Conman (31 page)

“I don’t believe it.”

“It’s nothing personal.”

“And the chap in the restaurant? The Aussie with the cash? Are you telling me he’s part of this too?”

“Henry David,” Laura sighed. The tears sounded drier now. Replaced with a firmer edge. An anger. “Although that’s probably not his real name either. These fucking people.”

“That’s what the envelope at the table was about? The
job well done
?”

“I need another cigarette.” Laura moved softly across the room towards the bed where she must have dumped her bag.

There was a rattle and a click of a lighter. She moved over to an armchair and I watched one foot disappear as she sat down and crossed her legs.

“The envelope’s just the lure. To get you asking the right
questions
.”

“What questions? Wait, exactly what have I walked into here?”

“It works like this,” Laura sighed. “Christopher and I pose as antiques experts. We find someone on the net with a valuable vase, a book, a painting, a comic.”

“I can’t believe it … I can’t …”

“Whatever it is. We invite you out, tell you it’s worth some outlandish sum. Makes us all best friends. And just as it’s sinking in, Henry drops by the table with a nudge and a wink and a fat envelope full of reddies. Naturally, you want to know who this Henry is and how he makes his money. You and I subsequently become lovers and I tell Christopher we can trust you to share our secret.”

“Which is?”

“That we have a way of making clients like Henry, clients like
you
, a little extra on the side, no questions asked.”

There was a long pause as Laura drew on her cigarette, toes curling in the thick carpet. Andrew’s feet remained at the
mini-bar
. Beneath the bed, crushed and wheezing, my heart slammed in my ears as I tried to take it all in, brain lagging behind breathlessly.

“It’s called the Pigeon Drop. Nobody knows how old it is. It’s been out of circulation for a while, but you can’t keep a good grift down.” 

“Go on,” Andrew said firmly.

“It’s very simple. We borrow
your
comic book. We put it in a briefcase and dump it somewhere out of the way – an alley, a
car-park
, under a bench. Doesn’t matter. Christopher then locates a victim. Some greedy son of a bitch. He steers the mark towards the briefcase, all casual like,
my, what have we here
? But just as they find it and are thinking all their Christmasses have come at once,
I
step up and say
I
saw it first. So we have a problem.”

“I can’t
believe
what I’m hearing,” Andrew said with convincing disbelief. “So
nothing
you said today was – ? The valuation? The
website
? I …”

“Get over it. Listen, we figure the comic book must be stolen. We can’t stand around discussing what to do with it so we retire to a nearby pub for a discussion. Now, we can’t split the comic book three … are you following this? You said you wanted to know what we were going to –”

“Yes, yes sorry. It’s just all a lot to take in …”

“We can’t divide your comic book up because it’s a one-off piece, right? So. Big conundrum. Who gets to keep it? First,
I
offer to hold onto the case for a while – a few weeks say – just so we know it doesn’t appear on
Crimewatch UK,
agreeing that if enough time goes by and nobody asks questions, we meet up to arrange an equal split.”

“And why would they trust you to do that?”

“Well they
don
’
t
trust me, that’s the point. Christopher starts saying how shifty I seem and before you know it, our greedy mark is the one offering to play babysitter with your comic book.”

“And why do you trust
him
?”

“Because
he
can afford to put up a bond. Like a … a good faith kind of thing. A few thousand pounds each to Christopher and myself. That way, should he renege on the deal and run off with the comic, nobody’s out of pocket.”

“Unbelievable. This … this is
unbelievable
.”

“So the mark pays out to us, sticks the case under his arm and we all walk out of the pub.”

“I’m guessing it’s not that simple?”

“Nothing in life is simple. Because who should then appear but the comic-book thief himself? One of our team again of course.
He wants his case back. There’s a big struggle, a gun goes off – I go down screaming in a pool of blood. The thief grabs the bags and he’s off in a cloud of smoke. Leaving Christopher shouting and screaming for the cops, covered in splattered blood, me lying ‘
dead
’, and our mark with no choice but to leg it before the cops show up and start asking questions about stolen goods. And that’s that.”

The room went quiet as Andrew mulled this over.

“And so I fit into this
how
?” he said eventually. “You were going to ask me for
my
comic book to use as bait for one of these drops, right? To catch some
mark
?”

“
Ask
you? No need. A tumble in the sack with me plus a sneaky peek into Henry’s envelope and I wouldn’t have had to ask. You’d have been
begging
to be allowed in.”

“And you keep the mark’s money? The bond, I mean. It works?” There was a pause. The mood in the room, even at floor level, seemed to shift.

“
Works
?” Laura laughed. “Ha. You could say that.”

“I don’t follow,” Andrew said.

But under the bed, teeth gritted, angry fists tight,
I
followed.

I followed only too well. 

“So … I’m not with you,” Andrew said a few thoughtful minutes later. “If this is all true. If this is what you do, shouldn’t we be cavorting on the old bedstead? Isn’t that your plan? Shouldn’t you be … I don’t know. Leaving envelopes full of cash next to my bedside hoping I’ll stumble over them on my hunt for a Gideon?”

Laura gave a long sad sigh.

And I would have tried one myself if my ribcage hadn’t seized up with cramp and the pins & needles in my face numbed me from the nose down. Still beneath the bed, hands buzzing and dead, I tried to edge over an inch silently, get the blood up and running again but there was no room to even shift an opinion. I don’t know how long I’d been cramped-out but I wasn’t going to last much longer. Mouth full of fluff and dust, I tried to content myself with slow, shallow breathing, head-thudding concentration and keeping a lid on a simmering rage.

I could only see her feet as she talked, but I
hated
her feet. I hated her little feet curling in the carpet and I hated her slim ankles. I loathed her long legs, her hips and waist and curves and shoulders and her greedy-grabbing hands and that mouth that kissed and lied and lied and lied. I tensed all over, trying to hold in the bursting fury. I wanted to yell. I wanted to scramble out like a commando under assault-course netting, leap up and grab her by the throat. Scream. Roar with hot spit and hatred. Because of what she had done. What she had taken from me.

But instead, I listened.

“I should be, yes,” Laura said. “And as far as Christopher’s concerned, I am.”

“But?”

“But I’m not. Not today. In fact not any day. Not any more.” Laura’s legs uncrossed with a crackle of stocking and she wandered over to the mini-bar and opened it. “I’m done.”

“You’re done.”

“You have any idea what it’s like, this life? What we do? I mean hell, people say that our
marks
end up ruined, but at least the sad bastards get the luxury of mourning. They can at least face
themselves
in the mirror, look themselves in the eye, take a deep breath and try to get on with their lives.
Me
? Where can
I
look? How do
I
‘put it behind me’?” She bent and I caught her slim hand sliding out a half-bottle of white wine. “When it’s there, in front of me, stretching on for years. A lifetime more of lies, deceit and betrayal. Watching poor gullible soul after poor gullible soul have their dreams plucked from their hands and taken to the cashiers. I can’t do it. Not any more.”

“You’re retiring?”

“While I still have a soul to be redeemed.”

“And you decided this … what, just now on the bed? Bloody hell, I’m a better kisser than I thought.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You want the truth?” There was the distant tinkle of tumblers, a screw-top lid bouncing on glass. “I made up my mind at eleven o’clock last Thursday morning. November the fifth. Outside the Waldorf Hotel.”

Under the bed, I held my breath. My pins & needles gave a tingle.
Hello
, I thought.

“We were playing a mark. Some Zorba the Geek who needed a quick buck to get himself out of a hole. Cheers.” There was a beat and a sigh as she swigged her wine.

“Nerd made flesh. God you should have seen his flat. Superman here, Superman there. Anyway. Everything had gone like
clockwork
. Just another con trick. I was standing waiting when he arrived with the score. Fifty thousand pounds.”

“Fifty
grand
?”

“I never said it didn’t pay. Not bad for five days’ flirting, eh? But …” and Laura thought for a moment. “It was the look on his face. It was wrong. It wasn’t greed. He wasn’t licking his lips or rubbing his hands. It was this look of hope. This pathetic look of
hope
. The sad bastard. Because he wasn’t doing it for himself. He was doing it for his wife and daughter. This wasn’t some fat tourist we were fleecing. This guy was that rarest of mythical beasts – the good husband.” She chuckled dryly and lit another cigarette. 
“Even when I’d try it on with him in his crappy little shop, he’d always pull back. He was just a pitiable, desperate man terrified of losing his family. How exactly did he
deserve
to get fleeced?”

I listened as the room went quiet. Laura smoked her cigarette and sipped her wine, easing herself back into her chair. Andrew said nothing, just curling and flexing his toes in his black socks.

“Which is,” Andrew coughed after a moment, “well, a
heartwarming
story Linda …”

“Laura.”

“Laura. Sorry, I’m having difficulty keeping up. All this has come as something of a surprise.”

“Just think yourself lucky you didn’t meet me a week ago.”

“But I’m not a priest. You still haven’t quite explained why you’re unloading all this on me.”

“Why?
Friends
,” she said. “Now, Christopher says that there’s no such
thing
as friends. ‘
Friends
’ to Christopher is an American sitcom. Nothing more. He believes that anyone you get on with in life is merely someone who hasn’t found you out yet.”

“Charming.”

“The team? Pete, Henry, Julio? They’re the same. We aren’t
pals
. We don’t hang out because we
get on
. There’s no trust. Any of us, if caught, would squeal on the others like
that
. We’re
Get Out Of Jail Free
cards. Nothing more. That’s what Christopher has always taught us.”

“And you’re going to cash them in. Right? Is that what you’re saying? As part of your retirement? A big golden fuck-off.”

“They’re going to offer me immunity. Full immunity.”

“
They
?”

“Fraud Squad. I’ve spoken to a barrister. Off the record, of course. He’s cutting me a deal. My freedom in exchange for the team, caught red-handed in a last final scam.”

“The
scam
in question being …” and Andrew followed this thought to its inevitable conclusion. “Oh. I see.”

I lay there and listened as the whole point of Laura’s visit, the purpose of her confessional, finally settled in quietly between them. They sat and looked at it for a while in a silence heavier than … well, heavier than the double mattress I had balanced on my head.

Laura excused herself and I held my breath as I watched her pad across to the bathroom.

“It’s up to you,” she said and the door slid shut with a hiss and a slam.

“
Neil
?”

“
Christ
,” I gasped, breathing out with a dusty cough, my crushed lungs like two hoover bags. I edged out a few inches into the glare of the room, gulping a few dry lung-fs, wincing at my cricked neck. Andrew scuttled over hunched low.

“
What do we do
?” he hissed. “
Do you believe any of this
?”

“
I don’t know,
” I whispered, rolling sore shoulders in the tiny space. “
She’s either wiping her slate clean or just trying to make you think she’s wiping it clean.
”

“
Having her on side would make it easier to get your money back though. There’s no denying that
.”

“
True
,” I said, my head weary with worry. “
But this is the third character I’ve seen this woman play in five days. And there’s something not quite –
”

“What’s going on?” Laura said flatly.

“
Shit
–”

“I heard . . what are you – ?”

“Er, Laura, j-just hold on …”

“Who’s there? What the hell’s – ?”

Laura moved around the bed, around Andrew’s crouching frame and caught sight of me, half in, half out. It shook her all about.

“Shit,” she said, stumbling backwards.

“Wait, it’s all right, Laura,” I said, puffing and heaving myself free but Laura was panicked, skittering like a bird trapped in a strawberry net. She grabbed up her bag and a shoe, holding it out like a weapon, stumbling about the room.

“What
is
this?” she said loudly, eyes wide and fiery. “What’s … Is this some kind of set-up? Who else is here?” She stabbed out with her stiletto, moving fast across the room, flinging open the empty wardrobe, Andrew backing away, hands raised.

“Laura,” I said, getting cautiously to my feet, brushing the fluff from my chest “Laura,
relax
. It’s not a set-up.”

“I’m leaving,” she said, face dark and angry, taking trembling steps towards the door. “I’m leaving and you’re staying, you hear
me? Your money’s gone. Gone, understand? Don’t even think about following me …”

“Laura,” I said carefully, and bent and retrieved her other shoe, holding it out as a high-street peace offering. “It’s all right. We just want to talk to you.”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between us warily.

“I mean it,” I said, raising my own hands in submission. “Please. Andrew?”

“Right right. We just want to talk. We … we can help you.”

Laura narrowed her eyes.

“Look, you say you want to go straight?” I said. “Quit the life? Turn Christopher in? You think what, we’re going to
stop
you?”

Laura lowered her heel a tiny bit, almost imperceptibly.

“Benno here’s a friend of mine.”

“
Benno
?”

“Sorry, that’s me. Andrew Benjamin,” Andrew said, offering a hand. Laura looked at it. Andrew put it back in the air.

“
We
set this up,” I said. “eBay. To try to get Christopher out of the woodwork. I … I just want my money back. You can help us. And we can help you.”

“The comic’s
yours
?”

“Who else? Zorba the Geek?”

Laura took a deep breath, licked her lips and looked at us both, back and forth. Deciding something. Weighing it up.

We stood watching, breath held, hands aloft. The air
conditioning
hummed quietly. On the street far below, West End traffic sighed and hissed. Somewhere a siren called out.

“You’d help
me
?” she said, voice edgy and firm.

“I just want my money back,” I said. “Whatever it takes. You want to bring the team down into the bargain, that suits me fine.”

Laura narrowed her eyes, looking at me. Then at Andrew. Then me again. Then, after a long, heart-thudding minute, she finally tossed her shoe to the bed with a sigh, shoulders limp.

“Jesus,” Laura sighed. “Look at you. Martin & Lewis. Either of you comedians got a cigarette?”

It was almost six o’clock. Outside, November had brought a cold darkness to London’s night.

Inside, Laura was on her second glass of wine, lit by the glow of one of the fatter table lamps. Room service had sent up a greasy teenager with a packet of
Lucky
Strikes
on a silver dish, hotel match-book placed just-so on the doily – it was probably going to cost Keatings about nineteen quid plus tip. Laura curled up in a Regency armchair and smoked them. Meanwhile Andrew and I sat opposite, either side of her, which we imagined made us look like a couple of grizzled undercover cops instead of the two nerdy, totally-out-of-their-depth losers that we really were.

As she talked, I tried to continue hating her. Really, I did. Brow furrowed, focused, I churned up my stomach, my bile, turning up the heat, adding a sprig of venom and two heaped tablespoons of rage. Got the whole dark, loathsome mixture bubbling away.

But the mixture wouldn’t set. I stirred and folded and whisked but nothing. Was it her newly acquired vulnerability? Pale hair loose, dwarfed by the armchair, sipping wine like an air-sea rescue victim with a warming hot-chocolate?

Or was it perhaps her desire to make amends? To join, if not quite the side of the angels, then at least warm up on their reserves’ bench.

Maybe it was the fact that
I’d
had something to do with it. That it was the hope in
my
face that day outside the hotel. That it was my actions as a
good husband
that finally sold her on taking a different role in life.

Either way, I could only bring myself to sit and listen.

“It wasn’t what I dreamed of,” she said, exhaling a long slow mouthful of blue smoke. “As a girl. All
this
. Believe me, it’s not what I wanted. Not what I wanted at all.”

“So now you’ve changed?” Andrew said. “You want out?”

The three of us exchanged looks.

“Because you felt sorry for my friend here? Finally, after all these years of hate and deceit, you feel … what? Remorse?”

“I can’t feel this way any longer,” Laura said. She tipped her head back and exhaled a long sad cloud of smoke. “Call it a
character
flaw. Maybe his Superman fetish appealed to me? Maybe I needed some truth, justice and the American way?” 

Heart thundering, I looked at her curled in the chair, helpless and apologetic.

“No,” I said.

“Neil, listen to what she’s –”

“No,” I said again. “I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it for a second. This isn’t to do with
me
. This is something else. Why now? Something’s happened, right? Money drying up maybe?”

“Money – ? Er, fifty
grand
you gave us, wasn’t it?”

“Fifty grand I gave your boss,” I said firmly. “How much did
you
see of that? Ten? Five? Minus expenses? Those new dresses. Shopping trips.”

Laura’s eyes flickered.

“He didn’t give you a penny, did he?”

Laura sucked hard on her cigarette, sloshing back the smoke with a mouthful of white wine.

“He’s a conman,” she said, placing the glass on a fat side table. “What should I expect? For him to stick to his promises? Fair’s fair? Ha. Everything …” she fixed her jaw. “
Everything
that comes out of that man’s mouth is a lie.
I’ve invested the take on a new mark, money’s tied up in a stocks scheme, trust me, your cut’s safe. Just
transferring
some funds dearie-dumpling,
fret ye not
. Meanwhile he’s glinting away in new diamond cufflinks.”

“So
that’s
it,” I said. I almost laughed. “It’s nothing to do with me or any other hapless, hope-faced husband. It’s revenge. You’re just out for
revenge
. And
you
want
us
to help you?”