King Con

Chapter Ten.

THEY WERE STANDING IN THE MORNING SUNSHINE OUT-side Beano's Motel 6 near Trenton. Rusting Pontiacs and primered pickups dripped oil and morning dew.

"We'll take your car," he said, looking at the spotless new white Nissan parked behind her.

"Who's paying for all this?" she asked, as they moved to the car and she got behind the wheel.

Beano put his suitcases and canvas bag in the back seat. He opened the passenger door for Roger. "Atlantic City," he said, without answering her question.

"Why?" she said stoically.

"That's where 'Paper Collar' John is meeting me," he replied, leaving her in just as much confusion.

She snorted her anger, got the car going, and left the seedy motel behind. Roger-the-Dodger found a place right next to Victoria's thigh and curled up there, chin on his paw. He shot Beano a satisfied look.

"I want to know how we're going to fund this operation and why we are going to Atlantic City. I'd like an answer," she said as calmly as she could.

The car was now out on Interstate 295 heading south.

"My uncle John Bates is there," he said. "He's got my mobile home with all my tricks of the trade aboard."

Beano reached into the back seat and pulled the canvas bag onto his lap. He opened it and pulled out a large glass pickle jar full of cash.

"Here's some of the front money," he said. "Bet you thought I was gonna try and use your maxed-out Visa card."

"You'll never get your hands on it."

"Already did: 596 4376 72 976," he said from memory, then grinned. "The moral of that story is: Never give your purse to a friendly dog."

She looked at him with disgust.

"Don't worry, your balance couldn't buy Roger here a nice dinner." He tapped the pickle jar. "This is everything I have left in the world. Comes to fifty-two thousand dollars and change. When I took the jolt in Raiford, the Feds used their asset seizure law to clean me out, but they missed this. This is seed money, but it's not enough. We need to triple it."

"We need one hundred and fifty thousand dollars to run this con?" Victoria was shocked at the size of that figure.

"It's going to be a Big Store. We're gonna set up a trap. I'm gonna run a moose pasture con on Tommy. That means we gotta buy a thousand gallons of paint and set up a phony international conglomerate with secretaries, asset trading, computers, and original art. It's gotta look so legit that Tommy and his accountant won't question it for a minute. That's gonna take some serious seed money."

"Where are we gonna get another hundred thousand?" she asked, letting her confusion about the moose pasture go for a minute.

"I thought it would be nice if Tommy and Joey funded this thing. They're pricks. They killed Carol. Pisses me off. So I think they should put up the money."

"How are we gonna do that?"

"Okay, Vicky, that's where you come in."

"I really prefer 'Victoria.'"

"Of course you do. 'Victoria' suits you. 'Vicky' doesn't have enough cobwebs on it."

She shot him a cold look.

"Okay, smart guy, so how do I come in?" She put on her turn signal and got into the fast lane.

"Tommy and Joe Rina are Atlantic City based. These two goombas make lotsa money on drugs, loan sharking, prostitution, whatever. Their problem is they can't spend it because they can't show the Feds where it came from. That means they gotta have some kinda money laundry nearby to wash their illegitimate funds. I want to get the front money by hitting their laundry, 'cause they can't squeal to the law afterward for fear they'll give up the operation. It'll be some kinda business that runs on cash. A casino is a perfect laundry, but the gambling commissions in Nevada, Jersey, and Louisiana won't license these two clowns because of their alleged criminal backgrounds. That means it'll probably be a chain of video arcades or parking garages… someplace where they can rig up bigger profits than they really have, then pay taxes on the phantom cash and get the money out so they can use it. Otherwise, Uncle Sam will build a tax case against 'em… That's a case where the government proves they spend more than they make."

"I know how upside-down tax prosecutions work, Beano. I'm not from Cowlick, Kansas."

Beano closed his eyes at that, then went on. "Okay, so then you know what I'm looking for. Anything like that in the file?"

"Yeah," she said, and looked over at him, determined to make him ask. She didn't like his loose, breezy manner; he was way too cocky for her taste, and if she was going to have to spend any time with him, she would need to bring him down a few notches.

"So let's go. Let's hear it… or do I gotta get on my knees here?"

"I thought con men were supposed to be charming," she sneered. "You're just rude."

"You do want me to beg."

"I want you to stop coming on like you own the show. I'm not going to just blindly follow you around. If I ask you a question, I expect a straight answer. I'm not some table-dancer you picked up in a bar; I'm a prosecutor with a pretty good analytical mind."

"Ex-prosecutor. And here's a dp, it's never very effective to do your own commercials. Always get a singer to do them for you… works much better," he said.

She continued on, "If I like what I hear, then I'll cut loose some information."

"Turn around," he said dully.

"Huh?"

"This isn't gonna work. This is nuts. I musta been smoking something. Just take me back to Trenton. I'll find out what I need somewhere else."

"You can't just dump me."

"Turn the car around. This was the worst idea I've had since I tried to cheat Joe Rina at cards."

"You cut me loose, I'll turn you in to the cops. Tell 'em you're getting set to scam the Rinas."

"I thought you cared about Carol. I'm doing this for her."

"I do care about Carol. I just don't trust you." She kept driving and he sat there, sulking like a child. Roger-the-Dodger was looking back and forth at them like a spectator at a tennis match.

It had been close, but Victoria felt she had won that point.

She let him cool down before finally giving him what he'd asked for. "Tommy and Joseph Rina are the silent owners of a chain of retail jewelry stores called Rings 'n' Things." That brought Beano's head around. "Rings 'n' Things is owned by a parent company called Precious Metals, Inc., also owned by the Rinas. Precious Metals is a company that buys silver, gold, and platinum and sells them to jewelry manufacturers. When I found that out, I figured it might be a laundry because Precious Metals sends gold and silver shipments all over the world, and Rings 'n' Things has a store in Geneva, Switzerland, which, as you probably know, is the end of the line for cash in a well-conceived laundry. Rings 'n' Things also has stores in hot-ticket towns like Vegas, Reno, and Atlantic City. All big gambling centers."

"Finally, you give me something other than attitude."

"How are we gonna hit his jewelry stores… buy ski masks and come in waving guns?"

"You think I'm a cowboy, but I'm not. When I hit, if they know it in less than twelve hours, then I've screwed up."

"So whatta you gonna do?" she asked.

"I'll figure something out, Vicky. I just heard about it. Give me a minute or two, will you?" He slumped down into the seat. They rode in silence as Beano was lost in thought. She made the turnoff onto the Atlantic City Expressway and it started to drizzle. The wipers metronomed, slapping the mist off the windshield.

"Okay," he said fifteen minutes later, "got it." Then he put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes.

"So what are we going to do?" she insisted.

"Gonna sell Joe and Tommy a pearl," Beano said without opening his eyes, and that was all he would tell her.

The Shady Rest Trailer Park on the outskirts of Atlantic City was about as run-down as the Health Department would allow. There was a pile of garbage rotting by the road out front. Black and green flies performed aerial combat over the reeking mess. The office was under a bare deciduous elm tree. Victoria pulled her Nissan in and Beano found his '95 blue and white Winnebago parked under a dying cherry tree, next to a power and water hookup. There was a canvas tarp lashed over the top of the rig to hold down roofing equipment stored up there. Beano didn't do roofing scams anymore, but there was something about the tradition that was ingrained deep inside him. To him, the Winnebago was home, and that's what had drawn him to the vehicle when he'd seen it marked down for sale last summer. He had loaned it to Paper Collar John to live in because John and his wife, Cora Bates, had come on hard times after John's bust for running a block hustle in the Hamptons last year. In an unfortunate act of piling on, Cora got sick right after John's fifteen-month conviction. She had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It was growing like river moss inside of her. John didn't talk much about it, but there was a deep pain that never left his gray eyes. The cops had John's number and were watching him pretty close. Beano had loaned his aunt and uncle the motor home so they could move around and steer clear of police scrutiny. Two weeks ago, Cora had been hospitalized and had gone into a coma. When Beano had called, John jumped at the chance to get back into action… He needed money to pay Cora's hospital bills. Beano figured if the con went off the way he planned, there'd be plenty to spread around after it was over.

Once they were parked next to the Winnebago, Beano reached over and honked the horn. The door to the motor home opened and Victoria watched as a tall, handsome, gray-haired man, about sixty-five, came down the steps. He had the sincere, confident look of a corporate executive, only he was dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt. Beano got out of the car and gave John a hug. Once Victoria was out, Beano introduced her.

"John, this is Victoria Hart. She's gonna be a lugger on this hustle." Victoria didn't know what the hell a lugger was, and it sure didn't sound too flattering, but she smiled and nodded anyway.

John shook her hand and looked at her carefully. "You're the Prosecutor in Trenton, aren't you? The one who was gonna put Carol on the stand?" His voice was deep and rich, but there was bitter accusation in it.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "It went wrong. That's why I'm here."

John looked at her. His hooded eyes gave her nothing. Then he turned to Beano.

"Got a little problem with the motor home hook-up," John said. "The mooch in the front office needs a cool-out. He wants a hundred dollars in advance. He was gonna throw me out when I didn't have it. I told him you'd give it to him, but watch him, he's no laydown."

"I'll go take care of it. Then we're gonna go over to a jewelry store called Rings 'n' Things. Look it up in the phone book over there," Beano said, pointing to a phone booth by some picnic tables. Then he grabbed a hundred dollars out of the pickle jar and went to the office to pay for their hook-up.

The first disagreement came that night at dinner. Beano, John, and Victoria had found the jewelry store, which was under the roof in Bally's Casino. They drove to the hotel, which was a towering monument to bad taste and electricity. The porte cochere glimmered with twinkling lights. The casino was on the Boardwalk and faced the dark blue swells of the Atlantic. The jewelry store was inside, just off the casino. Big interior glass windows looked out on the gaming tables and contained rings and bracelets that were on display there. Victoria thought the jewelry was incredibly ugly… chunky, overdone pieces with too many chipped diamonds. They glittered classlessly and competed for attention with the spinning, ringing slots across from the store. In one window there were men's pinkie rings that looked big enough to anchor a boat. Beano suggested they eat in the casino dining room, and they found a table near the back. The room was dark. Beano explained that casinos all over the world were designed with no clocks and no windows, so the players at the tables wouldn't see any change in time or sunlight. Time stood still in a casino. The management didn't want the losers looking at their watches. They sat in Bally's Bicycle Room, named after the Bicycle cards all casinos used. The best bets on the menu were steak and beer.

"Okay, Victoria," Beano said after the food arrived, "I need to know more about these guys."

"Like what?"

"Any offshore stuff. Do the Rinas have interests in any banks, any savings and loans? Eventually, we gotta get to their big money."

She looked at them for a long moment and then started sawing on her overcooked steak." I thought we were gonna sell Joe and Tommy a pearl, whatever that means."

"We're gonna sell them a pearl for the front money, but that's not the scam. That only finances the scam. The opening act of this scam has gotta get deep into their pockets. We gotta take these goombas for a million dollars or more, and we gotta set it up so they start accusing each other. We gotta get them going. We need a team of operators working. I need to pull in some more people."

"Tell me about this pearl thing first," she persisted, trying to cover her shock at the million-dollar size of the scam.

"She's not being too cooperative," Paper Collar John said in his soft baritone voice.

"She's a lawyer," Beano said. "Whatta you expect?"

"I forgot that," John deadpanned.

"You guys gonna tell me what we're going to do, or are you gonna just sit here wasting time, taking target practice on the legal profession?"

"Okay," Beano said. "The deal is, you and I are gonna be lovers. How do you like it so far?" She showed no reaction. "I'm Bubba Budweiser from Locadocious, Texas. You're Rhonda Roundheels from right here in town. You're gonna dress up in hooker spandex and paste yourself on me like wet clothing. And you're gonna laugh and giggle at everything I say, and I'm gonna be pinching your ass and telling you you're the sweetest little piece of fluff this side of Red Gulch. Then, while you simper and fawn, I'm gonna buy you a twenty-millimeter black pearl."

"Really?" she said deadpan.

"Yep."

"Not on the best day you ever had."

"I thought you wanted to be in on this."

"I do, I just don't have a real strong stomach."

"Listen," Beano said, leaning in and lowering his voice, "if you think I'm interested in copping a free feel, forget it. That's not what I'm looking for." She was really pissing him off. "What I need is your help to pull this off. I can go hire a hooker, but then we got an accomplice who's probably not too smart and will turn us in for money. You said you wanted to be in this… You might as well learn to be a player."

"I'm not gonna dress up like a whore."

"There ain't much you will do, is there?" Beano said, slipping back into his native South Carolina accent, which he had all but lost, except when he was truly pissed off. "You wanna have a piece of everything. But you won't tell me nothing 'cept what you think is important. Don't matter you never stole nothing in your life, you're gonna be the expert, gonna approve everything. You wanna tell me and John how to run this game? You wanna dole out information? What the fuck good does that do?" He was almost yelling.

"Calm down, Beano," John said.

Beano leaned back and rubbed his eyes. "You're right. She gets to me, John. Maybe it's just 'cause I feel so shitty about Carol… or maybe it's 'cause she and I are just oil and water, I don't know. All I know is, I wanna do this, and all I get outta Miss Hart here is stupid questions and reasons why what I'm trying ain't right. We won't have any coordination this way. We're gonna crash and burn."

Victoria watched as he bolted out of his chair and went to the bathroom at the far end of the room.

They hadn't planned it in advance, but they'd done so many scams together since Beano was six, John knew Beano was going to throw a fit and leave the table the minute Victoria got stubborn. He left John to be the "singer" and do Beano's commercial for him, the way it was supposed to be done.

"Good goin'. I never saw anyone get to him like that before," John said, laying down a primer coat of guilt.

"Hey, Mr. Bates, if you two think I'm going to be a silent partner here, then you're in for a startling disappointment."

"He's good, Miss Hart. Beano could sell Ebenezer Scrooge Christmas trees. There's no grifter on this planet with more natural talent and I seen most of them." His voice turned rich and velvety. "Maybe you should know he grew up with Carol Sesnick. Ever since they were nine or ten years old, they were like brother and sister. He loved her. He ain't gonna show you how much 'cause he's a sharper, and a sharper don't let his feelings show. But his heart's all wrapped up in this thing. I personally think that's real dangerous when you're running a sting. You need to be detached. Him gettin' angry like he just done is a bad sign. If we fail with a mark like Tommy Rina, we're gonna be hanging out with a buncha engine blocks at the bottom of some lake."

Victoria didn't answer, but when Beano finally came back from the men's room, she could see he had water in his hair. She wondered if he had put his head in the sink to cool down. Once he was seated they sat in silence for a while, picking at the overcooked food.

"Okay, look," she finally volunteered. "You mentioned that the Rinas don't have a casino because they couldn't get approved by any gaming commissions in the U.S."

"That's right," Beano mumbled.

"But it's wrong. They do have a casino." Both Beano and John looked up. "They're not on any of the ownership records, but according to my information, the Rinas are majority silent partners in a huge new casino in the Bahamas called the Sabre Bay Club. I couldn't ever prove it 'cause they're not on any of the paperwork, but I suspect they may also have a piece of the SARTOF Merchant Bank of Nassau. SARTOF is an acronym. Stands for Societe Anonyme de Refinancement Toutes Operations Financieres."

"Ooh-la-la," Beano said and looked over at Paper Collar John. "That bank could be the dead-drop."

"If it is… that's gonna make it a whole lot easier," John said, and Beano nodded.

"Then we should be able to scam that Bahamian casino for a couple'a million," Beano said, upping the amount. "We need to get ahold of 'Fit-Throwing' Duffy. He's the best tat player in the family."

"What are you talking about? What's a tat?" Victoria said. It was starting again; they were talking in a language she didn't understand.

"A tat is a dice con," Beano explained, then looked back at John. "And I'm gonna need a female mack to steer Tommy."

"The Queen of Hearts."

"No," Beano snapped.

"Just don't fool around with her this time. You want a mack, she's the best. She's also the best looking. You won't have to troll her past Tommy more than once."

"Damn it, stop talking over my head," Victoria said. "I told you about the casino. What's a mack? Who's the Queen of Hearts? I want to know what the hell we're talking about."

John turned to face her. "A mack is a sharper who runs lover cons. Cons of the heart."

"Are we talking about some sleazeball who marries poor dumb pensioners, then takes their money and disappears?" she said.

"Yeah," Beano acknowledged. "That's about it. We're also talking about my cousin-in-law, Dakota Bates. She's a widow now, used to be married to my cousin Calvin Bates. He died in prison. They call her the Queen of Hearts, but she's not going to be part of this hustle."

"Just don't hand your heart to her this time," John advised. "You give a mack your heart, Beano, and she gets confused. She don't know what to do with it, 'cept squeeze it for cash and throw it on the ground. She always loved Carol, she'd wanta do this, and she's the best. Since when did we start usin' seconds on a sting this dangerous?"

"Okay, call her up," Beano finally agreed. "I think she was in California, last I heard."

"She's right here in Adantic City. She's been bucking the tiger in clubs off the Boardwalk."

"I hesitate to ask," Victoria said.

"Faro player," Beano explained. "She hangs out on the faro tables, looking for full Toledos who pull into town flashing diamonds and driving Cadillacs. She does real good."

There was a long moment and then Beano looked over at Victoria. "Okay, what's it gonna be? You gonna hang on me, laugh at my jokes, and let me buy you a pearl? It's you, or I take a chance on a hooker. Either get in or get out. Last call," he said. Beano felt tired; his vision was beginning to split. And every time he let himself focus on the Rina brothers, he felt a panic attack. He wondered if in a direct confrontation with Joe or Tommy he could hold it together. He yanked these unsettling thoughts away, took a drink of beer, and tried to calm down.

Victoria sawed off another piece of gristly steak and tried in vain to chew it. She finally tucked it back in the corner of her mouth, like a chipmunk with an acorn. "Okay," she said around the ball of gristle, "I'll do what you want…"

"Big fucking deal," Beano muttered.

They stopped at a Western shop across from Bally's, and Beano invested another five hundred dollars in clothes. He bought an expensive Western jacket, a wide-brimmed Stetson, and a big cowboy belt with a real rodeo buckle.

John had the pickle jar in the canvas bag on his lap. He and Victoria were seated on the brass-studded leather bench when Beano came out of the fitting room, wobbling slightly on two-inch cowboy boot heels.

"Howdy, whippersnappers," he said, and bowed slightly.

"Who are you supposed to be now?" Victoria asked, without smiling. She thought he looked stupid.

"Justice R. McQueed, ma'am, an' in case you ain't guessed, I'm just about all hat an' no cattie." The accent was perfect West Texas. "Just in from Locadocious, Texas, with the cutest little piece a'fluff this side of yer mama's apron." He gave her his biggest rainmaker grin, and it brought a few drops. She let a tiny smile play momentarily on her lips.

"You can't be serious," she said. "Isn't that a little over the top?"

"Give 'em what they want. Deep down, all these Yankees think Texans are big, goofy tnillionaires who couldn't pour piss out of a boot if it had a hole in the toe. So that's what I'm gonna give 'em. A big, dumb, filthy-rich Texas idiot." He looked at Victoria critically, "Now, Sugar Plum, we gotta get you gussied up some yerself."

They found a shop near the casino that looked like it catered to strippers and B-girls. There was an awesome selection of spandex miniskirts and plastic platform heels displayed in the window.

Victoria could not believe the outfit Beano picked. She put it on in the changing room and walked out… Traffic stopped in the small strippers' boutique. The dress fit like a second skin and only barely covered her panties. She kept pulling it down. Beano smiled at her. "Honey-dove," he drawled theatrically, "you look better'n twelve acres a pregnant red hogs. Weil take it," he said to the sales clerk.

Ten minutes later, they pulled back up to the overlit entrance of Bally's in Victoria's white Nissan. Beano gave the valet the keys and all three of them walked into the casino. Paper Collar John was carrying the canvas satchel with Beano's pickle jar full of cash. They separated once they were inside. John headed to the hotel cashier. Beano and Victoria walked across the purple carpet, past the flashing entry lights and spinning granny-slots, up the stairs, under the Eye-in-the-Sky where leery casino shift supervisors watched the gaming room for crooked action. They headed straight toward the jewelry store. John was across the room depositing the fifty thousand in a casino bank account under the name of Justice R. McQueed. He waved at Beano as he finished the transaction.

"What do I do?" Victoria was saying, the first degrees of stage fright setting in.

"Have a good time. You're panning for gold and playing me like a widemouth bass. No matter what happens, if ya get tied up and can't think of anything, all you gotta do is giggle. If I ask you anything and you don't know how to answer, just say, 'Whatever you want, Daddy.'"

"I call you Daddy?"

"Yeah… only not like in 'Dad.' It's like in 'Sugar Daddy.' Make it as trampy as you can. Okay?"

"Okay." She took a deep breath. She was teetering slightly on the plastic platform shoes with their five-inch stiletto heels. What a transition, she thought. She'd gone from a no-nonsense prosecutor locked in a legal battle with Joe Rina, to a bimbo dressed in a spandex napkin, teetering on hooker heels, nervous about her one dumb bubblehead line. Two days ago, just the thought of pulling a stunt like this would have been enough to cause her massive immobilizing depression… Now her heart was slamming inside her with unbridled excitement. "I feel like I'm the stilt-walking man at the circus on these things," she said.

"Trust me here"-he grinned-"you don't even faintly resemble a man on stilts." He took her by the arm and together they moved into the jewelry store.

"Now, don't y'all say another word. I made up my mind, Sugar-dove." He belched at her loudly without warning as they moved into the shop and over to the glass merchandise case. "Got some mighty fine sparklers here, don't they?" Beano seemed slightly drunk, slurring a word here and there. It was amazing… His drunk was subtle; he never took it too far. "Mighty nice piece'a ice, ain't it?" he said, pointing to a particularly ugly diamond choker.

"Whatever you say, Daddy," she said tentatively.

The store clerk caught a glimpse of Beano's wide-brimmed Stetson and fixed on him like a heat-locked missile.

"I'm Matthew; may I help you, sir?" he said, rushing up.

"Well, I s'pose we gonna have to go an' get us a little bauble fer Honeybee here. Ain't that right?"

"Whatever you want, Daddy," she simpered.

"'At's right, whatever I want." He grinned at Matthew." This lady, she already brung me a powerful heap a'luck. Yesterday I got nothin' but losers. Couldn't draw a pistol from a holster. Then I met Sugar Plum, and today I been so lucky, if I was settin' on a fencepost the birds would feed me. Gotta keep the good luck flowin', don't we, Baby?"

"Whatever you want, Daddy." She was beginning to feel like she needed to broaden her responses.

"What did you have in mind?" the young salesman said, as Beano started looking around in the case.

"See, I'm a big un fer lucky charms. How it goes is, I live right smack on the edge of Black Pearl Mesa, in Locadocious, Texas. So fer luck I'm gonna give this little lady the biggest black pearl y'all got in the place."

"Could I suggest instead the diamond choker you were admiring?" he said, pointing to it.

"I ain't about ta go an squat on my spurs here. Y'all don't know much about luck, do ya? Gotta buy some-thin' with meaning, son, gotta be a black pearl."

"Oh boy," Matthew said, "that's going to be hard. Excuse me." The young man rushed off and minutes later he returned with a tall, unctuous scavenger in a three-piece black pinstripe. After one look at Beano he started wringing his hands like a praying mantis.

"I'm Donald Stine. I run this store. Matt said you were looking for a black pearl?"

"'At's right, Don. Justice R. McQueed." Beano shot his hand out, and when Don Stine took it, he got his knuckles cracked, Texas style.

"Gonna buy the biggest, largest ol' black pearl y'all got."

"Black pearls are quite rare," Stine said.

"Then we're at the wrong rodeo. Come on, Honey-bun." Beano started to lead her out. Victoria now knew why girls in five-inch platform shoes all looked stupid. It was impossible to walk. You had to sort of shuffle moronically. She was teetering along behind Beano when Don Stine stopped them. "We have a few small ones in settings… but matching black pearls of any size or quality are almost impossible to find."

"This here is one pearl we're talkin" bout, Bucko. Don't have t'be a match. Only got one girl, only need one pearl… see?" he grinned broadly. "I'm ready t'go to fifty thousand dollars. How's that sound, Sugar?"

"Oh, Daddy, you're so sweet. Whatever you say." Victoria was beginning to get into it.

Donald Stine was distracted. He couldn't take his eyes off her chest. She had to admit the little black stretch dress was providing good energy.

"I could call around, see what's in our other stores. We have reciprocity with the other shops here in Atlantic City. And I'll check the Jewelry Mart."

"Ya got me all spread out like a cold supper here, Donnie. Them tables is a-calling and I'm ready to go… Let's do the deal, that's the Texas way."

"If you would have a seat, I could see what I can get in the next ten or twenty minutes."

"Well, hell, let's give 'er a shake, then."

Stine hurried off and Beano and Victoria moved around the shop, looking at the trashy jewelry in the glass cases while the assistant, Matt, trailed them like a bloodhound. After a few minutes, Stine returned, wearing a greedy smile.

"We're in luck. As you probably know, pearls are measured in millimeters."

"Nope, never bought one before."

"We found a twenty-two-millimeter, perfectly round, opaque black pearl. It's got a beautiful dusky black luster and it's only forty-seven thousand retail, plus tax."

"Well, let's get that little pigeon egg on over an' take us a look-see."

"In the interest of time, could we clear credit now? How will we be handling the transaction? That is, should the pearl meet your specifications," Stine said. Beano wished he'd stop wringing his hands.

"Got me a checking account right here in the hotel," Beano said proudly.

While Beano and Donald Stine went to the casino front desk to arrange the transfer, Victoria went to the ladies' room, which was just outside the store off the casino main floor. A frightening thing happened as she was leaving the restroom. She ran smack into Tommy Rina. They actually collided.

"Watch where the fuck you goin'," Tommy growled.

"'Scuse me," she said and hurried off… She could feel his eyes on her, as she moved off across the casino… She didn't dare turn to see if he had recognized her. She walked across the casino toward the front door, her unbridled excitement suddenly transformed into bile-soaked fear. When she was sure he couldn't see her, she finally doubled back to the store. She prayed Tommy wouldn't come in. Beano was already back there with Donald Stine, so she had no chance to warn him.

The pearl showed up a quarter hour later, and Beano looked it over carefully. He had more than passing experience evaluating jewelry, having spent two years as a jewel thief in Nevada in the late eighties. He gave it up when he almost got shot by a night watchman. He knew natural pearls were never perfectly round. Value was determined by size, shape, color, and opaque luster. He knew a pearl this size would be one of a kind. He guessed that the pearl they were showing him was worth about thirty-five to forty thousand. He was being gouged slightly, but it didn't matter.

"Mighty pretty," he said, looking down through the jeweler's loupe, "this thing's black as truck stop coffee." Then he handed it to Victoria. "Whatta ya think, June Bug?"

"Oh, Daddy, it's so pretty. I simply adore it," she said, her eyes darting out the front windows searching for Tommy Rina.

"Can we make it up into a necklace?" Stine asked, trying to improve on his good fortune. "Perhaps a nice platinum chain with a three-prong setting?"

"Let's see how lucky ol' Justice is gonna get 'fore we get ta buyin' a mess a platinum rope. We got more'n one category we're workin' on, don't we, Sugar?"

"Whatever you say, Daddy." She almost lost her balance and hugged his arm.

The deal was closed quickly. The fifty thousand dollars was immediately transferred to Rings 'n' Things.

Beano and Victoria walked out of the jewelry store, through the casino, and into the sunlight, with the black pearl in an ugly purple box with green felt. She didn't see Tommy Rina anywhere. The Atlantic Ocean was sparkling just beyond the Boardwalk. As they moved out into the late-afternoon chill she started shivering and Beano took off his Western jacket and draped it over her. "That guy gouged us a little; it's only worth forty grand, at most," Beano said, as he spotted John across the street, behind the wheel of her car.

"Then why'd we pay fifty?" she said, confused, as she hugged the coat around her.

"We're increasing by diminishing, holding on by letting go. Didn't I tell you?" Seeing her look, he smiled. "Don't worry. Trust me. This is our lucky day," and then he proved it as they walked across the street and were just missed by a speeding cab. Once they were in the car and pulling away, she told him about running into Tommy.

"Did he recognize you?" Beano asked.

"I don't know. In this outfit, probably not."

Beano was quiet for a long time, then he turned to her and smiled. "Then we'll play it like it never happened. Kinda ups the ante, and puts a little kerosene in the deal," he finally said, and hoped they stayed lucky.

They had dinner at a crab house on the garden pier. It jutted two hundred yards out into the Atlantic. The seven-thirty sunset tinged the slate-gray sky and the ocean whitecaps with a subtle but beautiful flamingo-pink. Beano stopped his conversation for a minute to watch it, something that surprised Victoria. She never stopped to look at a field of flowers or a pink and orange sunset. Her mother had once criticized her for this, saying that these were God's gifts and should not be ignored. Victoria saw beauty in other places: in a carefully prepared brief, in a goal attained, in a job well done. She saw beauty in the precise organization of her own thoughts. She now looked at Beano, who had fallen silent, watching the changing colors of the sunset. He was like a child fascinated by a wonderful new gift. She wondered if her mother would approve of him or be appalled. She couldn't decide.

They had a table by the window and the salt air blew through the open front door. Victoria had changed out of her "fuck me" outfit and was back into her jeans and pea-coat, something her personality could fit into more easily. The pearl was locked in the safe under the sofa in the motor home, and Roger-the-Dodger had been assigned to stand guard while they went out and ordered New England clams. Beano had also ordered a steak and a Bud Light to go for the dog.

Victoria could tell that John and Beano were still holding back with her. But that night she was strangely elated. She would never have imagined that playing a dumb hooker would be so much fun. It was actually liberating, and her encounter with Tommy really did "put a little kerosene in the deal." She remembered the hours her mother had spent trying to get her to loosen up. Yet this con man with the dazzling smile had somehow accomplished it in one afternoon. For the first time she understood the exhilarating thrill of the unreasonable risk.

"This thing with the pearl," she said, "I still don't know how it works. How are we gonna get a hundred and fifty thousand dollars? We paid fifty; you said the pearl we bought is only worth forty. I know we're increasing by diminishing, but I don't get it. So far we're losing money, not making it."

"We're multiplying by dividing, so it doesn't matter what it's really worth," Beano said. "Tomorrow, first thing, I'm gonna go into that same store and try and buy another one just like it. We're gonna offer to pay as much as it takes."

"But we don't have any seed money left," she reminded him.

"Ouch… there's a showstopper"-he grinned-"I never thought of that."

"Stop fucking around with me, Beano," she said. "I'm not used to being played like a mark. If I'm in on this, I wanna know what I'm doing. I'm sure we're breaking half-a-dozen laws here."

"We might have to break a few before this con is over, but not on this pearl gag. We're not doing anything illegal. Least not yet," Beano said.

"Don't forget, I've read your yellow sheet. You're no choirboy."

"That's true," Paper Collar John said, straightfaced. "Once, when he was ten, in Bend River, Arkansas, I was doing a faith healer con. I was the Reverend Yancy L. Anthony of the Church of Christ Manors. I let Beano sing in the choir. He's got a terrible voice… chased most of the faithful right out of the tent. Hadda make him into 'Little Lord Angel'… youngest faith healer in the Southwest… Even at ten, you was damn good, Beano. You should a heard him preach. He could talk the money right out of a banker's pocket." Beano reddened slightly at the compliment. Finally, in a courtly gesture, he bowed his head to acknowledge his talent.

"Come on," Victoria pushed, "I want to hear it. Just start with the pearl. How are we going to turn a ten-thousand-dollar loss into a hundred-thousand-dollar profit?"

So Beano filled her in. When he was finished, she looked at him, her mouth slightly open. It was close to brilliant, and he was right… she couldn't find one single law that they would be breaking.

"Increase by diminishing," she said, slowly. "Hold on by letting go, multiply by dividing. It's really true, isn't it?"

"If you do it right," Paper Collar John said.

Then they started talking about members of the Bates family, evaluating traits and skills, eliminating and accepting candidates. It was, in her opinion, a very colorful voir dire. Besides Fit-Throwing Duffy Bates and Dakota Bates, there were the Hog Creek Bateses, whom they didn't talk about much, but who seemed to be important if there was ever any trouble. There were also "singers" to give background information to Tommy Rina when he was checking Beano out, and inside men who, she learned, were the stars of the con. Beano and John were inside men. There were outside men who roped the mark, then steered or stalled him. They were assigned to control his movement. There were "shills" and "luggers," who she found out, to her dismay, were basically extras. She was determined to somehow upgrade her category. John and Beano discussed each candidate thoroughly before putting his or her name on the list. They divided up half-a-dozen names and agreed to start calling them first thing in the morning.

Victoria Hart sat there, eating cooked crab and wondering if this was going to be the worst situation she'd gotten into in her life… or the best.

The next morning Beano was in his cowboy getup: fringed jacket, boots, and Stetson. All alone, he opened the front door of Rings 'n' Things at a little past nine and stuck his head in.

"Howdy do," he shouted into the empty store. Nobody bought jewelry at nine A.M., SO the staff was having coffee in the back. After a moment, Donald Stine came out with a cup in his hand.

"Good morning… Mr. McQueed, wasn't it?"

"Justice McQueed… sure 'nuf. Good goin' on that. Y'all got a minute? I got a little bit of a problem here…"

"Uh… well, what kind of a problem? The pearl was okay…?" Donald looked worried, even slightly frightened.

"That pearl set me up fat as a Persian prince. Little Honey-dove an' me, we been talkin" bout her goin' on home t'Black Pearl Mesa with me to stay a spell."

The store manager exhaled with relief. "That's wonderful. I'm glad everything worked out."

"'Cept she changed her mind… ain't it just like a woman…?" Beano let this moment ripen until a look of full panic formed on Donald Stine's face. Donald didn't want to have to take the pearl back in trade. He had purchased it from the Jewelry Mart and sold it to the Texan. He knew a 22mm one-of-a-kind black pearl was a white elephant. He would never get rid of it. It would become perennial inventory.

"Changed her mind?" Don breathed in as he said it, ending with a slight hiccup.

"Well, not exactly changed it… I mean, what she wants is, she wants another one just like it. She wants earrings. She says she wants me t'buy her a duplicate. So I guess she's got me running with the big dogs now." He reached for his wallet. "I'm gonna let you make 'em up into a set of earrings, maybe get us platinum settings, like you was sayin'."

"Oh. Oh… well, look, a pearl of that size and color is very, very rare. You see, they're made by oysters."

Then came the nature lesson. Beano put his empty wallet away and listened patiently.

"As you probably know, a little grain of sand gets inside the oyster shell and the oyster makes the pearl to protect itself from the sand. It's a very slow and very individual process. Size and color are all variables. To find a matching pearl of that size would be almost impossible. We'd have to get very lucky."

"Rich beats luck ever damn time." Beano grinned.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I want her t'come home t'Black Pearl Mesa with me, Mr. Stine, and them earrings is gonna do the deal. So, we gotta get her that matchin' pearl at any cost. Comprende?"

"Well, that's all very easily said, but I'm afraid nature didn't make two pearls in that exact shade and color."

"Bet nature made one pretty gol-dern close, though. I'll pay you one hundred and sixty thousand dollars for a pearl that's close enough t'be the mate."

"One sixty?" Don said, greed overtaking good sense. "Lemme get this straight… It doesn't have to be exact? Just close?"

"Hell, son, they're earrings. We ain't mintin' money here. Close is all we need. She's gonna wear the dad gum things on opposite sides of her head."

"It will take some time. That was a huge pearl. I'll have to put out a fax bulletin and a notice on the International Jewelry Exchange."

"How long is that gonna take?" Beano asked, sweeping his hat off and dropping it on the glass counter between them.

"I don't know, Mr. McQueed… maybe never."

Beano looked at him sadly. "But you'll try?"

"For a hundred and sixty thousand dollars I'd swallow a grain of sand and start making one myself," Donald grinned.

Not a bad joke, Beano thought. But on this hollow-chested man who kept rubbing his hands together like an insect, it only managed to be annoying.

Beano promised to check back later in the day. After he left, Donald Stine went to the back of Tommy Rina's store and put out a call for a 20-to-24mm black pearl with opaque luster, almost perfectly round. He faxed it to the International Jewelry Exchange. He also put it on the New York-New Jersey jewelry fax. He offered to buy the jewel for sixty thousand dollars, giving himself a hundred-thousand-dollar profit on the deal if he could find a pearl close enough to match.

Two hours later, a Mr. Robert Hambelton of Hambelton, Deets, and Banbray, a wholesale jewelry company, answered with a fax responding to the recent inquiry. The letterhead said his firm was across the river in New York. The fax pictured a black pearl, opaque, almost perfect. His memo said the pearl he had in stock was 22.5mm in size, but was in a diamond-encrusted setting and that he would have to break up the necklace. He was asking a hundred and fifty thousand, no negotiation. There was a number in New York to call. Donald Stine figured a ten-thousand-dollar profit was better than nothing, so he rushed to his phone and dialed.

"Hambelton, Deets, and Banbray," a woman's voice said.

"I'd like to speak to Mr. Robert Hambelton about the twenty-two-millimeter pearl he faxed me a picture of."

"One moment, please, I'll see if Mr. Hambelton is in." In a moment, Bob Hambelton came on the line.

"Bob Hambelton here," a thin voice said. "How can I help, please?"

Donald explained about his customer and about the pearl and the need to make earrings, and that was why his client would vastly overpay for the jewel. Robert Hambelton said he would send the pearl down to Atlantic City that afternoon and Mr. Stine could buy it from their representative, a Mr. Carl Forbes.

At five o'clock, just before closing, a distinguished-looking man with gray hair and an expensive suit came through the door of Rings 'n' Things. He asked for Donald Stine. His Jewelry Mart I.D. indicated that he was Carl Forbes. He opened his metal suitcase and produced a pearl that Donald Stine would have sworn was almost a perfect duplicate of the one he'd sold the Texan. Donald appraised it and signed for it, then gave a cashier's check for one hundred and fifty thousand, made out for cash, to Mr. Forbes, who then handed Donald the pearl. Then Mr. Forbes put the cashier's check in his briefcase and left.

Of course, the whole thing had been set up by Beano, using a call-forwarding system he already had in New York. The system routed the call from the number on the fax back from New York to the pay phone at the Shady Rest Trailer Park. Victoria played the secretary; Beano was the thin-voiced Robert Hambelton. Paper Collar John performed the distinguished Mr. Forbes.

Beano had just sold Don Stine his own pearl back, but better yet, Joe and Tommy Rina had just put up one hundred thousand dollars to finance their own destruction.