by Adam Oster
Amazing.
Or the Mormon standing outside of the pizza place on 2nd trying to proselytize to everyone passing by? Come on, you have to love that, right? Here’s some religion with your pizza!
This city never ceases to amuse me. That’s why I’m taken aback when Griff speaks his next sentence.
“I can hardly believe it’s already time to go.”
“What? Go where?” I ask.
“We’re done in New York. You’ve gotten your training all figured out, now it’s time to go off and find some bigger fish to fry.”
“Bigger fish to fry than here?”
“Yep,” he says resolutely.
“But,” I stammer, not sure how to disagree with everything I’m finding wrong here at once, “but—“
“Look, kid,” he says, draping an arm across my shoulder, “of course there will always be quality marks here in the Big Apple.” Do they even call it that anymore? “But there’s already more than enough barracudas in town to make it difficult for a couple of quality flimflammers like us to be able to craft our art in the right way, you know?”
He talks like this a lot and it took me a while to get used to it all. He’s not one to explain his language, so I usually have to figure it all out on context clues, or from what’s in the Scammer’s Bible. Barracudas refers to other con men. So does flimflammers. I’m not sure why he finds the need to use such archaic language to say, ‘There’s a lot of competition playing the game in New York.’
“But we just got here.”
“It’s simple, kid. Walk down the street and you can’t go more than three blocks without seeing a monte game happening off in the alley. Everyone’s working a pig-in-a-poke or a pigeon drop, or a white van. Hell, people still talk about George C. Parker’s ability to sell the Brooklyn Bridge twice a week. New York is the place to test your skills, not the place to make a living.”
“But, where are we going to go then?”
“The world’s your oyster, kid.”
The taxi slows to turn onto 13th Street.
“You can stop anywhere up here,” Griff shouts up to the driver.
“You’re the boss,” the driver says, pulling to the side of the road
“Thanks,” Griff says. He opens the door and steps out onto the curb.
“Yeah,” the cabbie says while I climb out. I seriously don’t understand how Griff has every cab driver in town letting him ride for free. I’m going to have to get him to explain that scam to me some day.
I follow Griff onto the street. His grin has returned.
“Alright,” I begin, “so, if we’re leaving town, what are we doing in Alphabet City?” I’m still pretty new to the lingo of Manhattan, but I try to use it when I know it. Alphabet City is a neighborhood in the East Village that contains Avenues A, B, C, and D.
“Don’t worry, you’ll see,” he answers before walking away.
“I’m done with seeing,” I say, walking alongside him. “You’re telling me we’re done here because there’s no game left for us, so what the heck would we possibly need to be doing down in the East Village?”
“I didn’t say there wasn’t any game left.”
“I hate it when you’re cryptic.”
He turns right onto Avenue A and stops. He looks me deep in the eyes, a twinkle appearing in each of his own. “I already told you, New York is only good for training. Your training isn’t over yet.”
“I’ve already done countless scams in this town, I think I’ve got it pretty well nailed down by now.”
“Ah, mon chérie, but you’ve always played the shill, now it’s time for you to be the artist.”
Chapter 3
“What?” I ask in surprise. “Are you serious? I thought you said that you never—“
“Calm down, kid. It’s all part of your training. Once we get done here everything goes back to normal. But I can’t really say you’ve had a complete training until you’ve helmed your own swindle.”
“Are you for real?”
“Hey, I’m always for real.”
“That coming from a confidence man…”
“With you, I mean. With you I’m always for real.”
“Okay, so what’s the scam?” I ask, noticing that I’ve begun bouncing in anticipation for the fifth time already today.
“I’ll let you decide the specifics. All I’ve done is pick the mark.”
“Okay, what is it.”
“You see up there about halfway down the block, the place with the fancy sign called The Shrouded Arcana?”
“Yeah,” I answer eagerly.
“That’s it. It’s an antique shop that specializes in the weird. The owner in there is not your normal kind of sucker by any means. In order to pull a grift in there, you’ll have to use everything I’ve taught you. I’ll play shill if you need.”
“Wow,” I gasp. “Okay, you’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
“Nope,” he laughs. “This is real world stuff here, kid. Gotta get you thinking on your feet.”
“Okay, so, the guy’s probably one of those weirdos who is always looking for some new and weird item, especially one with a unique background.”
“Fair enough guess. I’ve never stepped into the place. Just know about it from reputation.”
“Okay,” I repeat. My tongue rubs against my teeth while thinking about the possible schemes available to pull against a man I have no background on. “Fiddle Game?”
“You think?” Griff bares his teeth in amusement. “What’s your fiddle?”
“Well, a true artist can make anything into a fiddle, right?”
“Rule #55,” Griff concludes. “But that still doesn’t answer my question.”
I look around me, hoping to find anything that would be able to pique the interest of the sucker inside the store ahead. The street is clean. I can’t find a single thing that would be of any real interest to, well, anyone. Then a thought hits me and I find that it’s now my time to grin at Griff.
“You got it?” he asks.
“Oh yeah,” I giggle. “Fiddle Game.”
“What’s the fiddle?”
“You’ll see.”
“Oh, come on. That’s not fair,” he groans. “You can’t leave your shill hanging like that.”
“A good shill is never left hanging.”
“Rule #56,” Griff says dejectedly. “I’m starting to think it wasn’t that smart of an idea for me to force you to memorize that damn book.”
“I’m finally starting to think it was your best idea yet.”
“Alright, kid. If you think you’ve got this all figured out, why don’t you lead the way.”
“No,” I say firmly, taking charge of the game. “You head in first. It’ll look better. Just make sure to remember you’re the shill once things get started. I’d hate to lose this mark just because you’re too used to running things.”
“Look at you, getting all demanding and whatnot,” he smiles. “Alright, kid. See you inside.” He walks away from me and enters the glass door that marks the entrance to The Shrouded Arcana.
I nod at him while thinking through the game, specifically focusing on the mark. It’s a goofy name for an antique shop, right? I’d guess the place is filled with all sorts of things like skulls and talismans and whatever else, you know, all that occult and wiccan crap that people were really into during the 90s. Kinda makes me wonder if my fiddle will even be able to play in this game.
Can’t doubt myself now. I’ve learned everything I’ve needed to learn. Plus, the great thing about the Fiddle Game is that most of the heavy lifting is left up to the shill. I just have to lay the ground work or what cons like to call the foundation. Kinda makes me wonder why Griff would even allow me to work a Fiddle Game on my test run.
Maybe I should have picked something different. A pigeon drop or a pig-in-a-poke? Either of those would definitely work better toward showing Griff that I’m capable of working a scam on my own. They would certainly be bett
er than a Fiddle Game. I wonder if I could tip him off that I’m changing scams.
I know. It’s all quitter talk. I set something up, I’ve gotta stick with it. Rule #2: Dedication. I take a look at the clock across the road. It’s been twelve minutes since I sent Griff in. Normally that would be more than enough time to allow between us and not look suspicious. But this isn’t a high-traffic business. If I were to guess, I’d say there could be hours between customers on a normal day.
Then again, waiting out here like this with a dumbfounded look on my face probably isn’t going to help anything either.
I take a deep breath and walk forward.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter 4
A few sleigh bells are tied to the interior door handle and chime at my entrance. I look up from the door and am greeted with an assault to the eyes. Every single corner of this place is crammed full of items ranging from the weird to the just plain crazy. On one wall I notice the head of an elk mounted to a plaque stating, ‘Best Customer 2010’. Right below it I see a full human skeleton seated in an overstuffed red leather chair wearing sunglasses and giving me a thumbs up with both of his bony hands. Directly above my head I see a ceiling fan where each of the blades are made to look like some sort of wide-bladed sword and the center of it, an ornate wooden shield.
A black cat lies just inside the door to the right and looks up at me before ultimately deciding to go back to sleep. I take care to not notice Griff off in the back of the room, inspecting a series of bottled skulls.
Surprisingly enough, there are actually several people currently within the store. I count four people other than myself who don’t appear to be employed here. The hipster currently chatting up the man I’m guessing is the store owner looks like he’s a regular. I’d guess he spends a lot of time but not a lot of money.
Stepping out of what looks like the restroom on the far back wall is a white-haired woman, I’m guessing somewhere in her 70s, who is headed toward the collection of interesting snow globes in that region of the store.
The third is a middle-aged man who is looking at what appears to be a stamp collection that is laid out on the glass counter in the center of the room, using a loupe to inspect each of them in great detail.
The fourth is, of course, my partner in crime.
The only other person in the room is the man behind the counter, who, so far, has not even looked up from his conversation to see who has entered.
I stride to the counter confidently, feeling no need to hide the fact that I’m here for business. The balding man behind the counter, wearing a black leather vest instead of a shirt, doesn’t break his discussion with the hipster at my arrival. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t even realize I’m here. I’m guessing it’s probably that he caught one glimpse of me and decided I wasn’t someone that needed to be rushed to deal with. I can’t imagine they get too many teenaged girls in here ready to do serious business. The fact that I’m not white probably doesn’t help things either.
I notice a bell to the left of the cash register and hit it once and hard with the palm of my hand. A grunt comes from the rotund cashier before he finally excuses himself from his discussion and walks to the end of the counter I’m occupying, making sure to check on the stamp man before even looking at me.
“Hey, what’s up?” he says, ploping down on a stool behind the register.
“Hi,” I say cheerfully, attempting to do my best to ignore the lack of customer service provided by the man whose sleeve tattoo promises a potion to cure every ailment. “Do you buy old books here?” I ask.
“Depends on the book, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? Ugh. Only my dad calls me sweetheart and I only let it slide because he’s been doing it for so long that I’m not sure I can change him. I’m happy to say that this man is making it incredibly easy on me. I have to admit I was feeling a bit guilty about what I’m about to do before I entered, now I’m more of the inclination that he deserves what he’s about to get. Or lose, as the case may be.
I make sure to not notice Griff moving closer to us, keeping his focus on the shelves of creepy marionettes in his surrounding area.
“Oh, well, I know you’re going to like this one,” I say, continuing to keep as cheerful as possible while I place my backpack on the counter and unzip it.
I make a big deal of rooting within, wanting to build the suspense in this guy’s mind a little bit before finally displaying the ‘fiddle’. It might not seem like much, but Rule #30 says, ‘A little theatrics can go a long way’ and since this is my first scam, I’m going to use everything I can to make sure I do it right. Rule #16 also probably fits in here a bit, ‘A good con needs a good story’. Can’t tell a story without building a little suspense, right?
Finally I pull out my copy of The Confidence Man by Herman Melville. Just between me and you, I had this thing printed special through one of those print on demand machines at the library. Cost me about six bucks. I couldn’t find a good print copy of it to save my life. Of course, me being the slave to detail that I am, I did everything I could to recreate the original printed version, including crafting a hard-cover to go over the paperback cover the machine printed. If it hadn’t been bouncing around in my bag for the past month, it would look pristine. I’m hoping the admittedly minor damage lends it a bit of credibility. There’s no chance a pro would mistake this for the real thing, but a sucker like this guy, with the added push from my shill, doesn’t stand a chance.
“What’s that?” the man asks gruffly.
“Ummm,” I say, using my most obnoxious noise to say that he should be more than aware of what this is, “The Confidence Man, by Herman Melville.”
“Yeah, I can read the cover, darling. My question is what do you want me to do with it?”
“Just checking to see if you’re interested. If you’re not, no big deal. My grandmother left it to me and I thought I’d look around to see if it was worth anything. I can definitely—“
“Your grandmother, eh?” he says. He lifts it up and begins paging through the book.
“Yeah, you familiar with the title?”
“Melville. He wrote Moby Dick, right?” I chuckle inwardly at that comment. Obviously this guy is not a book nerd. Should make it easier to work him than I had thought.
“Yeah, he wrote a bunch of stuff,” I say nonchalantly. “This was actually his last book before he gave up writing altogether. It was considered something of a flop so there weren’t many copies printed, I guess.”
“Sure, yeah, I’ve heard about that,” he nods. He is trying to look like he’s not interested, but I can already hear the cash register in his mind ding. “What you want for it?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug innocently. “I guess I was more interested to see what it was worth. It was one of my grandma’s favorite books, so I’m not even sure if I’d be willing to sell it.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, tenderly returning the book to the counter, “I’ll have to do a little research to make sure this is the real deal. You mind if I hold onto it for a while?”
“I’d really rather not let it out of my sight, if that’s alright with you. How long would it take you to come up with a price?”
“I’ll have to make a few calls, could take a couple hours.”
“Oh,” I say in feigned surprise. “Well, my aunt drove me out here, so I’m not sure I could stay for quite that long. Maybe I could look around a bit while you make some of those calls or something? Maybe we’ll get lucky and it won’t take that long? She said she was going to do a little shopping while I was here, so I’ve probably got a half hour or so.”
“Sure thing, sweetie,” he says. His eyes look me over rather predatorily. I want to grin in excitement of the scam taking off so well. “I’ll take extra special care of it.”
“Thank you, sir.” I walk away from the counter, being extra careful to not notice Griff standing right behind me with a pair of stuffed lizards in his hands. “Sorry,” I mu
tter, sidestepping around him and make my way toward the section labeled B-Movie Memorabilia which has, as its center attraction, a large collection of pin cushions made to look like the antagonist from the Hellraiser movies. I’d call them cute, except for the fact that they are anything but.
I try my hardest to not overhear the conversation currently going on between Griff and the sucker. Unfortunately, the sound doesn’t carry very well in this merchandise-laden room. All the same, I can fairly well guess what’s going on.
I was Phase One, the Foundation. Now we move onto Phase Two, which is called The Approach. At this point in a Fiddle Game, the shill needs to appear to be well familiar with the fiddle. So, in this case, Griff comes to the counter, probably with some stupid question about the mounted lizards he was holding and just happens to notice the ‘fiddle’ still lying out on the counter.
From there, he will become increasingly animated about how valuable the book is until he finally gets the man behind the counter to name a price that is well above the actual worth of the item in question. Of course, Griff will then pull out his wallet and find that it’s empty. All he has to do then is state something to the effect of, “Is there any way I can get you to hold it for me while I run out and grab my credit card from the car?” And then he bolts out the front door.
The sound of the clanging of the bells manages to make its way to me, meaning Phase Three, known as The Build Up, has just begun. In a Fiddle Game, Phase Three mostly happens inside the mark’s head. Now he’s got only minutes to make the deal before the shill walks in and tries to buy it off him. The rest of this phase is up to me. And if I want it to succeed, I have to play things extra cool.
You see, I know the sucker’s working out some crazy plan on how he can make me some incredibly lowballed offer. I can’t make it too easy for him. I’ve got to make him seek me out, force him to make the first move. I’ll get the payout either way, but this way I can ensure that I get maximum payout, which is really what this is all about.