Losing Streak

by Jim Wilsky

  Sam kept going. “I want to take him down.”

  “No.” Rachel pointed her finger at him. “No way. Let me tell you something right now, and you listen good.”

  He stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Yes, this is a different kind of con we’re pulling. And you know why? We are at the end of the rope, the very end. We need this to happen. Happen now. I’ll say it again, we don’t have any more money. We don’t have any more time. We move ahead…as planned.”

  “Damn right it’s different, Rachel. This guy is not our average mark. He’s not just some business asshole or shady bastard that we take to the cleaners. He’s a fucking death merchant. We don’t operate this way and it’s my fault for getting us in this to begin with. I’ll admit that.”

  She barked out a sharp laugh that had no humor in it. “Oh…Oh please! Spare me this sudden moral outrage. Can you hear yourself?” She crossed her arms, rage building. “And by the fucking way, where was this sensitive, social conscious bullshit when we were playing games with prostitutes and your professional business man buddy, Bigs?”

  “Rachel, you know you can’t compare that with this one.”

  “Really? I can’t? You want to compare body counts of deaths caused by this Arkansas gun dealer with dead prostitutes? They die, too, Sam. Drugs supplied to them, or at the hands of pimps and customers. Pimps just exactly like your pal Bigs. Customers just like you pretended to be. Hundreds of them die every year. Sometimes sudden, sometimes a long slow kind of death. You just don’t hear about them.” She started to walk away, then came back to him. “They don’t retire and live off their 401-Ks. So, don’t you give me that stench bullshit of this one. It all stinks. Turn the hot water up in the shower and get over it, Sam.”

  “Take a breath. Can’t we just talk about this without blowing up on each other?”

  “No, we can’t. You think hard about this and what I’ve just said.” She whirled a hand around the hotel room, “You think about this and the fact that this is the last night we can pay for even a shitty little room like this. Then, you think about bucking it the hell up and getting this done, so we can move on and then do something better. Something more honorable and professional.”

  “Jesus, Rachel, I just…”

  She was headed for the bathroom but spun around with eyes blazing. “You, just, what?”

  He didn’t say anything more though, just stared at the floor. She had only gotten this way twice before in all the years they’d been together. Once when she wanted to shut a con down, and they had. The other was when she wanted to move forward on a scheme, and they had. He took a sip of wine. She’d been right both of those times. And she was right now. He was letting it be about something other than the money and he knew better.

  When he didn’t answer, she said, “I’m done. Going to bed. We have work to do tomorrow.” She started taking her blouse off now, quick and still pissed off. A button flew off.

  “Yeah, well, I’m done too.”

  She looked at him hard, her eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  He held up his hands. “Means I give. It’s a go tomorrow.”

  She nodded at him and her look softened just a little. Sam thought she was going to say something more but instead she just went into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  “Sam.”

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. What the hell?

  “Sam.”

  Jerking around, he sat up straight. “I’m up…I’m…I’m here.” He blinked and rubbed his eyes.

  Rachel looked down at him and there was the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. “It’s not late, we’re good. You were sleeping hard, not even snoring. I have some more gourmet breakfast items from downstairs. And coffee. Two of them.”

  “Yeah, just real tired, I guess.” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. The fresh memory of their argument came flooding back into his thoughts. “Listen, babe, last night…I, well…sorry.”

  She took his hand and said, “Me too. I went way overboard last night. I think we’re both just, I don’t know…it’s just the situation we’re in. The—”

  “Pressure.”

  “Yes,” she said softly, giving his hand a light squeeze.

  “Let’s put it behind us. Get it done.” Sam swung his feet out of bed and stood up.

  “Deal,” Rachel agreed. “Let’s eat, then go over things one more time. And one other thing I never got a chance to tell you. Something at the show, something that I might be able to use today.”

  “Well, it’s a little after one o’clock, Cullen. See her over there?” Wilson said, looking to his left.

  “No, not yet.” Sam handed him the can of Coke he’d just come back with.

  The doors to the show had opened an hour ago and the traffic, at least so far, was far better than yesterday. All the aisles had people in them and the sound of conversations could be heard up and down the convention hall.

  “Keep your eye out, okay?”

  “Will do, no problem. I hope this works out for you, Rand.” For effect, he looked up and down the crowded aisle.

  In Sam’s opinion, busy was good, noise was good. As long as it wasn’t a circus. Anything that helped create an atmosphere that might dilute Wilson’s focus and his ability to analyze. Maybe lessening his focus just enough for Rachel to glaze over any tight spots that might come up.

  Both he and Rachel had seen it time and again with other cons over the years. There is always a concern about a mark’s natural questions turning into some kind of suspicion, or even paranoia. Simply put, they both knew, it’s just a more difficult thing if you have to con someone in a bare, quiet room with no windows.

  “Well, she might not show at all. If she does, I’m going to take her over to the food court even though it won’t be much quieter. At least we’ll have somewhere to sit down. So, that means I’ll need you to cover the booth for me. Same thing goes as yesterday, anybody wants to buy something, tell ’em to come back.”

  “So, what’s your gut tell you about this? Does she show and will it be worth it? I sure hope so.”

  “Yeah well, me too. Depending on what she’s got, this might be what I need. Or it could be a whole bunch of nothin’.”

  A man and what looked like his son walked up to the booth and started browsing. Wilson slid over to them and started talking but Sam could tell it was he was just going through the motions.

  Moments Wilson stepped away, saying, “Okay, well listen folks, have a look around and take your time now. We’ve got some guns you won’t see at any other booth in the show.” He pulled his phone out and said, “I’ve got to make a real quick phone call so let Cullen here know if you need me.”

  Wilson turned and walked to the very last table, holding the phone up to his ear. Sam could tell he was talking to no one as his head swiveled in all directions, searching the crowd.

  She came toward the booth down at the same end that Wilson was standing, and Sam drifted down toward them to at least be able to hear some of it.

  “Mr. Wilson?” Rachel stopped at the table and stuck her hand out. “Mr. Rand Wilson?”

  “That’s me. And who might you be, young lady?” Wilson shook her hand and made no attempt to hide his roving eyes.

  “I’m Sarah Moss. Vanguard Corporation. I dropped my card off yesterday.” Rachel was wearing jeans again, with a low-cut light blue sweater under a short beige colored vest. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  “Oh yeah?” Palmer said with a slight frown, feigning that he didn’t recognize her. “Oh yeah! Hey, I think I saw you yesterday as you walked away but I couldn’t get free.”

  “Yes, it was unfortunate that we were unable to talk.”

  Wilson jerked a thumb at Sam. “Cullen here, told me I just missed you. He said you had an opportunity of some sort.”

  “Right again,” she said and looked at the
thin gold watch she had on. “Regrettably, my available time today is short and out of professional respect, I need to sit down with you for a brief discussion. There has been a change.”

  “A change? Okay, well, I still don’t know what this is about, let alone a change.” He smiled and turned sideways. “Let’s go somewhere where we can hear each other, a few less people running into us, whaddya say?”

  “Of course. Where would you like to talk?” She shifted a compact aluminum briefcase from one hand to the other.

  “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee in the cafeteria area.” Wilson pointed to the far corner of the show floor. “There’s a few food stations too, if you’re hungry, and plenty of seating.”

  Rachel nodded. “Very well, lead the way.”

  Wilson turned to Sam, “Be back, just hold the fort down and tell people I’ll be back.”

  “Sure, Rand, I got it.” Sam answered.

  They found a small table in the back corner of the food court area and sat down. It wasn’t crowded at all yet. Rachel put the small aluminum briefcase on the table and scooted her chair in. Wilson pulled his wallet out and poked around in it.

  “Here we go. I knew I kept it.” He held her business card in front of him. “Now, before we get to this change you mentioned, or what the hell the opportunity was before the change…who are you guys?” He smiled and sipped his Coke.

  Rachel smiled back. “As I mentioned, my name is Sarah Moss and I represent the Vanguard Corporation.”

  “Right. Got that. I mean who is Vanguard Corp? Never heard of you…and I been doing this a long time, dealt with all types and got contacts all over North America.” He looked down at the card again. “No headquarters address, email…nothing. Hell, Sarah, you might not even be Sarah.”

  “I appreciate your caution. In fact, I respect it.” Rachel widened her smile. “I’ll address your last comment first, I am indeed Sarah. I’ll leave it at that. Secondly, our offices are all over the world because wherever I am, or my father is—that’s our office. We travel constantly, we own no brick and mortar building, side businesses, real estate or warehouses of any kind. We use third parties for many things so we’re also very, very lean in personnel. Times have changed.”

  “Okay, but why have—”

  She gently held her finger up to stop him. “And third, we fly very low, Mr. Wilson. We purposely have no profile or presence in any form of social media or the web. And—” she pointed at the card, “—frankly, we do work under different names from time to time. I’ll assure you, however, that we are a player in the business of arm sales.”

  He seemed preoccupied and didn’t say anything, so she went on. “We have connections. Significant connections. Both on the buy and sell side.” She folded her hands in front of her casually, completely calm. “Mr. Wilson?” She met his eyes as he raised his look and her head tilted slightly to the side.

  Wilson had been caught looking at her chest. He cleared his throat. “I hate being called Mr. Wilson. Makes me feel even older than I am. Call me Rand, okay?” He took a sip of his Coke. “All right, look, Sarah. I actually know some folks just like you and they operate the same way. I just hadn’t heard of you. Got to be careful, you know?”

  “I fully understand.” She leaned forward, improving his view. “Mr. Wilson.”

  He laughed softly and she smiled back.

  “Okay,” he said. “So, play along with me here. Just for a minute. Tell me about how somebody like you got involved in this kind of nasty business.”

  She didn’t pause. “I am the youngest of three siblings. They both pursued other careers. Safe, boring, and mainstream careers. I started out that way too, receiving an international business degree, summa cum laude, from a prestigious west coast university. Then there was a crossroads of sorts. A decision to make.”

  “Huh. And, so?” Wilson leaned back. Rachel sensed a definite and real interest. As with any con, before she sold anything else, she had to sell herself. A different kind of prostitution. That thought made her smile to herself.

  She shrugged and continued, “My father never persuaded or dissuaded me to follow him in his line of work, but I don’t think there was ever any doubt. I’ve always been different. I’m a maverick at heart. I like excitement, I like living on the edge. I like business, obviously, just not the norm.” She stopped only for a moment, giving Wilson a firm look, then said, “There’s a lot more to me than you might think. But we both don’t have the time for this biography and plus I’m sure you are as bored as I am right now.”

  “Damn, I need you to work for me.” Wilson laughed. “I know I’m just a hick from Little Rock, but we’d make a great team.”

  Rachel laughed, too. “Seriously though, you came highly recommended from a very private, somewhat eccentric customer you currently work with. My father has had a long relationship with your customer. They have made successful deals in the past using a different sales agent on the east coast. Neither my father or your customer ever make direct deals or sales. Always through a third party.”

  “That’s correct, he’s always used agents. I’m glad I’m valued by him.” Wilson scratched his chin, thinking. “Eccentric, huh? I like that description. So, anyway, that brought you to me…but what did you bring with you?” Wilson wasn’t smiling anymore, his eyes hard and eager.

  Rachel lowered her voice and added a touch of disappointment, not in a dramatic way but just enough for Wilson to pick up on. “Unfortunately, your customer also recommended another sales agent. He’s actually here at this show, but before you ask, I will not divulge the name. We are always one hundred percent confidential.”

  She paused and looked at her watch. Wilson didn’t say anything and his face remained expressionless, but he gave off a tell. His right hand had been lying flat on the table, and now it had slowly curled into a loose fist. He knew exactly who she was suggesting. He also had to know how crucial this was. His prized customer was testing him, leveraging him.

  Rachel continued on, “I came to you first yesterday but missed you. I then had a meeting with the other recommended sales agent, just after the show closed. After that meeting, we moved to another location and he looked at the merchandise. The price was quoted, and he accepted without a counter offer or hesitation. Out of professional courtesy and my father’s direction, I just wanted to inform you.”

  “Sarah, give me a chance here. I need this in more than one way. Tell me what the merchandise is. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Mr. Wilson, I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear. The deal is done.”

  Wilson shook his head. “It’s never over till it’s over. You’re not too young to have heard that saying, right?”

  “It is over.” She pushed up straighter in her chair and shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry. I came to this show as one last stop before heading home after a very successful sales trip. I had four pieces of equipment leftover. Now I have none.”

  “So, you’re saying you’ve been paid in full and the buyer has taken possession?”

  She let her shoulders sag, just slightly. She let her eyes drift a little before looking at him across the table, but she didn’t answer.

  He nodded, then said, “It’s not too late here. Tell you what, I’ll make you an offer upfront—without knowing the price, before I even know what the product is and before I even see it.” He took another drink of Coke, then pursed his lips. “I’ll pay you twenty percent more than the total price agreed to yesterday—whatever that amount is. Twenty percent more. I won’t charge my customer more. I’ll just eat the loss.”

  Sure you will, Rachel thought then shook her head and said, “Mr. Wilson…”

  He leaned in on both elbows. “I can tell you’re very smart and competent as hell, but it doesn’t take a lot of brilliance to accept an offer like I’m making. I know you don’t want to leave that kind of money on the table and I know damn well your dad wouldn’t want to.”

  “The additional mone
y would be a bonus for us, yes. But this is not an auction and I have no interest or time to start one.”

  “Neither do I, I just want one chance. One chance. Just tell me what the product and price is, Sarah.”

  Rachel didn’t answer, just looked at him.

  “Please.” His face was sincere and desperate. Sam was right, Rachel thought, he was a talented actor. Wilson repeated it one more time with even more feeling, “Please.”

  “Well, I suppose telling you this wouldn’t harm anything, but I would have to rely on your word to keep this absolutely confidential. All of it, no matter what happens. Can I count on that?”

  Wilson nodded firmly. “I’m a lot of things, good and bad, but I’m not stupid. Think of what that would do to my reputation and my relationship with my buyer, to your dad and hell, you. We just met, but I like the hell out of you. I care what you think. I’d be a fool to go back on my word. Just give me a chance.”

  “Is it really that important to you? You’re willing to lose money to make the deal?”

  “Oh hell, yeah. This is big picture stuff for me. If I can make this deal, it’s much more than just this deal. You follow me?”

  “Alright, I will tell you what the merchandise is and the financial arrangement. Past that I can’t guarantee anything until I make a call. Agreed?”

  “I’m listening.”

  Rachel dropped her voice noticeably now. “I have four Mk 153 SMAW IIs, unused, unbroken trigger guards and seals. You won’t find these anywhere yet, at least we haven’t seen them. These are the new generation, SMAW Serpents. Redesigned grips and trigger systems, advanced optics—including night vision scopes, increased range up to sixteen hundred meters, depending on the type of round used. Sophisticated fire control electronics built by Raytheon, improved portability and reliability in the field.” She paused and took a shallow breath, then calmly asked, “Are you familiar with SMAWS?”

  “Yes, but not a Serpent. I’m impressed with your knowledge.” He gave her a different look now. “Is the Serpent able to fire a thermobaric warhead?”