself in the grasp of the rumpled Inspector, who guided his slumping form safely onto a nearby chair. He shook his head ruefully.
“This just can’t be,” he muttered. “She was too bloody pretty to be a con artist.”
Kelder chuckled at this line.
“Pretty yes, but make no mistake, she’s a sly one she is, and dangerous. The last officer who tried to bring her in on his own ended up missing. We found him the next morning in a daze, wandering the streets stark naked, with two broken arms.”
“W-w-wha…” stuttered the wide eyed victim.
“W-w-wha indeed,” mocked Inspector Kelder.
He stuck the tip of his pencil to his tongue and began to jot down notes.
“Now let’s start at the beginning my dear Mr. Rickenbacker,” he asked in a businesslike tone, as he began to formally interview the latest victim. “When did you first come in contact with Miss...Thompson?” Kelder added with a smirk.
Chapter 3
Laurina continued to race through thickening fog. Knowing these alleys from childhood, she instinctively ducked right and left to confuse any pursuit, careful to run quietly on the grimy wet cobblestones. Minutes later, satisfied that she had lost any of the Constables that may have been chasing her, the redhead emerged onto a main street and slowed her pace to an easy walk, so as not to draw undue attention. A light but steady rain was falling in earnest, and the young Brit cursed her inattentiveness as she remembered that the umbrella she had borrowed from Abel was still lying on the table inside the Dover shipyard, almost certainly in police custody by now. She absently buttoned up her trench coat while casting furtive glances all around. She was so consumed with watching for foot pursuit that she barely paid attention to sound of the engine of the dark sedan that started up behind her.
Alone in her thoughts, she continued down the sidewalk as the shadowy vehicle slowly pulled away from the deli where it had been parked, creeping its way forward to the intersection before coming to a stop. Its wiper blades swept across the windshield like the finger of a hunter wiping away brow sweat before taking aim, flicking the moisture left and right. Inside, the glow of a burning cigarette lit half of a man’s face before dimming as the driver inhaled. His passenger having finished his own smoke rolled down the window and tossed the butt out into the wet night.
As the ember of his cigarette died, he reached into his jacket, pulled out an odd looking handgun, and loaded it with a tranquilizer dart. Aiming it toward the young woman, he waited for a clear shot. Nine meters ahead, a sizable gap appeared between two parked cars; more than enough room to do the job. Like a shark, the dark vehicle slowly but steadily accelerated as driver and gunman prepared to strike.
Suddenly a bright golden flash lit up the interior of the vehicle, momentarily blinding them. This was followed by two gasps of surprise and pain as something struck their heads with a dull thud. The passenger slumped sideways into the leg and arm of the unconscious driver, inadvertently turning the steering wheel toward t
he left. The car picked up speed until it lurched over the curb with a sickening scrape of metal and concrete, and gained the sidewalk, hurtling towards the young Brit.
Laurina Hawks turned at the sound and gasped in horror at the sight of the speeding sedan two meters away bearing down on her. Just before the moment of impact, she screamed, throwing her arms in front of her reflexively as she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the windshield glass. Oddly, time seemed to slow and the air about her became thick as syrup as she closed her eyes to the inevitable. At the same time she could clearly smell the briny odor of the fog’s moisture, the burning oil of exhaust fumes, and the nicotine from a dying cloud of cigarette smoke.
The golden flash knocked the breath out of her body as the dark sedan struck, mercilessly launching her backwards into the air. Like molten honey, the energy covered her, surrounding her form like an aura. Laurina’s eyes snapped open just as her back and head slammed into the wall of Molly’s Bakery, followed by the car’s crushing metal embrace around her chest. Light flashes exploded in her brain by the impact and she felt her lungs suddenly collapse from the pressure of the vehicle, but oddly there was no pain. As shock caused her brain to shutdown into unconsciousness, her eyes widened for just an instant as the vehicle, the sidewalk and the entire wet night itself winked into pixilated fragments before finally dissolving into darkness.
Semi consciousness and pain sprouted into sudden clarity and horror as the two men in the vehicle caught sight of their quarry pinned between their car and the building. Quickly forcing their doors open, they stumbled onto the sidewalk toward the trapped woman, still shaken from the crash. Both stared in amazement at the sight. The sedan’s front end was totally demolished, with the center grille crumpled back a meter from the impact with the woman, while the rest of it had hugged itself around her body. Wisps of steam escaped into the air like fleeing ghosts blending into the fog, as drops of hot water from the wrecked radiator sizzled onto the cool wet sidewalk. While the vehicle’s damage was extensive, strangely enough there was no blood visible on the woman’s clothing or from her mouth, which would normally be expected from such an impact.
One Last Con Page 5