by Jim Wilsky
Sam took another drink of coffee and got up to get a bagel. “I’d say middle of the road. You’re not going to be a stiff, buttoned up corporate type but not dressed in camo or ripped jeans either. You probably have a couple outfits in your bag that’ll be fine.”
She looked down at her notes. “How about—”
Sam pointed at her. “And oh yeah, any office supply like Staples or whatever, can do a same day, short run of business cards. You make it up. Something vague for the business name.”
“Okay. And keys you said?
“Yes. Regular size keys and plain ring…for the storage. If you have an old set in your purse that’ll work too. Doesn’t matter.”
“Alright. How about the weapons or weapon I’m selling? You mentioned military grade weapons; launchers and ‘Maws’ and other things…again, what the hell?” She held her hands up and shook her head. “I’m clueless here and this has got to be the most important part by far.”
“S-M-A-W. Stands for Shoulder-launched Multipurpose Assault Weapon. Looked it up early this morning, couldn’t sleep. The guy he buys for is an arms dealer, has to be. A SMAW or something similar is probably a good choice. Availability, price, value, size. Just do a search on it today and study up a bit. You find something better to sell, we’ll discuss it.” He grinned at her. “Now, if you’re going to be Svetlana from the Ukraine, we could sell him four Verbas instead.”
She gave him a hard look. “Whatever. You know, this isn’t exactly in our wheelhouse of expertise.”
“I know, I know.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. “I don’t like this whole gun thing, either. Adds an element I don’t like. Puts a lot of pressure on you. You’re doing a lot of the heavy lifting on this one. But just like any other angle we play, you’ll need to know your shit on these weapons.”
“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t try…I can do this, Sam. I’ll do the homework and then some, you know that. It’ll just have to do some better acting along with having a good line of bullshit. So anyway, the actual sale tomorrow night, where?”
“I’m thinking that the merchandise will be waiting for him in the storage unit. After the show tomorrow night. Don’t quite know all of that yet but you’ve got other business in California you have to get to, or something to put some urgency into it. You only have Four SMAW’s left from the trip and you need to sell them. Fifteen grand each? I think, you can double check what I saw online. Not too big to do such a quick deal, but not too small to blow off.”
“How about our money? I won’t be spending much but we can’t use up any of the little cash we have left, so which card would be best? I’m thinking the newest Chase card would be best…agreed?”
“Probably, yeah. Probably the only one.”
She opened the small bottle of orange juice and took a sip.
Sam grabbed another bagel and looked at his phone. “All right, I gotta get over there. You need anything, text me. Anything at all.” He stopped at the door. “See you around six or so, make sure he’s busy when you walk up. But he also needs to see you talking to me. Give me a card and then you’re gone. If he starts walking over, you’re outta there.”
“Yes. Got it.”
“Okay, we’ll firm all this up when I get back here tonight after the show. See you, babe.”
“Well damn. That’s the fastest I’ve ever set these tables up.” Wilson waved across the three tables. “You catch on quick. We still got about twenty minutes.”
Sam smiled and shrugged, “All I did was run cables through the trigger guards. Put some price tags on.” He straightened a Desert Eagle out a little and then slid a .45 Glock over to even up the row of handguns.
“Hey, you’re helping me out a lot here.” He reached over and flipped Sam’s twisted exhibitor lanyard around to show his nametag. “Let me go over a few things before they open the gates huh?”
“Sure.” Sam sat down on one of the folding chairs in the booth and took a sip of his coffee. “Give me the do’s and don’ts.”
“Okay…well hell, almost forgot these.” Wilson rummaged around in a plastic storage container, then pulled out a stack of business cards and put them on the table.
He pointed at the cards. “Number one, hand those damn things out to everybody you see—whether they want one or not. Not sure how effective they really are…but then again, it never hurts either.”
“Check,” Sam grinned.
“Next, all these prices on the tags—” Wilson pointed at the tables of pistols and rifles, “—and I mean all of them, are final. I don’t deal, I don’t bargain.”
“Okay, that makes it easier.”
“And easier still, you don’t worry about dealing with any money, any transactions, documents, paperwork or questions. You just aim all that shit over to me. I get backed up a little in doing a couple of sales, which I doubt, then so be it. Fella wants the gun bad enough, he’ll wait.”
“Good. I wouldn’t feel real comfortable doing that anyway.”
“The biggest way you can help me is to meet and greet. Maybe put a new gun from back here on the table when we sell one.”
Over the giant convention room floor an announcement over the intercom stated the show would be starting in five minutes.
“Okay, that’s pretty much it.” Wilson started to slide the last few plastic tubs out of the way but then stood up. “One more thing. Somebody that walks up and they ain’t buying, but they want to sell me something?”
“Yeah?”
“They go to the front of the line. I think I told you but last night is a little fuzzy.” He smiled at that. “But anyway, buying is where I really make my money. I buy, almost entirely, for a single customer. A very rich customer. He’s a little crazy…but rich. You send anybody that’s selling something directly over to me. I’ll decide if it’s worth it or not.”
“Yessir. Understood.” Sam was glad to hear his confusion about what was talked about last night. More than glad.
“Great, then. We’re ready to go, man.” He pulled out that same fat money clip and started peeling off bills. “Cullen, I’m gonna pay you for today in advance in case I forget later—but don’t go walkin’ off the job on me, eh?” He laughed and handed the money over to Sam.
“Hey, thanks, Rand. Really appreciate it. I can use it, believe me.”
“Pretty sure I also told you two hundred a day. Well, there’s an extra twenty in there. I’m hungry as hell. Over in the far corner, there’s a little food court kind of thing. How ’bout you getting us something to eat and a couple cokes. I eat every damn thing, so whatever.”
“Be right back, boss.”
The time went slowly, and Sam felt lost. This just was not his world. It wasn’t that he had a problem with guns or people owning them. And he didn’t have a problem working a con with a plan centered around nothing he had any real knowledge of. Happens in grifting all the time.
What he did have a problem with was what Wilson was willing to buy and who did his money really come from. What had this secret customer bought from Wilson in past…and what it was eventually used for? Sam would be the first to admit, he had few scruples and even less rules, but he still felt a special kind of dirty and guilt here.
Because of not having a lot to do, he couldn’t help but use that time to pick this little con apart. What could go wrong, the danger aspect, the characters and the nature of the business they were messing with. He began to sour on the whole thing.
As the day wore on and Sam watched him work, he had to admit one thing about Wilson. He was a talented guy. He had game and missed nothing.
The guy was a natural salesman, a chameleon that could change in the blink of an eye. He could patiently explain the self-defense options to a nervous, first show ever, single woman who lived alone. Or, he was a good old boy talking serious shop with two deer hunters. Then he could switch back to an easygoing, calm guy explaining the benefits of a sidearm to a quiet accountant, suburban guy with coke bottl
e glasses.
But bottom line, though, Wilson was a killer, or responsible for people getting killed at the least. Where and how many people? God only knew. No matter how generous the guy had been with him, Sam just couldn’t get past the nature of this guy’s real business.
Wilson was on his phone right now texting someone, slowly and carefully like everyone over fifty seems to do. There was a lull in people traffic, their aisle only had a few people down at the end heading their way.
Sam glanced at his own phone and saw that it was going on five-thirty.
“Hey, Rand, you think it’ll pick up again before the seven o’clock bell?”
“Uh…” Wilson looked up. “Oh, we’ll get a little something before they close the doors but pretty much slow from now until we open up again in the morning.”
“So, was today good? I have nothing to measure it by.”
“I was just telling my brother. It sucked. Haven’t sold enough to even pay for the damn booth yet. Didn’t have a single person try to sell me anything either. This shows been going downhill for a few years now. Too many other shows, in too many other towns, all year long.”
Two middle aged ladies walked by just then and Sam lifted his chin toward them after they passed. “More women than I expected, though.”
“Yeah, it’s a growing trend. Back in the day, it used to be front page news to see a female at these. And if you did, she had really bad teeth and one long eyebrow instead of two.” He winked at Sam and stood up.
“Last day usually busier or slower?”
Wilson shrugged. “More times than not, it’s slower. But you just never know.”
“Same show hours tomorrow?” Sam stood up too, stretching his back.
“Yup, same. Hey, I’m gonna go walk around and say hey to some folks. Just see what their selling, see who’s drinkin’ tonight over at the Lex and maybe give Ty Cooper the finger if I see him.” He tried to tuck in his sport shirt a little.
Sam didn’t like the timing here at all, but there wasn’t anything he could really do. “Okay, just don’t leave me here alone for too long.” He grinned.
“Naw, I won’t. Just a quick jog around. Anyone serious drops by just tell ’em that I handle everything, and I’ll be right back.” He started walking away, then stopped. “Hey, you’re welcome to come along tonight if you want.”
“Appreciate it, but I think I’ll turn in early tonight. I’m a wuss, I guess. Can’t hang.”
Wilson grinned, then turned away and started off. “Understand. Be back,” he said over his shoulder.
The minutes crawled by and Sam kept an eye on time and each end of their aisle. He blew off a middle-aged couple and stalled a young guy that had questions about a Remington rifle.
It was almost six and Wilson was still gone. He didn’t see Rachel yet either but there was a small cluster of people down at the end of the aisle making their way to Palmer’s booth now. Maybe that last push. He searched the faces.
Sam felt someone behind him and he turned to see Wilson. He put his hand to his chest “Jesus…Rand, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Hehe, sorry about that. So, what did I miss?” He held arms up. “Nothing, right?”
“Pretty much,” Sam admitted. “Been quiet, but looks like we might have a little group coming here at the end, like you said.”
“Yeah, I saw them. We’ll see, but I’m not counting on anything coming from it.”
Sam was tempted but didn’t say anything.
Most people in that last small wave just looked and kept walking. Wilson was trying but no one was really engaging him. Sam was trying too, but for another reason. Then a tall guy wearing a Razorback T-shirt strolled up down at the other end of the booth from where Sam sat and stared down at several Glocks.
Sam got up hoping to reel the guy in, but Wilson beat him to it. Even better.
“Hey, how we doin’?” Wilson asked, then pointed at the guy’s shirt. “My boys’ a senior at Arkansas.”
“Oh, yeah?” the man said looking up with a smile. “I’m a 2012 grad, great school.”
Wilson stuck out his hand. “Rand. Rand Wilson, nice to meet you.”
“Donnie,” the guy said, and they shook hands. “Hey, I’m a Glock man and I’ve never seen one like that.”
“Yeah, that’s a G-17, GEN4. A special edition series that Glock put out a year ago to celebrate their thirtieth anniversary in the U.S.” Wilson held his forefingers apart by a couple of inches. “One of only thirty made…and those fully engraved slides. I mean, you know, it’s a beauty.”
“Damn, it is nice lookin’—” the guy began.
“Wanna hold it?” Wilson asked jiggling the keys on his belt a little bit.
“Well, sure.” The man grinned.
And then, there she was. Sam saw her out of the corner of his eye and he casually turned to greet here. He could hear the conversation continuing between Wilson and the man, as Rachel held her hand out.
“Hello, I’m Sarah Moss…Mr. Wilson?” she asked, while shaking Sam’s hand. She was wearing casual outfit of jeans, a loose cream-colored silk blouse with maybe one extra button undone. Just a hint of cleavage, but not too much. Gold bracelet, modest gold earrings and necklace. Damn near perfect.
“No, he’s actually busy with another customer right now.” Sam motioned and looked over at Palmer.
“I see.” She glanced at Wilson, then came back to Sam.
“Could I help you, though?”
Sam could sense Wilson looking sideways at them now.
Rachel handed him a card. “Frankly no, I need to speak directly with Mr. Wilson. I represent a significant client on the west coast and I have a merchandise proposal to discuss. I’m short on time tonight and tomorrow. I’m wrapping a trip and heading home very soon.”
Sam took a quick look at the black card. It looked professional with a small coat of arms emblem and good graphics. Vanguard Sales was in gold script across the top. Below that in smaller print was S. Moss, VP of sales. No address and nothing more than a contact phone number was listed. She must have bought a throwaway.
“I see,” he said. “Well…what time would you possibly be available tomorrow?”
“I have a window between one p.m. and two.” She shifted her small laptop bag from one hand to the other. “That’s the only free time I have left at this point.”
In the background Sam could hear Wilson’s conversation winding down. He heard the Glock guy say, “You know what? What the hell. I’m gettin’ it. Be back in the morning with enough money.”
Rachel’s body language said she was getting ready to walk away. Then she did take two steps away but stopped and said, “Please tell Mr. Wilson that I’ll see him then. I look forward to giving him an offer on some very special merchandise.”
“I’ll let him know,” Sam said quickly, letting her go.
“Thank you.” She turned and walked away.
Wilson said goodbye to the other guy and then he walked over joined Sam, just as Rachel reached the end of the aisle and walked out of sight.
“Shit, just my luck,” Wilson said and whistled low. “She was fuckin’ hot.”
Sam grinned at him, “I know, right?” He handed the card over. “She’s coming back at one tomorrow afternoon. Plus a bonus, she said she’s got some kind of special merchandise she’s selling.”
“You think?” Wilson smiled and thumbed in the other direction. His voice lowered, “So, I got that nimrod coming back in the morning to buy some overpriced Glock and she’s coming back to sell me something special.”
“That’s what she said anyway.”
“Hell, I’ll listen to whatever her pitch is, just so I can look at her up close.” Wilson winked at him.
“Ah, what the hell do I know, though, Rand? Just a gut feeling I got, but it seemed like she had something big to talk about.” Sam’s voice had a little mystery to it before it trailed off.
Wilson lo
oked back down at the card.
Chapter 4
The Chinese food was scattered all over the small hotel room. He’d brought so much home, the small table couldn’t hold it all. He’d used some of the two hundred Wilson had given him and surprised her, along with a bottle of chardonnay. Rachel loved take-out Chinese, and chardonnay was her favorite wine.
The upbeat mood was about to end, though.
Sam finished eating, but she was still picking at some fried rice and half of an eggroll. She smiled at him while she chewed. He knew what he was about to say would not sit well with her but he was going to say it anyway.
“We need to revise our plan a little.” He looked over at her and then kept going. “After today, and after thinking about what Wilson really does for a living, I can’t stand to just steal his money…I want to burn him. I got a plan, won’t take much longer.”
Her smile disappeared, and she slowly set the box container down. She stared at him for a long pause. “What the…hell…are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this guy being a piece of shit. He’s scum. He kills people and makes money from that. I want to get him.”
“We don’t have the time or the money to set him up.” She stood up and came toward him and the look on her face was both confused and angry. “Besides, we’re not in the revenge business.”
“This one’s worth the stretch.”
“You’re talking crazy. You do realize that almost everyone we have ever conned probably had it in them to kill. Maybe before we met them, or after we left them.”
“Maybe, but I’m telling you there’s a real bad stench to this one and it won’t go away. I can’t stand it.” He stared back at her. “And I’m not talking about guns for hunting and self-defense. I’m talking about the heavy shit that’s only used for one thing. This crazy asshole that he buys for? Hell, who knows whose hands that stuff finally ends up in.”
She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were burning into his.