The Don Con
Page 1
ADVANCE PRAISE FOR
THE DON CON
“A clever, fast-paced, and bittersweet caper. The Don Con is to Fan-Cons as Galaxy Quest is to Star Trek conventions.”
—Jonathan Frakes, Commander William T. Riker on Star Trek: The Next Generation
“I loved this book! It could be my f*#%$@ autobiography!”
—Joe Gannascoli, Vito Spatafore on The Sopranos
“From its clever title to the crackling dialogue to the running gags that never get old, Richard Armstrong’s The Don Con is a hilarious, fast-paced yarn in the tradition of Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaasen.”
—Brian Rouff, author of Dice Angel and The House Always Wins
“Marvelously entertaining, with witty dialogue, off-the-wall characters, and Shakespeare, The Don Con is clever, exceptionally well-written, and wildly funny.”
—Gretchen Archer, bestselling author of the Davis Way Crime Capers
“A damn funny, fun, fast-paced caper story you won’t want to put down.”
—Dan Kennedy, coauthor of Win, Place, or Die and Speaking of Murder
“Sheer and unadulterated reading pleasure.’”
—Beverly Swerling, author of Bristol House
“You’re in for a wild romp through pop culture peppered with mobsters and mayhem in Richard Armstrong’s terrific new novel The Don Con. The book’s smart, witty, and a joy to read from first page to last.”
—Donna Baier Stein, author of Sympathetic People and The Silver Baron’s Wife
“The Don Con lets loose on acting and stardom, Shakespeare, the mob, prison, revenge, redemption, and a dog named Gizmo. An amazing performance. Read it! You’ll love it.”
—Deke Castleman, author of Whale Hunt in the Desert
“Whether television bit player or Mafia big shot, every character in this book comes alive. Everyone who likes a good, suspenseful caper will be eager to keep reading.”
—David G. Schwartz, Director of the Center for Gaming Research at University of Nevada, Las Vegas, and author of Roll the Bones: The History of Gambling
“Join hapless protagonist Joey Volpe on this romp through the hidden worlds of minimum-security jails, Fan-Cons and more. You couldn’t possibly have more fun than I did.”
—Frank S. Joseph, author of To Love Mercy
“Joey Volpe, bit actor on The Sopranos, rueful ladies’ man, and involuntarily Mafioso, takes readers on a rollicking personal tour of pop culture, from Star Trek to aging child stars to Comic-Con, as he navigates the equally impossible systems of the Screen Actors Guild and organized crime. From the moment his dog, Gizmo, is kidnapped until he wages battle with the Philadelphia mob, you cannot help but root for Joey to come out on top.”
—Ann Bauer, author of Forgiveness 4 You
“Here’s your beach trip packing list. 1. Swimsuit. 2. Sunscreen. 3. Richard Armstrong’s superb new caper novel The Don Con. It’s a great summer read about ham actors, ham-handed gangsters, and inept con artists, all trying to survive the summer alive, and told with great humor and an insider’s eye.”
—John Corcoran, former KABC film & TV critic and author of Doing Julia
THE DON CON
Richard Armstrong
Pace Press
Fresno, California
The Don Con
Copyright © 2019 by Richard Armstrong. All rights reserved.
Published by Pace Press
An imprint of Linden Publishing
2006 South Mary Street, Fresno, California 93721
(559) 233-6633 / (800) 345-4447
PacePress.com
Pace Press and Colophon are trademarks of Linden Publishing, Inc.
ISBN 978-1-61035-336-6
135798642
Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.
This is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents in this book are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental. Whenever real celebrities, places, or businesses have been mentioned or appear in this novel, they have been used fictitiously.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Armstrong, Richard, 1952- author.
Title: The don con / Richard Armstrong.
Description: Fresno, California : Pace Press, [2019]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018052703 | ISBN 9781610353366 (pbk. : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Swindlers and swindling--Fiction. | GSAFD: Humorous fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3601.R577 D66 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018052703
Dedicated to the memory of my sister, Lydia K. Armstrong
Contents
Act One
The Set-Up
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Act Two
The Convincer
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Act Three
The Switch
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Acknowledgments
About the Author
“You’ve not experienced Shakespeare
until you’ve read it in the original Klingon.”
—Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country
ACT ONE
THE SET-UP
1
Until the day they stole my dog Gizmo, I always thought my life would turn out to be a comedy. In other words, I thought it would have a happy ending.
That’s what my Shakespeare professor in college taught me about the difference between comedy and tragedy. A comedy always has a happy ending, he said, even if a bunch of sad stuff happens along the way. A tragedy, on the other hand, could have you rolling in the aisles with laughter from the moment the curtain rises. By the time it falls, everybody onstage is lying in a pool of blood.
On the day they dognapped Gizmo, I was still betting on comedy. A lot of funny stuff had happened in my forty years on earth, that’s for sure. But then a mobster stole my dog, and I realized he could kill me. Worse, he could kill my wife and daughter, too. I couldn’t think of anything more tragic than that.
It all started with a silly argument between me and Caitlin about whose turn it was to walk the dog. It really was her turn to walk him. Honestly, it was. But I lost the argument. I was losing a lot of arguments in those days after she caught me cheating with another woman.
Wonder Woman, to be precise.
“It’s not my turn to walk him,” I said.
“I don’t care if it’s your turn or not,” said Caitlin. “You’ve spent the last three days in Atlantic City screwing Wonder Woman while I’ve been taking care of the dog and your daughter. The least you can do to make things fair around here would be to take Gizmo for a walk around the block.”
“Caitlin, please stop making jokes about me sleeping with some fem
ale superhero. It happened one time. Are you going to keep giving me shit about it for the rest of your life? Because if you are, I’m outta here.”
“Good idea. Why don’t you take Gizmo for a walk and just keep on going? But bring the dog back first.”
“Gizmo, come.” I put the harness and leash on our little white terrier and headed out the door.
It was the night before trash pickup on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, Gizmo’s favorite night of the week. On most nights it would take me fifteen minutes to walk him around the block. This night, it took twice as long because Gizmo was a big believer in stopping to smell the roses. Only in his case the roses were old chicken wings, empty soup cans, and half-eaten bagels.
We were halfway around the block when a car ran up on the curb and screeched to a halt ten feet away from where Gizmo and I were standing, almost hitting the dog. There were two young black guys in the car and they threw open the doors and charged in my direction.
“What the hell are you doing? You almost hit my dog!”
They didn’t answer.
Instead, one guy grabbed me by the throat and threw me against the brick wall of the nearest building. My head hit the wall hard and I could feel blood start to gush out. The other guy took the leash out of my hands and pulled Gizmo away from me. I could see him pick Gizmo up in his arms and carry him back to the car. A dognapping? That’s strange, I thought. But I had more pressing things on my mind. The first guy shoved his forearm hard against my throat, almost choking me to death.
“Give me your money, motherfucker.”
“All right, all right.” I was in no position to fight back. He was bigger than me. Stronger. And there were two of them. All I could do was give them whatever they wanted.
“I don’t have much money, but I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”
“Hand it over now, asshole.”
So I gave him my wallet. My watch, too.
He looked over the meager haul. “That’s it?”
“I’m just an actor,” I said.
He slipped his foot behind mine and gave me a shove. I tripped and fell to the ground, scraping my arms and elbows as I tried to break my fall. The mugger ran back to the car. His partner was in the passenger seat, holding Gizmo in his lap. Gizmo struggled to break free and barked like crazy. I got to my feet as fast as I could and ran toward the car.
“Give me back my dog! You don’t need the dog! Let me keep my dog!”
The car took off as fast as it had come. The driver laid a patch of rubber on both the sidewalk and the street as he floored the gas pedal. He ran a red light at the end of the block and took a hard right so fast that for a moment the car ran on two wheels. Then it vanished.
“Gizmo, come back! Come back, Gizmo!” I yelled, as if the dog could overcome his captors and drive the car back to me. I burst into tears.
A few minutes later, I stumbled back into the apartment and Caitlin could tell right away something was wrong.
“What happened to you? You’re bleeding.”
“I got mugged by two guys in a car.”
“Mugged? Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“Where’s Gizmo?”
“Gizmo’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“They took him.”
“Who took him?”
“The muggers.”
“They stole Gizmo?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God. How could you let that happen?”
“How could I let it happen? There were two of them. One of them tried to kill me. He took my wallet. He took my watch. The other one took the dog.”
“Why would they take a dog?”
“I don’t know. Listen, Caitlin, we’ve got to call the cops right now.”
I stumbled toward the telephone in the kitchen. As I was about to pick it up, it rang.
“This is Joey Volpe,” I said. “I don’t know who’s calling but please hang up now. I need to make an emergency call to the police.”
“Well, hello to you, too,” said a familiar voice on the phone.
“Who is this?”
“Why don’t we chat for a while and you’ll figure out who it is. How does that sound?”
I knew who it was.
“Look, Mr.… Don … er, Godfather … sir … I’m serious. Please hang up. I need to call the police right away.”
“What about?”
“Somebody robbed me on the street and stole my dog.”
“Dognapping, huh? There’s been a rash of that kind of crime recently. Disgusting. I bet it was a couple of melanzane, too, wasn’t it? Animals stealing animals. You know, Joey, in my neighborhood people don’t call the cops when something like this happens. They call me. The cops don’t give a shit. But I can usually help out my friends in situations like this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you had time to think about my proposition, Joey?”
“Yes, I thought about it. And I already told you my decision. Absolutely not. I don’t want any part of it. I’m not a criminal. I’m just an actor.”
“Well, think about it a little more, Joey. But first, I’ve got some good news for you.”
“What?”
“I found your dog. He’s with me now. What a sweet little guy. What do they call the breed of this dog? Some kind of terrier, right?”
“West Highland White Terrier.”
“That’s right. Westie. That’s ironical. We used to do some work with a gang of Irish guys on the Upper West Side of Manhattan who called themselves Westies. They were mean bastards, though. Not like this little dog. He’s a sweetie. What’s his name?
“Gizmo.”
“Cute name. I always liked this type of dog. Oh, I found your watch and your wallet, too. A Timex, Joey? Why don’t you live a little and buy yourself a nice watch?”
“Well, I’m just an actor.”
“You seem to say that a lot. Listen, Joey, here’s the good news. In five minutes, you’re going to hear a knock on the door. It’s gonna be the same guy who stole your wallet and your dog. But don’t be afraid. He’s completely reformed now. He’s turned his life around. He’s in a twelve-step program. And his first step on the road to recovery is to give you back your dog. And your wallet. And your shitty little watch.”
“That guy works for you?” I was slow to catch on. “How is that possible? He’s a black guy, not Italian. Plus this is New York, and you’re in Philadelphia.”
“Well, Joey, we’re an equal opportunity employer now. We have associates in New York who do favors for us, just like we do favors for them in Philly. We’re like one big happy family, so to speak. So all’s well that ends well, as you actors say, right?”
“I guess so.”
“All I want in return for my generosity, Joey, is for you to think about something for the next few days.”
“Think about what?”
“Think about this. If it was that easy for me to take your dog from you, think how easy it would be to take your daughter or your wife. In fact, think about how easy it would be for me to take your daughter and your wife. I could fuck your wife in front of your daughter. Then I could fuck your daughter in front of your wife. And then I could dump them both in the East River. I mean, if I wanted to. Which I don’t. I simply want you to think about that possibility. Then I want you to think some more about what we discussed in Atlantic City.”
I was silent for a long time. For all the problems Caitlin and I had been having in our marriage, I loved her more than anyone on earth. I suspected that half the reason I cheated on her was because I felt like I didn’t deserve her. And our five-year-old daughter Bianca? Well, I loved her more than life itself.
“Joey? Are you still there?”
“I can’t talk now. How can I reach you?”
“The nice young man who found your dog is going to give you a business card with a phone number on it. You can call that number
any time day or night. Operators are standing by now,” he added with a chuckle before hanging up.
Then there was a knock at the door.
Before I tell you what happened next, I should explain how an actor like me ran into a mob boss like Tony Rosetti. It happened two days earlier at the Taj Mahal Hotel & Casino in Atlantic City. I was signing autographs for fans of The Sopranos. You see, like Tony Rosetti, I too was a mobster.
Well, not really. But I played one on TV.
2
“What was James Gandolfini really like?” said the tall skinny guy looming over me as he handed me a photograph to sign.
The photograph was a picture of me. This guy had just paid thirty-five dollars for the privilege of having me sign it. That entitled him to fifteen seconds of conversation with me. Like many of the people who waited in line for my autograph, he wanted the inside scoop on James Gandolfini.
It was the most common question I heard in these autograph sessions. You’d think I’d have come up with a good answer by now. But it made me want to ask some questions of my own. For example: Do you want the truth? If so, do you want the whole truth? And if you don’t want the truth, would you accept a stock answer that would let me move on to the next person?
The truth is I have no idea what James Gandolfini was like. We had one scene together in my three appearances on The Sopranos, and I had one line in that scene. The line wasn’t even directed at Gandolfini, so he didn’t have to wait for a reaction shot if he didn’t want to. And he didn’t. After he finished, he went to his dressing room to memorize his lines for the next day.
So the truth is that I didn’t know him at all. But I thought he was an okay guy. I was the only actor in the scene who had never worked with him before. He was polite enough to introduce himself before we started rehearsing.
“Hi, I’m Jimmy Gandolfini,” he said, holding out his hand.
“So nice to meet you,” I stammered. “An honor, really. I admire your work. I’m a big fan of the show.”
“And your name is?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s Joseph. Joseph Volpe. My friends call me Joey. I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous, Joey. This is a thirty-second scene that’ll take three hours to shoot. Two hours from now you’ll be so tired of doing it over and over again you won’t be nervous anymore. You’ll just want to get it done and go home. So hang in there. Try to have fun if you can. You’ll do fine.”