The Tell-Tale Con

by Aimee Gilchrist

  When the group moved away from Van, Harrison immediately moved in, dragging me behind him, ham and croissant hanging out of my mouth like a dog. And that was how I met one of the hottest directors in America. I sucked the rest into my mouth right as Van Poe turned his washed-out blue eyes my way.

  I tried to chew inconspicuously, but that wasn’t possible, so I ended up looking like a deranged chipmunk instead. Kanako seemed perplexed, either by my presence or by my behavior, I wasn’t sure which. Van turned away from me and back to the actors.

  “Take five, everyone. Then we’re going to take it from the beginning of scene six. I want to see some sincerity this time. Like you’re the professionals I’m paying your asses to be. You guys are a joke. I could fire all of you and hire a middle school drama club.”

  Jeez. That seemed a little harsh. Maybe they did suck, who knew? But he’d hired them in the first place. To my surprise, however, there was little to no response to his outburst. Most people ignored him. Like no reaction at all. Trina the walking skeleton rolled her eyes and then flipped him off on her way off the set. I wondered if he went on the same kinds of rampages with Harrison.

  He finally turned our way. “What are you doing up here?” he asked.

  “I came to show Talia the set.” He gestured to me. “This is Talia. She lives across the street.”

  Van’s eyebrows did a vague lift, like he might have been interested in this information, or he might have had a twitch. Either way. Kanako’s stare, on the other hand, was laser sharp, penetrating through my skin like an evil step-mother robot. “I’ve seen you before.”

  “Really?” Other than my Google search I’d never seen her before, but I wasn’t about to give her that piece of information.

  “You work for the Wongs.”

  Okay, she had seen me before. Weird. Did she watch through her living room windows and examine people on the street? I mean, not that I didn’t do that too. But the people I was watching weren’t me, and that seemed to make a big difference in my mind.

  “I don’t work for them. They’re family friends.”

  If she had an opinion on this information she didn’t give it to me. She just continued to stare at me with those large, dark eyes behind slightly tinted sunglasses.

  “Interesting.”

  I didn’t know how it was interesting, and she didn’t elaborate.

  She did, however, turn on Harrison. “Your friend here takes part in her community. She makes friends with her neighbors. She helps an old man. I’ve seen her. You should be more like this. People would like you better.”

  Harrison didn’t say anything, but I had to bite my tongue to avoid responding. I needed a reminder that I was being charming.

  Without any provocation whatsoever, Van turned back to the milling cast and crew and randomly shouted, “I hate all of you,” into the crowd.

  Again, there was no reaction.

  Wow. Seriously. Just wow.

  Somewhere on the set someone blew a whistle. “Time’s up. Back on the set,” a heavy-set man shouted.

  Harrison touched my arm. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  I followed a limping Harrison, who was now using only one crutch, through the crowd to a trailer parked in front of one of the boarded-up houses. Farther away from the people, it was considerably quieter. Traffic sounds from the busy bridge over the Rio Grande were closer though. He worked his way up the four metal steps into the trailer, refusing my help.

  Inside it was air conditioned like a meat freezer. I wished I had a coat. The room was devoid of people and filled with the same kind of equipment Hector had in his room, but much nicer and newer. The television screens showed me about two dozen angles of the set. Harrison flopped into a chair, leaned his crutch against the metal desk and flipped a couple of switches on a dashboard at desk level.

  “We can hear and see everything from here.”

  “What is this?” I sat in another black chair, identical to Harrison’s.

  “Security booth. This is where Mark hangs out when he's not cruising the set perimiter.”

  “This is certainly interesting,” I said, watching Van wave his hands crazily at the main actor and actress who were conversing with one another in the yard of their suburban hiding place. He didn’t say anything to them since tape was rolling, but hopefully they understood what all that gesticulating meant anyway.

  “What did you think?”

  I glanced at him. “Of your parents? I don’t know. They’re kind of…yeah.”

  I had no idea what to say without saying, “so your parents are kind of douches,” and that seemed rude.

  “Yep. They’re kind of…yeah, alright.” He seemed, for a moment, embarrassed. Like I would pass some kind of judgment on his loser parents. He had no idea. No matter what big freaks they were, they, no doubt, had very little on my parents who would steal the last dollar out of an old lady’s hand if they thought she wouldn’t notice.

  “But I don’t know. Kanako doesn’t seem like she’s on the verge of murdering you. She seems like she likes to correct you, but I didn’t sense any outright animosity.”

  He shrugged, and I got the feeling I’d annoyed him. I didn’t know what her feelings were. But she didn’t seem to hate him. She certainly wasn’t nice to him either though, that was for sure.

  “I think you need to do a little research at home. See if you have a way to access any life insurance policies in your name. If you were to die, would Kanako get the money?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Hmmm. That’s an excellent question. I’ll check it later when I get home.”

  I watched the screens with less than active interest, until I figured out that one of the moving people was actually moving in our direction. “Who’s that? I think she’s headed this way.”

  Harrison followed the path of my gaze and immediately brightened. “Oh, that’s Ana Westin. Dad’s researcher. I told you about her. She’s the one who found the plates for us.”

  I didn’t know Ana, but I knew her type. Ana was like me, like my parents, a changeable animal, and I knew it by the way she walked, the way she stopped to talk to the people in her path.

  I could hear her sometimes, when she got close enough to the security cameras. Telling the makeup artists how great everyone looked today, telling the caterers how good the food was and telling the guy milling by the trailer that she knew he was going to snag a big part soon, he was so good.

  Another person might call that being nice. If she were sincere, it would have been. But she wasn’t. Maybe she wasn’t a criminal, I wasn’t either, anymore, but Ana Westin was a woman who knew how to give people what they wanted to get what she wanted.

  I felt the hair on my arms rise up, watching her get closer and closer. She could not be trusted. Moreover, I knew exactly what was going to happen when she saw me. She would know what I was immediately. I didn’t want Harrison, or anyone, but especially Harrison for some weird reason, knowing what I was inside.

  “Ana’s like a mother to me,” he added, right before she bounded up the steps and opened the door.

  I had no idea what she intended to do in the security trailer, but her mouth tightened in displeased to find she was not alone, then surprised to discover it was Harrison. “Hey there, honey.” Her painted lips turned up in a sly smile.

  Whoever Ana was, she didn’t look like anyone’s mother, regardless of Harrison’s assertions. Her skin-tight, white angora sweater was almost indecent, and her white and red checked Capri pants looked kind of Marilyn Monroe-ish. She was way too hot to be a mom.

  Then her eyes strayed to me. She spent a silent second taking me in and doing the instantaneous reading of cues that all good scammers did the moment they met a stranger. And just as I had known with her, she knew what I was.

  There was a long, strained moment where we stared at one another across the small security trailer. There were a number of ways this could go. I had no desire to have a con match to the death with her. I needed he
r to find me harmless, for the moment, and then I needed to find out what her game was. Maybe I was biased, but Mother Ana had moved to the top of my suspect list.

  After the frozen silence between us, we both seemed to reach the conclusion that this was no time to feel each other out any further, and we simultaneously looked away from one another. She didn’t want to be pegged, and neither did I. Though Harrison was much more likely to believe her than me since we hardly knew each other despite the last few days and half a semester of honors biology.

  Harrison looked between the pair of us uncertainly. He clearly felt a vibe but had no idea what to make of it. Ana grinned at him and pulled an envelope out of her purse. “This is for your mother when she comes home. I finally found that picture of Czar Alexander’s christening that she asked for. But it wasn’t easy. Tell her she owes me.”

  “Oh, I will. But I don’t know how many we owe you now.”

  She laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll need a favor someday.”

  I had no doubt that she took her favors all the time. Only, she did it with subtlety, and so charmingly that no one noticed.

  “Well, Harrison, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” She was still sizing me up, keeping information until later where she might or might not decide to use it against me.

  “Oh, sorry. This is Talia Jones. She lives across the street from me. Well, and we’re lab partners. In biology, I mean.”

  Ana was trying to feel out how much influence I had over Harrison, how much she had to fear me. That would dictate what she did next. She relaxed at his words. I was not a threat.

  Harrison smiled at me, like he was subconsciously defusing the tension between Ana and me without understanding it. He’d never seen two con artists come face to face before. But I’d been through it, and, no doubt, so had Ana.

  Through one of the cameras I heard Van Poe shout, “I could fire you and hire brain-damaged chimps!”

  Ana sighed. “Van’s in a mood today.”

  She didn’t sound all that offended by his behavior. Just kind of bored. Which told me, once again, that this sort of thing was not unusual.

  “Well, anyway, I just wanted ot give you those pictures for your mother,” Ana said, waving airily on her way back out of the trailer. It was in no way true. It was lucky happenstance on her part that she’d been carrying the photos in her enormous messenger bag. She’d been coming into the trailer thinking she’d be alone. She’d been surprised and annoyed to find Harrison there.

  Which begged the question, what was she expecting to find or do in here alone? I couldn’t ask Harrison because I knew for sure from the way he spoke of her, and looked at her, he’d flip if I suggested Ana as a potential suspect.

  For a few more moments, Harrison and I watched the tiny screens in silence. Finally, he nodded. “So, have you seen enough?”

  Boy, had I ever. “I definitely have some ideas. We can talk about them in the car.”

  He shoved the pictures Ana had given him into his backpack. “Great, let’s go.”

  He waited until we got back onto the highway, and then he asked, “What are you thinking?”

  I hesitated, trying to find a way to formulate an answer that wouldn’t be taken the wrong way. I wasn’t going to approach Ana yet. Not until she was the only reasonable suspect left, because I knew Harrison would not react well to that one.

  There was another truth to be learned here though. One that might well steer the course of our investigation. “Well, to be honest…I wonder if maybe we should be looking for people who hate your dad, and not people who hate you.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rules of the Scam #5

  Find out where people are the most sensitive. Then poke at that spot…

  It took all night for Harrison to come up with a list of people who hated his father. Actually, that wasn’t true. It took all night for him to whittle the list down to people who hated his father enough to kill over it, because the number of people in the first list was getting ridiculous. After seven at night, when I was in the middle of trying to make dinner, he walkie-talkied me and said the list was already ten pages long. Single spaced.

  “Well, what about the ones who live in New Mexico?” Though that didn’t mean anything since most stars had their own planes, and it was easy enough to travel.

  “I don’t know where most of these people live. I guess I could ask Ana.”

  “No!” I came up with an alternative idea on the fly. “People don’t have to live here. It’s easy enough to get here. What about people whose lives he’s ruined? Or at least who feel he’s ruined their lives.”

  Harrison was silent for a long moment on the other side of the line. “I guess that would make a smaller list. But it still might be kind of long. Also, it’s hard to know who might think he ruined their lives.”

  “Hmm, that’s true.” I put down my cooking spoon. “I guess make a list of people who either lost what they wanted or got barred from what they wanted by Van and then also those people who lost a job or something. That should be a start.”

  “Do you think it will help?”

  “I don’t know what else to do,” I admitted. “So if you have a better idea, now would be the time to speak up.”

  He sighed so loud I could hear it over the walkie-talkie. “I got nothing. I’ll keep thinking. See you tomorrow.”

  When I met Harrison at his car in the morning, he struggled in with his crutch, putting hardly any weight on it. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Well, I wish I could get completely off these things. But it isn’t healed all the way,” he groused.

  When we were inside the car, I belted myself in. “Did you finish your list?”

  “Yes, I did. It’s…extensive. But no one has the initials C.A. I can tell you that right away.”

  “Well, let’s not let that be the deciding factor. Maybe we should start at the top and work our way down?” I suggested.

  He nodded. “Well, I had some ideas but…how do you feel about missing school?”

  Honestly, I’d thought Harrison was exaggerating slightly when he spoke of missing an entire day of school, but now we were standing on the flight line of a small private airport I hadn’t realized existed. There was no reason why I would. It was lined with private planes and jets. It was simultaneously disgusting to see this kind of wasteful spending and incredibly cool.

  Harrison’s plane, or more likely Van’s, was already on the runway all revved up and ready to go. It was a small six-seater airplane. The kind that always crashed in movies, leaving people stranded in the woods to eat one another. I surveyed it with distrust. “I kind of thought you were kidding about the whole flying to Vegas thing.”

  He was surveying the plane with obvious pride, his hands on his hips like a posturing Peter Pan. He glanced my way. “Why would I kid about that? The first name on the list lives in Vegas.”

  “Well, most people don’t have planes, you know, just, like, hanging out waiting for them.”

  He shrugged. “Well, aren’t you glad that I do?”

  Actually, I wasn’t particularly glad. It didn’t look like a safe mode of transportation. Harrison gestured for me to climb in, and though I was suspicious that this was a good idea, I did it. Inside the plane was smaller than I thought it would be. The only thing that stopped me from leaving was the fact Harrison was in the way.

  He climbed in behind me. I noticed the conspicuous absence of the most important feature of a plane. A pilot. “Harrison, you’re not going to fly this plane all alone are you?”

  “Don’t be silly, Talia. Of course I’m not.” He handed me a headset while I slumped over in relief. A man came up on board behind us. “I don’t have nearly enough hours to fly alone. That’s why I’ll be flying with him along.”

  The dude behind us waved his hand in a half-hearted greeting. He looked exactly like a jockey, complete with a weird, white baseball cap that looked suspiciously jockey like. I stared at him and then
at Harrison. “Well, that’s such a relief.”

  Either he didn’t catch my sarcasm, or he didn’t care. “These headphones will help us hear each other. These little planes can get loud. But no dirty talk because Spencer can hear too.”

  “Harrison…” I didn’t want to call into question his manliness or whatever, but really. “Are you sure you should be flying this?”

  “I can fly.”

  The jockey frowned at me before taking the copilot seat. “Harrison is a very good pilot.”

  Well, of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? I strapped myself into the nearest seat and slumped over. It was so annoying. There was a moment while we were taxiing the runway and taking off that I was in mortal fear of my life, but in the end the jockey was right. Harrison appeared to be a good pilot.

  When we were airborne and headed Nevada's way, Harrison’s voice carried over the headset. “I told you I could fly.”

  “Well, of course you can. Why the hell not? Is there anything you can’t do?” I wasn’t sure why his perfection at everything was so irritating. But it most certainly was.

  There was a long silence. “There’s lots of things I can’t do,” he said at last. He spoke so quietly I wondered if I’d hurt his feelings. I knew Spencer the Jockey was listening, but I couldn’t help blurting out a challenge.

  “Name one.”

  Again I thought he might not respond, and by this point I was relatively certain I was just being a jerk and his feelings were definitely hurt. But I was so irritated that he could produce license plate owners and video files and fly private planes and win international chess matches.

  “I have no artistic talent at all. I’m hard-pressed to draw a recognizable stick figure.”

  “Well, most people are bad artists,” I grumbled.

  But what did it matter? It was me being an idiot. It had nothing to do with him.

  “I can’t ski, nor can I water ski, though I’ve tried both more than once. I can’t swim. I’ve never been good at a sport in my entire life. I failed P.E. in the seventh grade. I can’t fix anything. Not even a computer, which any self-respecting geek can do. I can’t hang glide or sail, and I was eleven before I learned to tie my shoes. I can’t tell the difference between red and green. I can’t drive a standard or a big car without running into something.”