Long White Con

by Slim, Iceberg

  Kate said, “Fifty thousand!”

  Kid said, “Mrs. Peabody bids three hundred thousand!”

  Folks said, “Three hundred fifty thousand!”

  Kate said, “Mrs. Peabody bids four hundred thousand!” Kid turned toward the Folks’ trio.

  Trevor stage whispered into Folks’ ear. Bates leaned close to hear. “Mister Wellington, bidding is rather steep, don’t you think? After all, it’s just a rare statue, stripped of its jewels.”

  “Mister Glitz, I’m not about to quit. I’m driving Mrs. Peabody out!”

  Kids’ cane struck the top of the wagon bed for the second time. He said, “I’m bid four hundred and fifty thousand twice!” He banged his cane against the wagon bed.

  Folks shouted, “One hundred thousand!”

  Kid said, “Mister Wellington bids five hundred and fifty thousand dollars!”

  Kate stuck out her chin defiantly. She darted a baleful glance toward the Folks’ group. She said stoutly, “Mister Dancing Rain, I bid a hundred thousand more!”

  Kid turned toward Folks. Folks fidgeted, glanced at Trevor. Kid struck the cane against the bed of the wagon.

  “Six hundred and fifty thousand once . . . six hundred and fifty thousand twice. All valid bids must be backed by cash or its equivalent!”

  Folks said, “Fifty thousand!”

  Trevor whispered into Folks’ ear. Bates leaned in to eavesdrop. “Mister Wellington, as your business manager I must caution you . . .”

  Kid said, “Mister Wellington has bid seven hundred thousand . . . once!” Kid thudded his cane against the wagon.

  Trevor continued, “. . . that you have available to you for this transaction only seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in immediate liquid cash. Any bid beyond three quarters of a million will automatically eliminate you as a viable bidder under Mister Dancing Rain’s rules of auction.”

  Kate said, “Seven fifty!”

  Kid said, “Mrs. Peabody bids three quarters of a million dollars . . . once!” He struck his cane against the wagon, then banged it again. He turned inquiringly toward the Folks’ trio. “Three quarters of a million . . . twice!”

  Trevor whispered to Folks and Bates leaned in. “She’s outbid your capacity to acquire the Unhappy Virgin.”

  “Mister Glitz, I must have that statue! Request of Mister Dancing Rain some kind of a remedy for me.”

  Kid intoned, “Seven hundred and fifty thousand for this ghost town and the contents therein.”

  Trevor said, “Mister Dancing Rain! I request that you alter the rules a bit to permit Mister Wellington to liquidate certain holdings to facilitate his continued bidding.”

  Kid lowered his cane. “How long will that take?”

  Folks said, “Only twenty-four hours. I can have a million dollars in cash from New York transferred by draft to a local bank.”

  Kate dashed to the wagon. She shook a furious index finger at Kid. “Mister Dancing Rain, under threat of lawsuit, make no such concession to Mister Wellington. I, too, am near the end of my capacity to bid.” She waved a checkbook. “I demand that you honor my last bid as official and final!”

  Bates whispered into Folks’ ear. “Hang in there, Lance, my boy! We can snooker the Peabody broad. I’ve got a million in liquid cash to back you.”

  Folks said, “Just a moment. One moment please, Mister Dancing Rain!”

  The Folks’ trio huddled.

  Kate said, “Mister Dancing Rain, I demand that you close the bidding!”

  Folks said, “Mister Glitz, how do you interpret Marvin’s proposal?”

  Trevor frowned. “It’s unique . . . perhaps not legally viable for your best interest, Mister Wellington.”

  Bates laughed. “Not viable, Mister Glitz, for Lance? I’ll buy the land and make a gift of the Unhappy Virgin. What do you say to that?”

  Trevor’s face was a mask of humble remorse. “Please, Mister Bates, forgive my . . . ah, misinterpretation of your motives. Mister Wellington, your decision is obvious.”

  Folks said, “Marvin, Mrs. Peabody is all yours.”

  Bates said, “Mister Dancing Rain! Mister Wellington has just given me permission to bid as his surrogate in my own name. Nine hundred thousand dollars!”

  Kid said, “Mister Wellington, is that true?”

  Folks nodded.

  Kate shouted, “Mister Dancing Rain, I warn you! I shall contest this farce in the courts!”

  Kid struck his cane against the wagon bed. “Mister Bates bids nine hundred thousand dollars . . . Once!” He struck the wagon again. “Nine hundred thousand . . . twice!” Kid raised the cane to strike the wagon bed for a third and final time before Bates’ bid was final.

  Kate said, “Nine hundred and fifty thousand!”

  Kid’s cane struck for the third time an instant after Kate’s hair-breath bid.

  Bates smiled triumphantly in Kate’s direction as he moved away several feet to his briefcase atop an old anvil. He turned his back to shield his actions as he opened the case, then stamped $51,000,000 on a presigned check from an array of print devices inside the case.

  He turned back and said, “I bid a million dollars, Mister Dancing Rain!”

  Kid struck the wagon. He said, “This property is going at one million dollars to Mister Bates. Once!” He struck the wagon. “Twice!” He struck the wagon again.

  Kate was shocked and livid with rage.

  “Thrice!” Kid struck the bed of the wagon for the third and final time to close out the bidding.

  Kate descended on Kid. She snatched his cane, smashed it into splinters across the wagon. “You crooked Indian, slice of dung! I’ll rescind this auction in court!”

  Kid sputtered as he ignored Kate and waved a pair of documents at Bates. “Now, Mister Bates, your purchase cash, or its equivalent.”

  Bates stepped forward and extended the check. “This is a cashier’s check issued to me for purchase of a parcel of Oregon land I own. This is a completely negotiable instrument.”

  Kid took the check as Kate craned her neck over the wagon top to peer at it. Kid smiled. “This instrument is indeed the equivalent of cash, Mister Bates. It’s payable to bearer.”

  Kate said harshly, “See you in court, Mister Dancing Rain!” She turned and stomped from the stable.

  Kid handed Bates a pair of documents. “Your quit-claim deed and bill of sale to the property, Mister Bates. Congratulations!”

  Bates grinned as he took the documents from Kid. Then Bates said, “You’re a remarkable man, Mister Saul Borenstein, alias Vicksburg Kid.”

  Bates drew a magnum pistol from a shoulder holster and fired several rapid, booming rounds into the stable ceiling. Folks, Trevor and Kid were paralyzed with shock as they stared slack-jawed at Bates as he waved his open wallet under their eyes. A badge pinned to the leather was inscribed U.S. Treasury Department.

  A U.S. Marshal’s prison van rumbled down the ghost town’s main street, screeching to a halt across the doorway of the stable, trapping the occupants. A dozen business-suited federal agents leapt from the van and dashed into the stable. Kate was apprehended as she turned on the headlights of her rented Chevrolet. The task force seized the con players and handcuffed them.

  As the group moved through the stable door, Bates spoke to Folks with his natural, crisp New England accent. “John O’Brien, alias Utah Wonder, I actually grew to like you, and even admire your intelligence. What a pity you didn’t employ your extraordinary talents toward legitimate goals. I’m sorry to have to do this, son!”

  The fake trooper in the Billy role and the mob were loaded into the steel-grilled van, which then went down the bleak main street toward the highway.

  11

  JAWS OF THE CROSS

  The con mob’s bondsman posted their bond next day after hasty hearings before a U.S. Commissioner in the Federal Building. Trevor, Folks, Speedy and Kid went directly from a Government wing of cells in county jail to Kid’s apartment for a conference with the mob’s attorney, t
he city’s fabled fixer. They were somewhat heartened to find only a brief account of their arrest in the newspaper on page six. They drank cocktails and snorted coke in the den, as they impatiently waited.

  Folks called Christina and was told by the haughty butler that she was indisposed.

  The lawyer arrived an hour late. He flopped his short, fat bulk into a chair and mopped his florid face with a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his five hundred dollar suit. Rita served him a frosty daiquiri as his audience leaned forward to get his prognosis of the future.

  He said, “Trevor, I’ve worked out a deal with the U.S. attorney relative to the alleged Federal Bank Act violations involving the illegal movement of swindle victim’s money during the past year by the Buckmeister Bank. I convinced the government that your sister had no knowledge whatsoever of your illegal transactions.” The lawyer paused to sip his drink.

  Trevor quavered, “Mister Greenberg, I can’t handle a prison term.”

  Greenberg smiled as he waved his hand as if swatting away an invisible insect. “You won’t be required to. It has been arranged that you will enter a plea of guilty and be placed on probation . . . in quiet proceedings, thanks to the support of powerful Buckmeister friends in Washington.”

  Trevor sagged back on the sofa with relief as Greenberg lit a cigar.

  Kid said, “And what about the rest of us, Max?”

  Greenberg gave Kid a level look. “Saul, the arrangements I have made for you and your . . . ah, associates are not idyllic. Neither are they catastrophic. Thanks to the zeal and overeagerness of the government’s Mister Bates, which led to his error in making his arrests before he let you clear the check and pocket the money from the score, a conspiracy charge to violate the Bank Act is not considered by the U.S. attorney. Too, I hinted that entrapment could be a defense.

  “However, the U.S. attorney does have Bank Act conspiracy evidence against you and your associates involving a half dozen other of your . . . ah, customers. There are state charges relative to a Mister Stilwell. I have an agreement with the government and Captain Ellis, of bunco, that all charges, Federal and local, will be squashed. Fortunately for us, they obviously want the whole affair quietly resolved.”

  Kid shook his head dubiously. “Max, all charges dropped just like that? I suspect a double cross!”

  Greenberg smiled. “They’re on the level with me. You see, Saul, the stipulations of my agreement with them is that you make full restitution to Mister Stilwell and fifty percent reimbursement to the others fleeced by the Unhappy Virgin game. This and your exit from the state must be accomplished within seventy-two hours.”

  Kid leapt to his feet. “Max, your deal will break me!”

  “I’m sorry Saul. It’s the best I could do under the circumstances.” Greenberg got to his feet. “Come into the office in the morning to arrange the restitutions.” He patted the Kid’s shoulder as he left the room.

  Folks said, “Saul, cheer up. I’m engaged to a walking mint, remember? I’ll get a chunk of the restitution dough from Christina so you won’t have to tap out. It’s not doomsday. We’ll set up our store some place. Maybe we can fix in the Apple or even in Denver.”

  Kid mumbled, “Yeah, maybe.”

  Folks and Speedy got to their feet. They walked to the front door when a terrible thought hit Folks. He had been fingerprinted! And besides that, Bates most certainly had an F.B.I. dossier on him. That dossier would reveal that he was black. He couldn’t risk Christina’s reaction, unmarried, if she found out.

  Captain Ellis was her most likely and immediate source of discovery, he thought. He’d have to persuade, bribe, the captain to keep the secret, even change or excise his racial designation on all F.B.I. documents in the captain’s possession.

  Folks picked up a phone in the entrance hall, called Captain Ellis’ office and was told he was off for the day. He called the captain’s home. The line was busy.

  Folks and Speedy went to the Eldorado and drove to the captain’s neat beige stucco house in the suburbs. Folks parked in front of it, got out and went down a long walk bisecting a wide expanse of velvet lawn. The captain, in floppy straw hat and faded coveralls, was on his knees in the blistering sun with chopping shears at a scarlet profusion of rosebushes ringing the front of the house.

  Folks heard the captain’s four children laughing and the flat thudding of their hands against a volleyball in the backyard. The captain’s sloe-eyed blonde wife was seated on the front porch rocking an infant in a crib. Her lips moved and the captain turned and squinted in the sun as Folks reached him. He pushed back his straw hat, irritation and surprise flickering across his beet red, sweaty face.

  Folks said, “Good afternoon, Captain. Beautiful roses.”

  The captain said coolly, “Thanks, Utah Wonder, from Chicago’s southside. Are you drunk?”

  “Why no, Captain. I . . . ah . . .”

  “Well, what the hell is your problem that you and that other darky would come here to my home with the city lousy with government agents?”

  Folks said, “It’s an emergency, Captain. Your help is needed. Bad!”

  The giant captain stood, his dark eyes hard as he towered over Folks. “Count your blessings, boy, that you got a floater instead of the joint. I’m not doing any more favors for anybody, including the Vicksburg Kid. Tell him that!”

  Folks said, “Look Captain, Kid didn’t send me. You found out I’m a black man. Captain, all I want is that you will keep it a secret. Please! I’ll pay, Captain!”

  The Captain smiled cruelly. “Why, boy?”

  “It’s personal. I can’t tell you, Captain.”

  “Then I’ll tell you what your motive is. You’re out to con and bag Christina Buckmeister and her fortune. Boy, I can’t help you make your criminal dreams come true to the detriment of my fine white friends. No!” The captain dropped to his knees and continued to chop the shears at the rose bushes.

  Folks turned away for a few steps, came back. He said, “Captain, you’re wrong about my intentions. We love each other . . . we’re engaged. Does that mean anything to you?”

  The captain’s wife left the porch and stood anxiously watching them.

  “Haw! Haw! Not a goddamn thing! Forget your pipe dream, boy. Last night I sent Miss Buckmeister, by special messenger, a copy of the F.B.I. dossier on you. Now, blow before I arrest you and throw you in the shit house where you belong!”

  Folks stared hypnotically at a sharp, gleaming hoe at his feet. His hands twitched wildly with the powerful urge to sink the blade into the back of the captain’s neck. But he tore himself from the scene and jerkily, like a somnambulist, staggered to the car in a crimson haze of murder lust.

  Shortly after he got home his rage and misery were compounded by the arrival of a messenger from Christina with his ring. Without even a note of severance.

  12

  REQUIEM FOR A DREAM

  Folks sat snorting coke on a couch in the living room of his furnished apartment at six in the evening after his visit to Captain Ellis’ home. His packed bags were stacked at the front door. He and Speedy had decided to team up and play the short con together until Kid could find a city to fix for the long con.

  He stared at a pair of Pearl’s blue-furred house slippers abandoned beneath a chair. Loneliness and a bleak sense of loss tore at him. Christina had done him in, all right, he thought. Then he smiled ruefully as he realized that he had set the trap for himself with his reparations plot for Christina.

  He had overcome, he thought, the compulsive urge to force a confrontation with Christina to make her tell it like it was face to face. He was irritated and frustrated that he had permitted her to sever their affair in such a coldly impersonal way, by chippie long distance really. After all, he bitterly thought, he hadn’t blown her and his dream because she had tipped to the truth that he despised her. She had simply discovered that he was a nigger. That galled him.

  The chimes sounded and he let Speedy in. They went to sit on the couc
h.

  Speedy said, “Well, I sold the Datsun for what I paid for it. Guess I’ll finish packing so we can split the trap.”

  “Yeah, I’ll take the first shift under the wheel.”

  Speedy snorted a blow of coke and left for his apartment. Folks slipped out of his robe and pajamas and into a comfortable leisure suit for the highway. He packed the robe and pajamas into a bag and walked across the hall into Speedy’s apartment, sat on the side of the bed as Speedy wound up his packing. They were leaving the apartment when the living room phone rang. They stared at it for five rings before Speedy picked up.

  His jaw dropped as he gave Folks a look. He said, “Hello Miss Buckmeister. Just a moment, I’ll go across the hall to see if he’s in.”

  Folks’ heart jumped rhythm at the possibility that he still had a shot at her.

  Speedy put his hand over the receiver and shook his head as he whispered, “You want to talk to her? I got bad vibes.”

  Folks said, “I’m curious to hear the tale,” as he took the receiver and said calmly, “Hello Christina, how are you?”

  She said, “Utterly miserable! Can you forgive me?”

  “For what?”

  “Johnny, you’re bitter and it’s my fault. I found out about your true background. Everything! It was a terrible shock as you must understand. I was angry because you had lied again, deceived me again. I’m sorry, so sorry I reacted like a provincial bumpkin. I don’t deserve it, but please Johnny, forgive me! I’m still mad about you. Oh God, how I’ve missed you. Please come to me immediately so I can apologize and really explain how I feel. And I want your ring back. I’ve even arranged to lift your floater.”

  He struggled past his hoodlum ego to let his con man paranoia suspect her pitch. He was a fanatical student of human nature and there was a glaring gap in her pitch that disturbed him. It had not contained even a mild bit of female recrimination, despite the fact of her admitted shock and injury.