Free Hornswogglers, Fourflushers & Snake-Oil Salesmen by Matthew P. Mayo

understand. Why are you showing this to me?” He mimicked the other two men and spoke in a lowered voice as he glanced around at the nearly empty sidewalk.
    The dapper man said, “To be blunt, sir. He needs to sell it.”
    â€œSell? No offense intended, but what’s a fellow like that doing with it in the first place? And why me? Why not you?”
    â€œI am afraid I am not at liberty at present to take advantage of his kind offer. But perhaps we could talk somewhere a little more, um, private.”
    â€œVery good.”
    In a few moments, the oddly matched trio made their way to a quiet alley entrance. The Mexican placed the brick of gold, unbidden, in the businessman’s fat, sweating hands. It was a heavy thing, and he grunted and almost lost his grip on it.
    Almost.
    â€œYou can tell by the heft, sir, that it is pure gold.”
    â€œThe only thing I can tell you is that it is worth far more than what he is willing to sell it for. Far more.”
    The fat businessman pooched his lips and hefted the thing close to his face. He sniffed at it, glanced at the two men watching him, and realized gold would have no discernible smell. He scratched at it with his fingernail. It was soft, as he supposed such things should be. And it did have the weight he’d heard blocks of solid gold should bear. It was roughly the same width and length of a regular brick, but with half the height and seemingly more weight. Hmm. He flipped it over and stared at it. No markings of any sort that might track it back to some crime, which he supposed was the reason for this fire sale.
    â€œI am interested, provided we bring it to an assayer’s office for verification. You don’t mind, do you?”
    The dapper man, still looking amused and slightly bored, shrugged, then spoke in a low voice to the worried-looking Mexican.
    â€œIt’s just that I don’t normally carry much money, so I would like to be assured as much as is possible, you see. I am a businessman, after all, and I am used to conducting my affairs in a lawful and legitimate manner.” The fat man straightened up with that last declaration. Let them know my intentions from the start , he thought. That I’m no one to be trifled with .
    â€œAbsolutely, sir. And since you are from out of town, would you like me to suggest an assay office? One is as good as another.”
    The fat man paused.
    â€œOf course, if you’d rather have one of your own choosing to perform the inspection, by all means.” The dapper man smoothed his mustaches. “Or if we are, as they say, barking up the wrong tree, we will leave you in peace and bid you a good day.”
    The Mexican gently took the brick back and stuffed it into the sack.
    â€œNo, no, no, don’t misread me, my good man. I am happy to go with your suggested office, being as I am a stranger here, as you so aptly pointed out.”
    â€œExcellent. Then let us not idle here any longer here. Follow me, sir. Follow me.”
    The three once more made their way up the sidewalk, the dapper man in the lead. What the fat man didn’t notice was the thin smile barely showing on the dapper man’s trim countenance.
    In short minutes they arrived at a narrow, plain storefront with a sign out front reading, “Charles Dinsdale, Assayer.”
    They pushed in and a small brass bell at the top of the door dinged their entrance.
    â€œMr. Dinsdale? Are you in?” The dapper man stepped inside the shop and motioned for the Mexican to follow him. “Come on in, Miguel, and . . . er, sir,” said the dapper man. “I realize I don’t even know your name.”
    The fat out-of-towner nodded. “Yes, yes, well, given the nature of this venture we have in the offing, I find I don’t mind that prospect in the least.”
    â€œAs you like.” The dapper man smiled as a man dressed in a leather smock stepped through a curtain partitioning off a back room from