I played the “barker,” roping the crowd and building up “Mr. Harvey” the auctioneer, played by Alex. As an actor, Alex was keen to play this role based on—and named after—the same hustler we had recorded weeks before. Alex was brought up in English boarding schools and went from there to drama school in London. His cartoon Cockney accent held up for most of his performance, slipping to his polite upper-middle-class self every now and then, but the script he memorized worked perfectly. As I had learned selling trick cards years before, a refined pitch—even a crooked one—works wonders. The real Mr. Harvey had no doubt learned the scam, graduated to run his own crew, and applied proven principles to his own line of patter. I’m pretty sure he would be less than happy to see his pitch played out for millions of viewers on our TV show, so after the broadcast, I retired from watching jam auctions.
How did that first jam auction in Chapel Market open my eyes? What were the factors that made me realize how much there was to understand? Until I was given the opportunity to actually perform these cons for television, I regarded them the way anyone with a serious interest in the subject would. I had an encyclopedic knowledge of the actual scams, but if asked to explain how and why they worked, my answer would have pointed to the cunning of the hustler or the gullibility of the mark.
Almost everything one reads on the subject makes the same point, taking great pleasure in recording the details of these confidence tricks without touching upon the human factor. The list of different con games is almost endless and new cons appear every year, but they’re mostly just old wine in new bottles. I’m by no means the first to recognize that most modern scams are easily traced to older progenitors; nor that, like jokes or stories, scams can be easily categorized. What shifted was my perspective. Suddenly, I was looking at these scams from the other side of the table.
In the back of that truck, I was staggered by just how effective our con had been. By simply acting out a scam described in an article written decades before, we were holding handfuls of twenty-pound notes. If we had more time, more merchandise, and fewer scruples, this could easily have become a very profitable career. It struck me then that it was not our expert cunning that helped make this money: We had only ever pulled the scam once! Was it the gullibility of the crowd? We were certain that those people would be extremely upset as we negotiated to return to the scene of our crime. The producers, however, reported a completely different story.
Once we, the “hustlers,” had made a safe getaway, the producers would typically approach our victims and let them off the hook. Many times, this had to be done very quickly before real panic set in and emotions got too high. I never envied the victims at that moment, but almost every time, it was a relief to learn their property or cash was safe. This was different. First, our runners had a tough job gathering everyone who’d bought from us because none of them felt conned in any way. They were all happy. They were all satisfied. This changed once people had some time to think about it, but even then, they were content. Incredibly, many refused to take their money back and preferred to keep the merchandise! On our return, there was no animosity, so I asked a couple of people what they felt when we rolled down the shutter and drove off. Mostly they were just disappointed that the sale was over before I got to the Xboxes and televisions at the back of the van. This really made me rethink everything.
There were two seasons of The Real Hustle between the back of that truck and the full-scale run-out joint we played in Manchester. By that time, I was already beginning to identify how each scam seemed to work in terms of deceiving people. I understood that scams could be played softly to walk a profit without waking up the marks or used to hit people hard and leave them stunned on the sidewalk. I could see that these two versions of the jam auction not only shared certain principles, they actually manipulated the crowd in exactly the same way, taking them down the same paths and walking them off the same cliff. The only real difference was how big a fall awaited the victim.
It was then clear to me that there was a real structure that could be identified and used to understand how and why scams work and to more effectively protect the public. Instead of exposing hundreds of con games based on analogous principles, I could reveal the fundamental concepts at the heart of all con games, so that no matter how they might be re-invented, people would be able to see past the illusion and recognize the hallmarks of deception.
About now, you might begin to worry that this information could be abused in the wrong hands, that I have created a blueprint for con men to follow. As I have pointed out many times before, informing con artists has never been my goal, nor has it been necessary: They already know how to con people. The scams I expose already exist in the real world and could easily be learned from the same sources that I have used over the years. Informing the con man is a non-issue, but informing the victim can genuinely change things for the better. Informing the public is the only way to protect people from these crimes; I can assure you that con artists are much more concerned about potential marks learning their methods than they are in need of ideas. The only reason any con game was ever successful is that the victim did not recognize it as a scam until it was too late.
My intention is to put you into the mindset of a hustler, to make you think like a thief and see through the eyes of a swindler. It’s much easier to recognize ingredients once you’ve cooked with them yourself, and this book will give you a taste of how it feels to pull a con. If that motivates you toward a life of crime, know that you need to have more than a little larceny in your heart to be a successful grifter, and I can’t take responsibility for any qualities or character traits that would allow you to act upon such feelings. Nor can I be blamed for the time you are almost certainly going to spend behind bars, because almost every con artist eventually gets caught.
By sharing what I have learned, I am not trying to convince you that you are now no longer a potential target, nor am I promising you will always be able to recognize a scam before it’s too late. Instead, my aim is to encourage a better understanding of how and why these methods work so that the game becomes much harder to play from the con man’s side of the table. In essence, I’m out to even the odds.
SCAMS AND SCAMMERS
The first time I saw the Dancing Dolls was as a child at Ingleston Market, just outside of Edinburgh. A man sold them from a gap between two stalls, squatting on the floor while surrounded by curious passers-by. The dolls were cut from thick card: a simple head and body made from one piece with string for arms, a bead for hands, and string legs with cheap, weighted magnets for feet. Each doll was sold inside a clear plastic bag with a cardboard label stapled to one end, sealing the package shut.
The seller would pass them around, allowing people to see how simple they were, then, taking them back, he would squat and hold a doll upright so the feet dangled below the doll and touched the floor. He would then slowly let go of the cardboard torso, but instead of collapsing, the doll remained upright, as if somehow brought to life. It would then appear to dance as the body swayed and hopped in opposite directions to the arms and legs. People pushed and shoved to see the little dolls as another seller began passing out packages with identical contents, asking only a few pounds for each one. They always seemed to sell out quickly and the sellers were then nowhere to be found. I watched them pitch these dolls many times, and over the years, I’ve seen the same dolls in many different guises: Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Bart and Lisa Simpson, even cutouts of political figures. But they all had one thing in common: They didn’t work.
I’ve seen the dancing dolls con played all over the world, mostly in markets or on the street, and the secret is quite simple: The seller has a line of invisible thread hidden within a cassette player, which plays the music that supposedly causes the dolls to dance. In fact, the dolls have a tiny notch cut into the cardboard, which is used to suspend them on the thread, which is attached to a nearby wall. The motor that drives the cassette also rotates the thread in a circular moti
on so that the dolls appear to hop up and down to the rhythm. This has the added advantage of ensuring the line of thread does not constantly occupy the same point in space. While already hard to see, the thread is rendered completely invisible thanks to this movement.
Interestingly, the guy who sold them when I was younger did not use a music player at all. He simply placed them on the floor as he bent down and the dolls danced. Recently, on a visit to Madrid, I noticed a crowd near Plaza Major. Walking up, I spotted the familiar movement of paper dolls dancing between the legs of a man, squatting at the center of the crowd. He was completely surrounded and clapped his hands to make the dolls dance. Just as I remembered, there was no cassette player or boom box but the dolls still danced. I immediately understood how this version (no doubt the original method) worked. Between his knees was a line of super-thin elastic, almost impossible to see unless the viewer is very close. When he squatted, his knees would stretch the line between them, allowing him to place the doll. By clapping and singing he created enough body movement to translate to the doll, which appeared to move in concert with the beat.
What was never clear to me was how people thought they supposedly worked. The most common explanation the dishonest salesmen would give was that the vibration from the speaker somehow caused the thick paper to defy the laws of physics. When I was younger, the reason had something to do with heat from the seller’s hand. He would hold the doll between the palms of both hands, then bend down and cause the doll to dance. Of course, none of these reasons make any sense. But they do help to illustrate an important point, what I would consider the key to the success of most scams: wishful thinking. The very idea that these dolls would work might even be more powerful than showing them dancing. The demonstration merely quashes any doubts and convinces the unwary to listen to their inner voice that wants the story to be true. Somehow, people who buy the dolls seem to accept whatever reason they are told as to how the dolls dance and happily hand over their money. When we decided to pull this scam for the TV show, I immediately saw an opportunity to explore this further.
We set up in London’s Oxford Street, with Alex and Jessica-Jane Clement on camera, selling the dolls. The most interesting part for me came afterward, when the victims were interviewed on camera. In advance we had written multiple excuses for the dolls’ talents: magnets, special inks, nanotechnology, vibration from the music, and even heat-activated layers within the cardboard. We also concocted ways to “recharge” the dolls: put them in the freezer, place them on top of a microwave oven, leave them in sunlight for an hour, or heat them between your hands for five minutes. Alex and Jess did a sterling job with this, throwing out different reasons and methods to people as they bought the dolls.
As victims left with their purchases, our runners intercepted them so they could be interviewed by our co-conspirators, posing as a news team. We wanted to know what they had bought, which they gladly explained to us. We then asked “how do they work?” and listened to them repeat what they had been told. As they told us this, most people began to slow a little and actually consider what they were saying. By the time we asked them to tell us how the dolls could be recharged, they realized just how preposterous it all sounded. One lady enthusiastically told us about the dolls and how they worked until, mid-sentence, she simply stopped and visibly deflated. She looked at the package and then up at me and said, “These don’t work.” Repeating our lies caused people to realize how ludicrous they were and this experiment proved something to me that has become essential in my research: When it comes to con games, bullshit is sometimes easier to taste than to smell.*
Many might argue that the dancing dolls are nothing more than an amusing deception—a bit of sharp practice with a touch of magic. This way of thinking is not only wrong; it can be dangerous. In another guise this same scam has been used to steal millions of dollars and potentially cost thousands of lives.
Confidence tricks are an integral part of human history. From the first moment we were able to share ideas or convey knowledge, the door for dishonesty swung open, and as the ways in which we communicate continue to grow and expand, criminal minds cast larger nets to catch more fish than ever before. Many of the scams that have become familiar on the Internet are based on cons that are hundreds of years old. The principles remain the same but the story—and the means by which that story is told—has evolved and adapted in that time.
My objective is not merely to share these con games but to illustrate exactly how and why they work: to break them down, pull them apart, and expose the mechanics at the heart of every major con game. I do not pretend to be a psychologist, a criminologist, or an academic. I consider myself a lifelong enthusiast and expert in the ways and means of the con artist with unique experience executing and examining these scams without having to cross the criminal line.
To begin, let’s agree on a few simple terms. In the literature dedicated to this genre, the words “con” and “scam” typically prove to be synonymous. In some cases, experts refer to certain crimes as a “con game” and to others as a “scam,” but as you read more and more these terms become interchangeable with both words simply referring to crimes of deception.
Indeed, there are many words that can be used to describe the act of theft by deceit: fraud, hustle, racket, double cross, double deal, flimflam, cheat, rip-off, shakedown, sham, sting, sucker game, and even shell game. Many might try to distinguish each of these by allotting certain types of con to each word. A hustle, for example, generally refers to a con game where the victim is cajoled into making a wager based on the false belief that his ability or knowledge outweighs that of the hustler. As a street term, this might be correct; but for our purposes, they’re all con games and they come in every conceivable shape and size. Even if we were to poll a thousand professional grifters, crossroaders, scufflers, con artists, and scammers, they would never be able to agree on what’s actually what. In this book, I will call a con a scam; a scam a fraud; a fraud a play; a play a swindle and so on. These are all tricks of a sort, dodges of a kind, and are all types of con game. I may occasionally lean on my own language preferences, but remember that by any other name, a scam still stinks.
It’s important to establish what kind of crime falls under this verbose umbrella. It is a common misconception that a con artist uses charm as a mugger might use a knife. There’s much more to it than that. Con artists are by no means averse to using violence, though often as leverage to help direct their victim toward a desired outcome. It is the act of manipulation, whether subtle or overt, that distinguishes the con artist from other crooks.
So, what is a con game?
After years of consideration, I find that the following definition applies to the majority of scams: A confidence trick creates or distorts a scenario, then manipulates how the victim perceives his options and potential rewards.
The key ingredient is deception, in all its forms. Using any means, from subtle suggestion to bald-faced lies, the con man somehow misleads the victim by internal or external influences. Con games are a matter of carrot and stick, whereas a mugging, burglary, or theft is arguably “all stick.” The size and shape of the carrot changes from con to con, but the principles used to construct these scams are surprisingly limited. Even so, a victim may find it difficult to recognize a scam because, to stretch the metaphor further, the donkey only ever sees the carrot.
It is also important to understand what kind of person makes a successful con artist. Although we have established a simple definition for most types of scam, creating a similar catch-all definition would be almost impossible for the perpetrators. If con games can come in all shapes and sizes, from dishonest street sellers to corrupt financiers running billion-dollar Ponzi schemes, how can there be a sure way to recognize a swindler? The sheer wealth of different con games would suggest there isn’t one type, but after a lifetime of observation, I have identified a few qualities that are common to anyone attempting to gain or steal by means of deception.
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Grifters, hustlers, or fraudsters come from all walks of life. You are as likely to find them in so-called polite society as you are in the back alleys of any major city. Sadly, that means they look just like you, me, and everyone else, so while there are no physical characteristics that identify a swindler, there is one common factor: the way they think.
Often, hustlers are the kind of people who take no responsibility for the consequences of their actions. They have little concern for the circumstances of their victims and they lose little sleep worrying over foolish matters such as morals, ethics, or fair play. To a grifter, everyone is a sucker just waiting to be taken and if they don’t take your money, someone else will. Common excuses—I’ve heard them all—include “it’s the victim’s own fault for getting involved,” “they didn’t need to hand over their money,” and, my personal favorite, “they won’t do that again,” somehow implying that the con artist is teaching the mark a lesson and therefore doing them a favor. As riverboat gambler Canada Bill Jones once said, “A sucker has no business with the money in the first place.”
This disassociation from guilt or responsibility can come in many forms. Denial and self-delusion help to create the important element of detachment, which is essential to the success of a fraudster. Having deceived and manipulated hundreds of people, I would have become an emotional wreck without the comfort of knowing the victim would always be reunited with their property. On several occasions I felt truly terrible when I was able to take advantage of people’s feelings, hopes, and dreams—even though I knew the con wasn’t real. There was a critical moment in many of these cons when I felt suddenly in control and able to take the mark wherever I pleased. When this happened, my producers and I would have to be extra careful about bringing them back to reality. For some victims, the fall would be really hard, almost damaging, so most of our producers became adept at bringing people down gently. We developed strategies solely to protect our marks so they would not be too upset. The con may have been fake but the emotions the mark went through were still real. Such considerations are nonexistent in the world of real cons and scams. The harder they fall, the farther they roll, and the less likely that they will be to pursue.
The Art of the Con Page 3
