by Gregg Burton
“A dead man!” Simon growled.
John's reflexes took over, knocking the gun out of Simon's hand and following it with a blow to his jaw. As John stepped back, he slipped on a broken branch, losing his balance.
“Simon, what’s wrong with you?! What’s gotten into you?” John asked as he fell. Simon held his jaw and looked aimlessly for the gun. “I saw you, John. I saw you leave the back of the hotel with that nigger. I know you think I’m stupid, but I’m not. Now that you’re going to be gone, I’m going to run this operation better than you ever could.”
The moonlight was not bright enough to easily find the gun, but Simon was able to find it before John was able to regain his footing. He began waving it at his partner like a madman. John tried to crawl backwards to get away, but only ended up bruising his elbows and cutting his hands.
“Look, Simon, let me explain. It’s not what you think.”
“So, when I looked through the window and saw you two kissing, I was seeing things? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“I’ve got money! I have over two million dollars. It’s yours if you just let me go.”
“You mean the $2.5 million you had at your lover’s house?” Simon spit at the mention of John's lover. “I already took that this morning. Funny, your boyfriend tried to use that as the same bargaining chip. It didn’t help him either. I killed him right after he showed me where the money was hidden.”
In one split second, John realized that all his money was gone, his lover was dead, and Simon was less than thirty seconds from sending John to his grave as well.
“NOOO!” John yelled. He grabbed a handful of dirt behind him, and threw it at Simon’s eyes. John scrambled to his feet and took off into the woods, as Simon fired blindly into the air.
“I BETTER NOT EVER SEE YOU AGAIN, QUEER, OR YOU’RE A DEAD MAN!”
Knowing the seriousness of Simon’s threat, John jumped on the next train out of town, which just so happened to be heading to New York. John figured it would be as great as any to set down new roots. Once he got on board, the conductor asked for a ticket.
John handed it to him. “Marco Fontanne. Is that Italian?” asked the conductor as the train pulled away from the South to his new world.
In a very weak French accent, John answered, “No, it's French.”
Chapter 1
To know me is to understand me. I don’t know where that quote came from. Whoever said it, said a lot.
My name is Linda. Sometimes it’s Linda Smith, Linda Michaels, or Linda Washington. So you don’t get confused, just call me Linda. I’m going to tell you my story, because if I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me.
For most people, a person my age is way too young to be a confident woman. Then again, I’m not like most people. I play by my own rules. I refuse to be one of the cattle––a part of the so-called working force that charges the gate at seven-thirty every morning, pushing and shoving their way around a crowd of people just to make it to work on time. Then, working that dead-end job for twelve or more hours, just to rejoin the herd at night. That’s no way to live. Hell, I knew that when I was nineteen.
I remember telling a fast food manager, “You’re joking, right?”
She smiled and told me, “No, I’m not joking. And before you start being disrespectful, a lot of women here take care of their family very well making $7.50 an hour.”
She might have been right, but I wasn’t busting my ass for seven dollars and fifty cents an hour. Not me. Without saying another word, I got up and walked my proud ass out the front door. But, there was one problem, I still needed money.
That's when I decided to become an entrepreneur. I developed a way to put money in my pockets without working too hard. Mind you, when I started this line of work, I didn’t know I was actually running a confidence scam. I just thought it was a smart way to make money. Later, I found out that I was indeed running my first con, which I named, ‘The Missing Watch.’
Time Square in New York City was filled with bright lights, building size posters of the latest hot celebrity, Broadway plays and more tourists than any other city could handle.
On 42nd Street and Broadway, an African cab driver yelled at the car in front of him to move as he violently blew his horn. Some European tourists that walked in front of his cab started taking pictures, while smiling at the upset cabbie. To them, it was like a scene from one of those American shows that depicted New York City cab drivers as being uncouth and abrasive.
Pigeons were walking around eating scraps off the sidewalks and in the streets without fear of the pedestrians or the vehicles that slowly passed by.
An Asian couple dressed in matching ‘I Love New York’ t-shirts asked another stranger to take their picture in front of a famous landmark. They would show the picture to their family and friends back in their country, describing every little detail of their trip.
I watched a little black girl, who wore a pink bow in her hair, a light pink sundress, and some white church shoes. She was eating an ice cream cone like it was the best thing God put on this earth. She was dressed like she had just gotten out of Easter Sunday service. It was a look I remembered all too well. I wanted to laugh at her attire, but then I looked down at what I had on––a green and blue pleated skirt, a white blouse, and some white Nikes with tube socks going up to my knees. It was a uniform I had worn for four years. When I graduated, I thought I would never have to wear that horrible looking thing again. Yet, here I stood, walking around in my old high school uniform looking for the perfect mark.
I knew that once I found him, it would be easy to get him to stop. I’ve been told that I’m easy on the eyes. To me, I looked like the other girls from the Lower East Side. Standing five-feet, six-inches tall, I had hazelnut brown skin and shoulder-length hair. The only thing that I would say was different between me most girls were my eyes. People have always told me that I had beautiful eyes, just like they used to say to my mom about her eyes. I never thought much of it. I was hoping that these green eyes my mom had passed down to me would help coerce these unexpected marks to see me as a truthful person. The only thing that worried me was that I didn’t have the perfect body. I wasn’t thick like Kim Kardashian or super skinny like Eva Marcille. I was just average. But, I was banking on my old high school uniform to help me pull in a mark for the kill.
In any other state, it would probably be easier to con someone. In New York, everybody hustled. There was always some angle to play. It could be the clothes, CD’s, purses, jewelry, shoes, or whatever you wanted. If the item was on the market, someone could get it for you. Now, a New Yorker would be just getting a good deal. He knows the game and knows what to look for. But if you weren’t from here… Well, the natives would make a killing off of you and your greed.
To this day, the problem is that there’s too much competition out here. I used to go to Times Square and see tourists being harassed by solicitors the moment they exited the hotel. The hustlers used lines like, “Hey Mister, looking for something nice?” or “What about a Coach bag for your wife or a Rolex for yourself?” and the famous, “I have everything. Just let me know what you want, and it’s yours.”
It happened so much that by the time the poor tourists turned the next block, it would start all over again. They would be so overwhelmed that they didn’t know who to trust when it came to a good deal. Most of the people who came to my city really wanted a good deal.
That’s where I came in.
I worked out a deal with a guy in Chinatown for some knock-off watches that he sold to me for ten dollars apiece; assuming, of course, that I’d buy a box of twenty-four. With the money I’d managed to save, I purchased a box.
Since I couldn’t see myself walking up and down Times Square asking people if they want to buy a watch, I came up with a more creative approach.
The plan I had was simple. I’d walk up to a gullible tourist, preferably a man, mainly because men always think they’re smarter than women. The guy had
to be white, at least in his forties, and holding a map or camera in hand.
I’d stand next to him and ask, “Excuse me, mister. Did you hear anyone say they lost a watch?”
Of course, his answer would be no. For some reason, they always found themselves compelled to give the watch an once-over. What usually came next was, “Why, this is a mighty nice watch. You said you found it?”
This happened with the first mark I played.
He had a thick southern accent, a haircut like Elvis Presley, and a gut to match. He wore a shirt with a butterfly collar, worn cowboy boots, and some Wrangler jeans that were so tight, I could see the imprint of his privates.
Seeing his interest in the watch, I said, “Yes, sir. I found it on the sidewalk. I feel bad for whoever lost it. My daddy has one just like it. My mom spent over five hundred dollars for it last Christmas!”
The Elvis impersonator looked me up and down. He was trying to determine from my appearance whether my mother could actually afford a timepiece as exquisite and expensive as the watch he was holding. His eyes got trapped on my uniform, and he gave me a dirty smile. What a pervert.
I have to admit that my innocent looks helped me capture the illusion I needed to pull off this con. The only makeup I wore was green eyeliner to show off my eyes and some light pink lip gloss. Although I was older, I looked every bit of sixteen.
Mr. Elvis finally came to the conclusion that I was an honest person trying to do the right thing. He also made the assumption that a girl naive enough to be walking around asking strangers if an expensive watch belonged to them would be easy to manipulate.
“Five hundred, huh?” Mr. Elvis asked.
“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind, could you please give me back the watch so I can try to find the owner before it gets too dark. It’s almost my curfew.”
“Well,” he said, “if you want, you could leave it with me. If anybody asks for it, I’ll be happy to give it to them for you. If nobody asks for it, I’ll just turn it over to the police. How does that sound, young lady?”
“No, that’s okay,” I replied. “Besides, if I do find the owner, he might give me a reward for returning his beautiful watch to him. So, if you don’t mind, sir.”
I held out my hand for the mark to give me back the watch, but he couldn’t let it go. He was mesmerized by the fine cut, light hold, and gold trim on the watch. He was starting to picture the watch on his wrist. He started to envision what his buddies would think about him returning home with it. The Elvis look-a-like just knew he had to have that watch.
He said, “Well, hold on. You did say your curfew was close, right?”
“Um hum.”
“Why don’t I do this… You said your daddy has one just like this, and it cost five hundred dollars? I bet if you did find the owner, he would give you a nice reward for returning it. What do you think? Twenty dollars?”
“I really don’t know, sir. I would like to think it would be more than that. What if his wife gave that to him? It would be invaluable to him. Now, I hate to be rude. If you don’t mind.”
I held out my hand again for the watch. Instead of handing it over, Elvis came back with, “What do you think, fifty dollars? I think that would be a nice reward no matter the value of the watch. So, let me help you out. I will give you the fifty dollars. When I find the owner, I will give him the watch and just get my money back from him.”
“That sounds nice, sir. What if you don’t find him? Then you would have just lost fifty dollars.”
“Don’t worry about me, young lady. Here, take this money and hurry home before you get yourself in trouble.”
The mark anxiously fumbled with his wallet. He quickly got the money out, before I could decline his offer again.
Taking the money, I asked, “Are you sure, sir? This just doesn’t feel right.”
“Sure, I’m sure. Now, take this money and hurry home before you get in trouble.”
“Okay, mister, thank you for your help. I hope you find the owner so you can get your money back.”
He walked away smiling and yelled back, “So do I.”
I couldn’t believe how easy that was. That fast food manager from before had tried to pay me minimum wage! Ha! She could keep her minimum wage. I just made more in five minutes then she would in five hours.
I looked at my Minnie Mouse watch and realized it was actually getting late. I decided to call it a night and start back early the next morning.
Out of nowhere, a guy ran up to me and said, “You know, that was pretty slick.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The way you cut into that mark––that was pretty smooth. I have one question. What if he would have said the watch was his? What would you have done then?”
I got a little nervous. I looked in the direction of my mark, but started walking the opposite way. I tried picking up my pace to get away from the boy trying to talk to me. I didn’t know him or want to know him. I started walking blindly through a crowd of people to put some distance between myself, the mark, and this kid who was trying to put me on the spot.
“Hey, hold up. I just want to talk,” yelled the kid still behind me.
I slowed down. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, would you please leave me alone before I call one of those police officers on the corner and tell them you’re harassing me!”
Three police officers were standing on the corner of 42nd Street posing for pictures with happy-go-lucky tourists.
“Go ahead and get them, Miss Badass. I'll tell them to check your backpack. I’m sure you have more watches in there. And, even if you say you’re selling them as replicas, where’s your license, huh? You know what? Let me call them for you.”
I ran back to the guy and grabbed his arm as he raised it for the cops. “What’s your problem?” I asked him. “What do you want from me, huh? Money? My number? What?”
He smiled at me. “I want us to work together. You know you can’t be in these streets by yourself, hustling these white folks out of their money. One day, one of them will challenge you. What are you going to do then?”
I wanted to tell Mr. Nosy that even if a mark would have challenged me and said the watch was his, I would simply ask him to describe the engraving I had put on the back of all the watches. But, I didn’t need to explain anything to him or anyone else. What if I’d got challenged physically, though? That’s something I had never considered. I guess what he said partly made sense.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Malik.”
“Malik, what makes you think I need a partner, huh? I mean, what can you do for me? You’re no bigger than I am. You probably can’t even fight.”
He busted out laughing. “Girl, what are you talking? I’m taller than you! I may look small with my clothes on, but don’t be fooled. I’m working with something here.”
He lifted up his shirt to reveal a small six-pack and a chest so thin I could see his ribs. I started laughing and asked him to put down his shirt before people started throwing breadcrumbs at his bird chest.
Malik’s laughter died. “Man, that’s cold. I’ve been doing push-ups every night and you want to go and diss me like that? That’s just cold, love.” Malik lowered his shirt and hand ironed it. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Linda.”
“So, Linda, what do you say? You want to work together or what? If we’re partners, I could teach you some of the cons I know.”
“Cons? Why would I want to learn about cons? I’m no con artist. I don’t steal.”
“You don’t think you just conned that man? What do you think you did then, huh? He didn’t just give you his money because you look good. He gave you the money because he thought he was getting something for damn near nothing. You sold him a dream. That’s what con artists do…sell dreams. That’s what I do when people come to me. I sell them a dream and I sell it well. Have you ever played Three Card Monte?”
“Are you talking about th
e card game? What do you know about that?”
“What do you mean, what do I know about it? I’m the best in the city. These hands are like magic when I touch those cards.”
“You’re a little cocky. You know that? Next, you’re going to tell me you get paid, huh?”
“Hell yeah, I get paid. But, I can’t play Monte forever, and you can’t con people with your watch game forever, either. So, I figure you and I could make some serious money together. That’s if you really like to get paid.”
“Doing what?” I had to ask.
“I know this guy who can set us up on some good cons. I just need a partner I can trust.”
“Trust? Boy, I don’t even know you. You don’t know me, either. How can you speak of trust?”