He shrugs. “Buying shit, I suppose.”
That is definitely wrong, but I nod anyway.
“You would suppose right,ifthis were any other coin. But this coin”—I flick the coin into the air and catch it—“doesn’t buy just anything. This coin…” I show both sides to the crowd, because now I have a proper audience. Most of the platform has moved at least within earshot. “This coin is your ticket to heaven.”
Now I have the entire platform’s attention. Especially my mark’s, who’s dying (ha ha) to get his hands on one of these. It won’t be long until he approaches, and by the time I run out of Miracle Max, I’ll have the information I’m looking for.
You see, you can’t just smash and grab information. You have to lure it out: Entice it, make it feel safe and welcome. You have to begiveninformation.
This is the first difference between me and my brother. He would call this a heist. While I, rightly, refer to it as a con. Any genius with an acrobat friend can pull off a heist. Conning takes finesse. Subtlety. A certain je ne sais quoi. With heists, you’re just a fancy burglar—you take things when people aren’t looking. With cons, the mark willingly gives you what you want. In front of god and everybody.
So to speak.
“It’s called an obol,” I say, placing the coin back on the table. “It gets you into a specific…neighborhood, if you will. And if you can keep track of where it lands, it’s yours.”
Okay, so you’ve probably heard of this game before. It has lots of different names. The shell game. Three-card monte. Thimblerig. It’s the most basic of short cons. If there were a con artist university, this would be day-one shit. But today, this isn’t the entire con. It’s just the Rope.
No matter how simple or complex a con, it always follows the same general steps. First there’s:
The Groundwork
This is where you do your research, make your plans, move the pieces into place. This is all before you even meet the mark. For instance, I’ve never met Infamous Pete, but because I’ve done my research, I know that he’s the short balding man in the tan suit leaning against a pillar. I know Pete has a gambling habit and, more importantly, a losing habit and, most importantly, an embezzling habit. I know he works for the Ferrymen and that he stole a whole bunch of his boss’s money. And I know his boss, Charon, found out and Infamous Pete is now Posthumous Pete.
Yes, Charon, Ferrymen, obols. There’s a theme here—we’ll get to that.
I learned a lot about Pete’s habits during the Groundwork phaseof this con and watched him skim so much off the top of every job that there was no way he wasn’t getting caught. But he just kept…notgetting caught. Until Charon received an anonymous email with proof of Pete’s embezzlement.
Look, I didn’t kill the guy. And I didn’t make him join a Titan syndicate and do morally questionable jobs for a boss with godlike powers and then steal from said boss. Point is, it was his choices that led him here.
It’s just, sometimes the research isn’t enough. Sometimes you have to give things a little nudge in the right direction.
Anyway.
After Groundwork comes:
The Encounter
which is where we are now. Worth pointing out—I haven’t approached Pete. But he’s noticed me. You have to make the mark come to you or you’ve already lost. And the best way I can convince Posthumous Pete to come to me is to show him that the prize is worth the effort. Hence flashing these coins that I made damn sure his pockets aren’t currently lined with.
This brings us to:
The Buildup
Giving the mark confidence. In themself. In you. Convincing them you’re trustworthy, or at least that interacting with you is their own idea.
I shuffle the coins—slow enough that Suit Guy can keep track but not so slow that it looks like I’m letting him win. When I come to a stop, I look up, expectant.
“Which obol has the star?” I ask.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pete shift to the left, the direction of the correct coin.
Suit Guy points to the one on the right.
Son of a bitch. I could not have made it more obvious.
I flip the coin over, revealing a skull. “Sorry, man,” I say. “Better luck next time.”
Suit Guy shrugs and walks off, but before Pete can step forward, a line forms. They all know where the star was and want to prove it, and I have to play three more rounds before it’s Pete’s turn. He saunters up, sweat dotting his brow—that is, the metaphysical representation of sweat, if you want to get technical.
