The Con Man

Fourteen

The young man had problems of his own.

He walked the streets of the city, and he concentrated on his problems, and he considered what happened to him, the greatest kind of good fortune.

The young man was dressed neatly and conservatively. He looked as if he might have money in the bank. He didn’t look overly bright. He walked the streets of the city, and now that the rain had stopped, it wasn’t so bad at all. People were beginning to appear in the streets, like victims of a siege after the shelling has stopped. The sky was still gray, but the clouds were tearing away in spots like gauzy cheesecloth, and the sun was trying desperately to push its way through. In the gutters, the accumulation of water sped for the sewers, carrying the miscellaneous refuse of the day. The kids rolled up their trouser legs and splashed in the water, stomping their feet. Store owners came out onto the sidewalk, stood looking up at the sky with hands on hips for a moment, and then went to roll up their awnings. A pair of lovers emerged from a dark hallway where they had stopped to wait out the rain. The girl’s mouth had been kissed hard, and the boy’s mouth carried lipstick, which had been bruised into the skin. Together, they walked briskly up the street, navigating the large puddles that dotted the sidewalk.

Everything stops, the young man thought. The rain stops, and the sun comes out, and then the sun stops, and the rain begins. When will my particular problem stop?

A boy on a bicycle rode past, his wheels creating hissing canopies of water as he raced alongside the sidewalk.

The young man watched the boy on the bicycle. He sighed heavily. There were two men standing on the sidewalk near the corner. One of the men was a redhead. The other man was tall, with dark hair, and he wore a dark-blue suit.

The young man gave them a cursory glance. As he approached them, the man in the blue suit stepped into his path.

“Excuse me,” he said.

The young man looked up.

“My name is Charlie Parsons. I wonder if you’d do me a favor.”

“What’s that?” the young man asked.

“This fellow here,” Parsons said, indicating the redhead, “has a gold coin, and I might be interested in buying it from him. Trouble is, I left my glasses home, and I can’t read the date on it. I wonder if you’d be so kind.”

The young man shrugged. “Well, I’m in sort of a hurry,” he said.

“It’ll only take a minute, and I’d certainly appreciate it.”

“Well,” the young man said, “where’s the coin?”

The redhead produced a large gold coin. “Picked it up in Japan,” he said. “I just got back from there. I was in the Army until last week. Just got discharged.” The redhead grinned disarmingly. He seemed like a simple country boy. “My name’s Frank O’Neill.”

The young man simply nodded and took the coin. “What am I supposed to look for?” he asked.

“The date,” Parsons told him. “Should be on the bottom there someplace.”

“On the bott...? Oh yes, here it is. 1801.”

“1801?” Parsons said. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says. 1801.”

“Why, that’s...” Parsons stopped himself. O’Neill was looking at him.

“That makes it pretty old, don’t it?” he asked innocently.

Parsons cleared his throat. Obviously, he had stumbled upon something of real value and was now trying to hide his find. “No, that’s not very old at all. In fact, I’d say that’s a pretty common coin. The only surprising thing about it is that you were able to find a Russian coin in Japan.”

The young man looked at Parsons and then at O’Neill. “Russia once had a war with Japan, you know,” he said.

“Say, that’s right,” O’Neill said. “Bet that’s how the coin happened to be there. Damn, if you can’t pick up all kinds of junk in the interior of that country.”

“I might still be interested in buying the coin,” Parsons said guardedly. “Just as a curiosity piece, you understand. You know, a Russian coin that found its way to Japan.”

“Well,” O’Neill said, “I got it for a pack of cigarettes.” His candid naïveté was remarkable. “That’s all it cost me.”

“I couldn’t let you have more than ten dollars for it,” Parsons said judiciously. In an aside, he winked at the young man. The young man stared at him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“I’d say you just bought yourself a gold coin,” O’Neill said, grinning.

Parsons reached into his wallet, trying to hide his haste. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to O’Neill. “Do you have any change?” he asked.

“No, I don’t,” O’Neill said. “Let me have the bill, and I’ll cash it in that cigar store.”

Parsons gave him the bill, and O’Neill went into the cigar store on the corner. As soon as he was gone, Parsons turned to the young man.

“Jesus,” he said, “do you know what that coin is worth?”

“No,” the young man said.

“At least two hundred dollars! And he’s letting me have it for ten!”

“You’re pretty lucky,” the young man said.

“Lucky, hell. I spotted him for a hick from the minute I saw him. I’m just wondering what else he’s got to sell.”

“I doubt if he’s got anything else,” the young man said.

“I don’t. He’s just back from Japan. Who knows what else he may have picked up? I’m going to pump him when he gets back.”

“Well, I’ll be running along,” the young man said.

“No, stick around, will you? I may need your eyesight. What a time to forget my glasses, huh?”

O’Neill was coming out of the cigar store. He had got two tens for the twenty, and he handed one of the tens and the gold coin to Parsons. The other ten he put into his pocket. “Well,” he said, “much obliged.” He started to go, and Parsons laid a hand on his arm.

“You said...uh...that you could get all kinds of junk in the interior. What...uh...did you have in mind?”

“Oh, all kinds of junk,” O’Neill said.

“Like what?”

“Well, I picked up some pearls,” O’Neill said. “As a matter of fact, I’m sorry I did.”

“Why?”

“Damn things cost me a fortune, and I could use some money right now.”

“How much did they cost you?” Parsons asked.

“Five hundred dollars,” O’Neill said, as if that were all the money in the world.

“Real pearls?”

“Sure. Black ones.”

“Black pearls?” Parsons asked.

“Yeah. Here, you want to see them?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather bag. He unloosened the drawstrings on the bag and poured some of its contents into the palm of his hand. The pearls were not exactly black. They glowed with gray luminescence.

“There they are,” O’Neill said.

“That bag is full of them?” Parsons asked, taking one of the pearls and studying it.

“Yeah. Got about a hundred of them in there. Fellow I bought them from was an old Jap.”

“Are you sure they’re genuine?”

“Oh, sure,” O’Neill said.

“They’re not paste?”

“Would I pay five hundred dollars for paste?”

“Well, no. No, I guess not.” Parsons looked hastily to the young man. Then he turned to O’Neill. “Are you...are you...Did you want to sell these?”

“I tell you,” O’Neill said, “the Army discharged me here, and I live down South. I lost all my money on the boat took us back, and I’ll be damned if I know how I’m going to get home.”

“I’d be...ah...happy to give you five hundred dollars for these,” Parsons said. Quickly, he licked his lips, as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Provided they’re genuine.”

“Oh, they’re real, all right. But I couldn’t let you have them for five hundred.”

“That’s what they cost you,” Parsons pointed out.

“Sure, but I had the trouble of making the deal and of carting them all the way back to the States. I wouldn’t let them go for less than a thousand.”

“Well, that’s kind of high,” Parsons said. “We don’t even know they’re genuine. They may be paste.”

“Hell, I wouldn’t try to stick you,” O’Neill said.

“I’ve been stuck before,” Parsons said. “After all, I don’t know you from a hole in the wall.”

“That’s true,” O’Neill said, “but I hope you don’t think I’d let you buy these pearls without having a jeweler look at them first.”

Parsons looked at him suspiciously. “How do I know the jeweler isn’t a friend of yours?”

“You can pick any jeweler you like. I won’t even come into the shop with you. I’ll give you the pearls, and I’ll wait outside. Listen, these are the real articles. Only reason I’m letting you have them so cheap is because I don’t want to fool around. I want to go home.”

“What do you think?” Parsons asked, turning to the young man.

“I don’t know,” the young man said.

“Will you come with us to a jeweler?”

“What for?”

“Come along,” Parsons said. “Please.”

The young man shrugged. “Well, all right,” he said.

They walked up the street until they came to a jewelry shop. The sign outside said: REPAIRS, APPRAISALS.

“This should do it,” Parsons said. “Let me have the pearls.”

O’Neill handed him the sack.

“You coming?” Parsons asked the young man.

“All right,” the young man said.

“You’ll see,” O’Neill said. “He’ll tell you they’re worth a thousand dollars.”

Together, Parsons and the young man went into the shop. O’Neill waited outside on the sidewalk.

The jeweler was a wizened old man bent over a watch. He did not look up. He kept his brow squeezed tight against the black eyepiece, and he picked at the watch like a man pulling meat from a lobster claw. Parsons cleared his throat. The jeweler did not look up. Together, they waited. A cuckoo clock on the wall chirped the time. It was 2:00 P.M.

Finally, the jeweler looked up. He opened his eyes wide, and the eyepiece fell into his open palm.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’d like some pearls appraised,” Parsons said.

“Where are they?”

“Right here,” Parsons said, extending the sack.

The jeweler loosened the drawstrings. He shook a few of the smoky gray globes into the palm of his hand.

“Nice size,” he said. “Nice sheen. Nice smoothness. What do you want to know?”

“Are they real?”

“They’re not paste, I can tell you that immediately.” He nodded. “Impossible to say whether they’re cultured or genuine Oriental without having them x-rayed, though. I’d have to send them out of the shop for that.”

“How much are they worth?” Parsons asked.

The jeweler shrugged. “If they’re cultured, you can get between ten and twenty-five dollars for each pearl. If they’re genuine Oriental, the price is much higher.”

“How much higher?”

“Judging from the size of these, I’d say between a hundred and two hundred for each pearl. At least a hundred.” He paused. “How much did you want for them?”

“A thousand,” Parsons said.

“You’ve got a sale,” the jeweler answered.

“I’m not selling,” Parsons said. “I’m buying.”

“How many are in that sack?” the jeweler asked. “About seventy-five pearls?”

“A hundred,” Parsons said.

“Then you can’t go wrong. Even if they’re cultured, you’d get at least ten dollars for each pearl — so there’s your thousand right there. And if they’re genuine Oriental, you stand to make a phenomenal profit. If they’re genuine Oriental, you can get back ten times your investment. I’d have them x-rayed at once, if I were you.”

Parsons grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” the jeweler said. He put his eyepiece back in place and bent over his watch again.

Parsons took the young man to one side. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Looks like a good deal,” the young man said.

“I know. Listen, I can’t let this hick get away from me.”

“He’s willing to sell. What makes you think he’ll try to get away?”

“That’s just it. If these pearls are genuine Oriental, he’s sitting on a fortune. I’ve got to buy them before he has them x-rayed himself.”

“I see what you mean,” the young man said.

“The trouble is, I live in the next state. By the time I got to my bank, it’d be closed. This fellow isn’t going to wait until tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

“I guess not,” the young man said.

“Do you live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“Do you bank here?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a thousand dollars in the bank?”

“Yes.”

“I hate to do this,” Parsons said.

“Hate to do what?”

Parsons smiled. “I hate to cut you in on such a sweet deal.”

“Would you?” the young man asked, interest showing in his eyes.

“What choice do I have? If I asked our hick to wait until tomorrow, I’d lose him.”

“Fifty-fifty split?” the young man asked.

“Now, wait a minute,” Parsons said.

“Why not? I’ll be putting up the money.”

“Only until tomorrow. Besides, he’s my hick. You wouldn’t have known anything about this if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“Sure, but you can’t buy those pearls if I don’t go to the bank.”

“That’s true.” Parsons’ eyes narrowed. “How do I know you won’t take the pearls and then refuse to sell me my half tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t do a thing like that,” the young man said.

“I want your address and telephone number,” Parsons said.

“All right,” the young man said. He gave them to Parsons, and Parsons wrote them down.

“How do I know these are legitimate?” Parsons asked. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

“I don’t drive. You can check it in the phone book.” He turned to the jeweler. “Have you got an Isola directory?”

“Never mind,” Parsons said. “I trust you. But I’ll be at your apartment first thing tomorrow morning to give you my five hundred dollars and to get my share of the pearls.”

“All right,” the young man said. “I’ll be there.”

“God, this is a great deal, isn’t it? If they’re genuine, we’ll be rich. And if they’re cultured, we break even. We can’t lose.”

“It’s a good deal,” the young man agreed.

“Let’s get to the bank before he changes his mind.”

O’Neill was waiting for them outside. “Well?” he asked.

“He said they’re not paste,” Parsons told him.

“See? What’d I tell you? Did he say they’re worth a thousand?”

“He said they might be worth about that.”

“Well, do we have a deal, or don’t we?”

“I’ll have to go home for my passbook,” the young man said.

“All right. We’ll go with you.”

The three men hailed a cab, and the cab took them uptown. The young man got out, and the cab waited. When he came down again, he had his bankbook with him. He gave the cabbie instructions, and the three men drove to the bank. They all got out then, and Parsons paid the cabbie. The young man went into the bank, and when he came out, he had a thousand dollars in cash with him.

“Here’s the money,” he said.

Parsons grinned happily.

The young man handed the thousand dollars to O’Neill.

“And here’re the pearls,” O’Neill said, reaching into his pocket and handing the young man a leather sack. “I’m certainly much obliged to you fellows. This means I’ll be able to go home.”

“Not for a long while,” the young man said.

O’Neill looked up. He was staring into the open end of a .38 Detective’s Special. “What?” he said.

The young man grinned. “The old diamond switch,” he said, “only with pearls. You’ve got my thousand, and the pearls in this sack you gave me are undoubtedly paste. Where are the real ones the jeweler appraised?”

“Listen,” Parsons said, “you’re making a mistake, Mac. You’re—”

“Am I?” The young man was already frisking O’Neill. In two seconds, he located the sack of real pearls. “Tomorrow morning, I’d be sitting around in my apartment waiting for my partner to arrive with his five hundred dollars. Only, my partner would never show up. My partner would be out spending his share of the thousand dollars he conned from me.”

“This is the first time we ever done anything like this,” O’Neill said, beginning to panic.

“Is it? I’ve got a few other people who may be willing to identify you,” the young man said. “Come on, we’re taking a little ride.”

“Where to?” Parsons asked.

“To the 87th Precinct,” the young man said.

The young man’s name was Arthur Brown.