Conman

by Richard Asplin

  When Benno helped me tack it to the wall.

  God, maybe that was it? How it started? Maybe he thought that was something it wasn’t? First day and everything. And then the chess? The chats?

  The Christmas ball …

  It’s here somewhere, the velvet … let me –

  God, this syrup’s dried on all the … Urgh, my cigarettes, fountain pen, it’s all … here. Here you go.

  See? A little velvet box. Take a look. Go on, it’s …

  Pretty huh? Eternity ring, I think they’re called. He’s engraved our names on it, There.

  Andrew and Neil.

  Proof? Of – ?

  Not according to the police, no.

  Not compared to Edward’s: the watch, the letters, my passport, the shop valuation, the Sotheby’s letters, the bank transfer numbers. And the police are all, yes your dukeness and absolutely your worshipful highness.

  Whereas my version of events? Well, they wanted that at the station.

  So that’s where I’ve been. Explaining. Or trying to. Showed them the ring, but no. No good. No proof. No evidence. Nothing to back up my story.

  They didn’t take anything, see? Andrew, Christopher? Didn’t take a thing.

  Apart from my whole life, that is.

  But anyway, the police have got nothing they can detain me for, so they’ve let me go. Held on to my passport of course. Pending further enquiries.

  Came here? No no no, not straight away. I went over to the shop first.

  I-I don’t know, really. One last look? Before it’s …

  Sorry, sorry I’m just …

  Tell you what, though. At the shop? Just now? Bumped into Schwartz.

  Schwartz? The guy – ?

  Right. Next door. Brigstock Books. Your memory’s better than his, I tell you.

  Which … which is why it never sat right. Last week. That he would have remembered Andrew from years ago. Some property development.

  Well, answer is he didn’t of course.

  No, I asked him. He remembered Andrew from when he actually met him. Six weeks ago. A young, corporate estate agent with a smart blue letterhead offering free valuations. Well, you would, wouldn’t you?

  A free valuation plus, naturally, a structural survey.

  Especially if it included basements, adjoining doors and –

  Right. Plumbing work.

  I know.

  So what I’m hoping, what my whole family’s future is banking on is testimony from Schwartz plus …

  Well, this is awkward.

  I know you and I don’t really …

  No. No, forget it. I can’t. Forget it. I’ve chewed your ear off enough, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  Cheers. Here’s to –

  Sorry, this syrup is still a bit …

  Here’s to you. One of the good guys. Let’s pray that you never meet some tall-tale-telling grifter. With some story. Asking you his three yes questions. Whatever they are. Look out for that.

  That the pop list? I’m going to take my jacket off if that’s all right with you? Neato diner huh?

  Needing help. Giving you an opportunity. Promising repayment. And then –

  Shit, that’s …

  “Hello? Hello Cheng? Have you still … ? Oh thank the lord. Thank the Lord! You don’t know how much this … And it’s still in bubble wrap? It’s very important you haven’t … Okay. And how much is your buyer … What? No. No way? I can’t … Please, be reasonable, there’s no way I can … Wait, wh-what about a deposit? I could scrape together a small … Well, I … I don’t know, hold on –

  Sorry, sorry, shit I need to add up what I’ve –

  Whoopsie, what have we got … Here we go, breath mints, matches, Zippo, Bic, pen knife, cigarettes, notebook … Here, ten, twenty, twenty-five, twenty-five fifty, twenty-five seventy …

  Fuck.

  “Mr Cheng, look, I-I’m a little … I mean I just can’t … Jesus, Mr Cheng, please. This is my only hope! My wife, my family! You have to – Mr Cheng? I …”

  Oh God.

  God I … That was my one …

  See, they … they touched it, remember?

  They –

  You remember the fake policemen? In my shop? Manc and Scot? They took away my till? You remember? I –

  Right. And they took away my till because I told them it was the only fingerprints I had of the team? It never even … I mean it didn’t dawn on me until … well, until later. A few hours ago. Outside Edward’s house. Before the police arrived. When I saw Andrew and Christopher in the cab together. Off into the sunset. Like Redford and Newman.

  Redford and Newman.

  See I’d made them all touch it …

  The poster. The Sting. During my lecture. Made them all take off their gloves and feel the ink. The autographs.

  Touch it. Prints. Fingerprints. Identification. All of them. The poster Andrew helped me put on my wall all those years ago. His prints too.

  Preserved on linen-backed paper behind glass.

  Every fucking one of them.

  But Cheng …

  Well, you heard. A buyer.

  So that’s … I guess that’s that.

  That’s that.

  Cheers. Cheers, old friend.

  Huh? How much? What, to get the poster back?

  Too much.

  Too, too much.

  Unless …

  No. No forget it.

  I mean I wouldn’t dream of asking, you know. Especially here.

  I mean personally, I don’t know about you, I do find public places more private, but hell, we just met, right?

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. I feel that we’re friends now.

  Don’t you? We’re close, you and I.

  And that’s unusual for me, I can tell you. Friends, I’ve always said, is just an American televisual programme. Merely enemies who haven’t found you out yet. In life, as in diarrhoea, we are alone. But you and I … ?

  And see I wouldn’t normally ask but –

  But see, if I can get the poster from Cheng and over to the police, then they can lift the prints and that’d clear my name. With them. With Edward. With Jane.

  Call it the persuasive power of print. Talk is one thing of course, but I’d be giving them something solid. Proof. That they can hold, they can smell and touch. There in black and white. Ask yourself why Catholics travel thousands of miles to glimpse the Shroud of Turin?

  I’m going to be straight with you, this … this is my only chance. To get back my wife. My beautiful wife. Get back my daughter. My family. Get everything back to normal.

  Once that’s done I’d be in a position to, y’know, repay anyone who …

  No. No, forget it. I can see you’re –

  From your expression. How did the great man put it?

  ‘Oh God, how loathsome this is! Could I really? No, it’s nonsensical! It’s absurd. Could I really ever have contemplated such a monstrous act? It shows what filth my head is capable of though. Filthy. Mean. Vile. VILE!’

  I understand, I do.

  But it’s just …

  See I don’t know much, but I know something about people.

  People like you.

  I know that people with thriving businesses, savings tucked away and a bank manager they play golf with, tend not, by and large, to share drinks with peculiar behaving men in Earl’s Court pubs. That’s more the behaviour of the desperate, wouldn’t you say? More the behaviour of someone in need of a quick fix. A one-off, chance of a lifetime deal, that’ll get them out of any unfortunate hole they’ve stumbled into.

  So all I’m saying is, I’d make it worth your while. Pay you back double. Triple.

  Anything you might be able to –

  I mean, just for a deposit. A few quid. Whatever you’ve …

  Or a few hundred quid even? Whatever you can get your hands on. Why don’t we take a walk to your bank now? You get the money, I do the deal. And then once I’m all square, I’ll pay you back triple.

 
Easy money.

  It’d … it’d really be helping me out.

  C’mon, you can trust me.

  What do you say, hmm? What do you say? You onboard?

  What do you say?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENT

  I have lots of folk to thank for helping this not only make it onto my laptop, but also in assisting it seeing the light of day. In no particular order, David Mamet – a fine playwright and screenwriter whose work first got me fascinated with the world of the confidence trickster. If you haven’t enjoyed ‘House Of Games’, then you’re a twit and should do so immediately. Likewise Christopher McQuarrie, whose inventiveness went some way to inspire the structure of this tale.

  A huge thank you to Ion Mills who had faith in me and faith in the story and committed it to print. To Keshini Naidoo, who pummelled the text into a readable state and cut out all that stuff about the fish. Thank you to Philip as always, my faithful and long-suffering agent. Got there in the end, eh?

  And finally to Neal, my old pal, who has always had nowt but the soundest advice. And to Luthfa, who gave her time, dedication and no small part of her reputation in seeing this through. Dawkins bless you all. Rx.

  OTHER TITLES BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  Gagged

  T-Shirt and Genes

  Copyright

  First published in 2010 by No Exit Press

  a division of Oldcastle Books

  P O Box 394

  Harpenden

  AL5 1XJ

  www.noexit.co.uk

  This ebook edition first published in 2011

  All rights reserved

  © Richard Asplin 2010

  The right of Richard Asplin to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly

  ISBN

  978-1-84243-294-5 (paperback)

  978-1-84243-603-5 (epub)

  978–1–84243–604-2 (pdf)

  978–1–84243– 602-8 (kindle)

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