Hollywood Hack Job

by Nathan Allen

  There was also the small matter of them committing a violent robbery in a public place. If they were caught it would most likely result in prison time for everyone involved. They assumed that, given the circumstances, the men would not take their complaint to the police, but they never knew this for sure. The seriousness of their crimes far outweighed those of the men they targeted, so there was always that risk. The fear of retribution, and the fact that each job netted only a small amount – about five or six hundred dollars, split three ways – also lingered in the back of their minds.

  It was following a serious rethink that they devised a whole new plan. It was a much smarter way of doing business – one that would deliver a greater payoff, and one that would eliminate many of the difficulties they had previously encountered. It involved Tinder and blackmail.

  Aimee initially thought she may have had trouble luring her targets in. She wondered how many men would risk turning up to an agreed location in order to meet an underage schoolgirl they had only just encountered on a dating app. But she underestimated just how desperate and easily duped some men could be. Reeling them in was frightfully easy, especially late at night when their judgment was often clouded by alcohol and lustful thoughts. She adopted different online personas, depending on what she thought the guy might be into. Some days she was the “repressed Catholic schoolgirl with an urge to rebel”. Other days she could be the “jailbait teen who liked to party”. If the guy came across as especially vile, she would become the “lonely, confused and damaged girl with unresolved daddy issues”. She was finally able to put her acting skills to good use, workshopping different characters and creating in-depth profiles and backstories to give them added authenticity.

  The persona she used to lure Gregor in, and the one that delivered the most success, was the “wise beyond her years outsider with low self-esteem and a heart of gold”.

  Somewhere in the evolution of humankind, the male species has come to believe in the fabled creature known as “the beautiful female who doesn’t know she is beautiful”. No one has ever been able to locate the origin of this myth, but the trope was most likely dreamed up by lonely fiction writers with limited exposure to females of any kind. What was known for certain was that there was no evidence to suggest this particular type of woman had ever existed beyond the realm of fantasy.

  Aimee shamelessly exploited the naiveté of males to full effect. If a man told her she was pretty, she would vehemently disagree. When they insisted – and they always insisted – she would blush and claim that no one had ever told her that before. Dumb guys ate that stuff up without ever questioning it. It was exactly what their deluded ears wanted to hear. Deep down they all harbored Captain Cook fantasies, every one of them dreaming of discovering some hidden virgin paradise previously untouched by man.

  It was highly unlikely that Gregor, or anyone else, would have risked turning up to meet an underage girl, no matter what she looked like. It was the low self-esteem act that overwhelmed the decision-making part of his brain. As soon as she fed him that line she became irresistible to him.

  The character worked so well that on several occasions the men tried contacting Aimee again to beg for a second chance – after they had been robbed. They were so love-struck and desperate for the fantasy to be true they refused to acknowledge the scam that had taken place.

  The reality was that Aimee, like every other attractive female on the planet with a pair of eyes and a functioning brain, knew she was pretty. She was made aware of this fact from an early age; the girls at her school all wanted to be her friend, the boys were always trying to impress her, and the teachers paid her extra special attention. The notion was reinforced over the years on a daily basis. Every time guys laughed at her jokes that weren’t particularly funny, or when strangers in the street went out of their way to lend assistance, or when a quick flutter of her eyelashes helped her get what she wanted, it was a reminder that the genetically-blessed were given every opportunity to succeed in life whilst doing the least to deserve it.

  Aesthetics was valued above all else in the modern world. Models were held up as aspirational figures despite being little more than malnourished mannequins with a pulse. Stunning women never have to work menial jobs, nor do they ever live in abject poverty. Beauty was what separated Margot Robbie the millionaire movie star from Margot Robbie the high school dropout living on welfare checks and child support payments.

  Society permits the good-looking to get away with so much more. The bar for being considered a decent person was adjusted according to your level of attractiveness. The beautiful are gifted an easy ride throughout life, while the aesthetically-challenged face a constant uphill struggle for relevance.

  Aimee knew she should feel guilty about exploiting her looks for financial gain, but she didn’t. The way she saw it, she was simply playing the game. She didn’t write the rules. Anyway, she had to make the most of what life had given her. Some people were born with extraordinary intellects, while others were genetically predisposed to sporting prowess. Her gifts were her blonde hair, blue eyes, facial symmetry and fast metabolism. These gifts were unlikely to last forever, so she had to take full advantage while she could.

  Travis kept a close watch on their latest meal ticket from the comfort of the Lexus. Everything was going as planned. So far. It was 11:52 p.m., and Gregor had taken out the maximum daily limit of two thousand dollars from the ATM. The new day would begin in eight minutes’ time, at which point another two grand could be withdrawn. At five minutes past midnight that money would be in Travis’s pocket, and Gregor would be just another guy they’d probably never see again.

  It never ceased to amaze him just how easy this all was. He barely had to do any work at all. His job from this point on was to sit back and wait for the money to come to him. They used to follow their targets the first few times they did this, shadowing them throughout the entire process to make sure nobody tried anything. They no longer bothered with that, since there was nothing any of these men could do. They couldn’t run, and they couldn’t call for help. Every one of them did exactly as they were told, and with a minimal amount of protest or backchat.

  The peace and quiet of the moment was disturbed by a sharp blast of metalcore. Everyone jumped a little. Despite having done this sort of thing many times before, they were still a little on edge. Blair scrambled for his phone.

  “Jesus, Blair,” Travis said.

  “Sorry,” Blair said. He shut off the music and put his phone back in his pocket.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to keep it on silent?”

  “I know, I know. I just forgot.”

  Travis glowered for a moment. “Imagine how that would have looked if Gregor was still in the car. You think we’d get any money out of him if we came across as a bunch of amateurs?”

  “I said I was sorry, alright?” Blair said, a little tersely. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  Travis turned his attention back to Gregor. He was in the same spot, loitering in front of the ATM. He was constantly fidgeting and shifting around, like he was incapable of keeping still for more than a few seconds. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. This lent Travis a certain degree of comfort. His body language was the same as every other guy who had ever been in his position.

  Nobody spoke for a few minutes.

  “Who’s even calling you at this time of night?” Aimee said.

  Blair pulled his phone from his pocket. “It’s a private number. Probably a telemarketer or something.”

  “It’s a bit late for telemarketers, isn’t it?” Travis said. He looked at his watch. It was 11:57 p.m.

  “Could be the counter-terrorism unit,” Aimee said. She opened up the glove compartment and peered inside.

  Travis raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”

  “That’s a new phone, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, bought it a couple of days ago,” Blair said.

  Aimee nodded. “That’s w
hat I thought. See, terrorists use cell phones when they build IEDs, so now whenever anyone purchases a new phone it usually receives two or three robo-calls during the first few weeks. If it’s being used to construct a bomb it will be set off prematurely, taking out the perpetrators and hopefully saving innocent lives.”

  Blair laughed. He wasn’t sure if Aimee was for real, or if she was making this up on the spot. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I do read occasionally, you know,” she said, rifling through the glove compartment. “Maybe you should too. You might accidentally learn something.”

  Travis nudged at the back of Aimee’s seat. “Hey, don’t go through his stuff,” he said. “We may be blackmailers, but we’re not thieves.”

  “I’m not stealing anything. I’m looking to see if there’s any gum or mints in here.”

  “Why do you need gum?”

  “Because this guy has the worst breath. I need something to get the taste out of my mouth.” She sorted through the contents. It was a messy pile made up mostly of bills, receipts, manuals and moist towelettes. “You know, I think it’s time I got a bigger slice of the takings,” she said.

  Blair let out a dismissive snort. “Yeah, right. Nice try, though.”

  “I think I deserve at least forty percent. Forty for me, thirty for each of you. That seems about fair.”

  “And how did you arrive at those figures?”

  “Well, I am doing most of the work here. I’m the one who lures them in, and I’m the one putting myself in the most danger. You two just come in at the end after I’ve laid the groundwork.”

  “Actually, we’re the ones who get the money out of them,” Blair said. “You set it all up, we come in and finish the job. We work as a team.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have to put up with being molested by these creeps night after night like I do.” Aimee found some orange tic tacs in the depths of the glove compartment. She shook out the three remaining and tossed them in her mouth. “You’re not the one trying to get the gross sulfur taste out of your mouth, are you?”

  “Can we discuss this some other time?” Travis said.

  Blair looked across to his brother. “You’re not seriously thinking about doing that?”

  “I said we’ll talk about it later. Right now we have more important things to worry about.”

  “You know what, if she gets forty percent then I deserve at least–”

  “Shh!” Aimee whispered. “We have company.”

  A pair of headlights had rounded the corner. They were coming straight for them.

  The trio fell silent as the vehicle came into view. Travis felt his heart skip a beat when he saw that it was a police car.

  He wasn’t worried about the cops seeing them sitting in the car this late at night. They weren’t doing anything illegal. At least, as far as an outsider could tell. But he was a little concerned about Gregor. In a moment of panic he might lose his nerve and try to attract the attention of the police. Of course, it would be in his best interests to do nothing of the sort – of the four of them, Gregor would find himself in the most trouble should the police get involved. But that relied on him using clear and logical thinking, and there was no telling what was streaming through his mind at that moment. When someone was placed under an intense amount of pressure their behavior became a lot harder to predict.

  He looked over at Gregor. He was back at the ATM, punching in his PIN. It had just ticked over to midnight. Travis gnawed at his thumbnail, an old habit he thought he’d managed to shake years ago. “Don’t do anything stupid now,” he said to himself.

  The police cruiser decreased its speed as it approached the Lexus. Blair slid down in his seat, then realized this made him look like he was trying to hide. He quickly pushed himself back up.

  Gregor stayed as he was, facing the ATM. He kept one eye on the law enforcement vehicle, watching it in the reflection of the shop window as it passed behind him.

  The cruiser slowed to a crawl, before continuing on up the road.

  Travis watched in the side mirror. Only when the taillights had completely vanished did he allow himself to relax.

  An audible gasp then came from the front seat.

  “Oh my God,” Aimee said. “You guys have to see this.”

  She spun around to face the two brothers. In her hands was a crumpled piece of paper. Something she’d discovered in the clutter of the glove compartment.

  “What is that?” Travis said.

  Aimee held up the document – a credit card statement. Travis and Blair leaned forward. They were barely able to make out the details in the low light.

  “What are we supposed to be looking at here?” Blair said.

  “Check out his name,” Aimee said, tapping with her index finger. “Up the top of the page.”

  Travis switched on the interior light and moved in closer. He saw the name and address at the top of the statement. “So his name’s not Gregor,” he shrugged. “I’m sure he’s not the first one to use a false name with us.”

  Aimee gave Travis a disappointed look. “Are you telling me that name doesn’t mean anything to you?”

  “No.” He leaned forward to read it again. “Should it?”

  “Um ... Travis?” Blair tugged at his arm like a toddler trying to attract his mother’s attention. “I think you should see this.”

  Blair had his phone out, with the results of a Google search displayed on the screen. Travis snatched it away. There was a short burst of silence as this latest development sunk it.

  “Well,” he said, the beginnings of a smile etched on his face. “This certainly changes things.”

  The images returned by the search matched the man they had been dealing with up until now. But the name and biographical information belonged to another person entirely.

  The front door opened before any of them had a chance to adequately process it all. The man who had previously identified himself as Gregor climbed behind the wheel, his pockets bulging with fifty dollar bills. He pulled the door closed.

  “It’s all here,” he said. He emptied his pockets and arranged the cash into one large bundle, then held it out for Travis to take. “Four thousand dollars. Like we agreed.”

  Travis’s hands remained in his lap. He made no move to take the money, nor did anyone else.

  Gregor’s face turned to a frown. “Do you want it or not?”

  Travis allowed for a dramatic pause before he spoke. “Gregor, what did we say when we first met?”

  “Um ...” Gregor cast his mind back to earlier in the evening. “You, uh, you told me not to look at you and–”

  “We asked that you be honest with us. That was our only request, and I don’t think it was an unreasonable one. We promised to be straight with you if you were straight with us. Now, we’ve held up our end of the bargain. But I’m not sure you’ve held up your end.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gregor looked around the car to see if this was some sort of joke. “I did what you told me to! We had a deal!”

  Travis shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid some new information has come to light. Information that renders the terms and conditions of our previous agreement null and void. We now have to renegotiate.”

  “You wanted the money and here it is!” Gregor’s voice increased in volume. “Four thousand dollars. Take it!”

  He thrust the money at Travis, but it was waved away.

  “The deal we made was with Gregor.”

  Travis held up the phone, with the search results still displayed. When he saw the change in Gregor’s face, he knew he had his man.

  “We now have to make a new deal. With Martin Krauth.”

  Chapter 11

  Travis never said it out loud for fear of mockery, but he had begun to see himself as something of an entrepreneur. He had a brain that was constantly on the lookout for innovative and exciting ways of making money, and he had finally hit upon a genius one. This scam of his, the one that had started out as nothing
more than a side-hustle, had become so much more lucrative than he could have ever imagined. There was a seemingly inexhaustible supply of gullible men just lining up and begging to be swindled, and he planned on taking advantage of as many of them as possible.

  He thought it might peter out sooner or later. Maybe their antics would become public, or maybe the men would eventually catch on to what was happening. Maybe they would exercise greater caution following those disturbing reports of the rumored Tinder-killer, the maniac who used the app to lure his victims before hacking them up and leaving their body parts scattered around a remote area of desert near Vasquez Rocks. But so far, business showed no signs of slowing.

  They had been pulling off four or five hits a week for almost a year now. The money was better than any day job they had ever worked, and with significantly less effort required. A typical week saw them take home five thousand dollars each for what amounted to no more than twenty hours’ work.

  Their success all came down to how smart they were about how they approached each job. They didn’t just pick a guy at random and try to squeeze money out of him. Hours of planning and preparation went into every hit, and this helped them reap the subsequent rewards.

  Two main rules were established for how they were to conduct themselves, and these rules were strictly adhered to.

  The first rule was to be realistic with their demands. Before any confrontation took place, they assessed the target’s profile and made a rough guess as to how much they were worth. If the men liked to flaunt their wealth, posting pictures of themselves sitting inside luxury sports cars or holidaying in exotic locales, they were actively pursued. Anyone who looked like they lived paycheck to paycheck (or with their parents) was quickly rejected. They estimated how much their target could reasonably afford to part with, and how much they could access at short notice. There was no point demanding thousands of dollars in cash if they couldn’t get their hands on it that night.