Free McMansion by Justin Scott Page B

con man.”
    â€œHe started a con man. But he became a developer.”
    â€œHe was a con man.”
    â€œOriginally,” I said. “But he became—”
    â€œRemember the oil change scam?” he laughed. “There were cars in Newbury that shared the same oil for three years running. God knows how many turbos he burned up.”
    George was surprising me. He sounded almost admiring of a man I had assumed he hated. “My favorite,” he said, “was the car rental scam.”
    â€œI missed that one.”
    â€œDon’t you remember, when he had the garage, Billy got a car rental franchise?”
    â€œRight. Pink mentioned that. So Billy’s repair customers had to rent a loaner instead of getting it free. That’s not exactly a con.”
    â€œHe didn’t do it for the customers. He did it for the parts.”
    â€œWhat parts?”
    â€œBatteries, tires, transmissions. Entire engines. Which he would swap out of the rentals and replace with the guts of clunkers.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œThe man was a genius.”
    â€œBut are you saying he was con man as developer, too? I thought he had kind of moved up a rung.”
    George shook his head. “It’s not a big jump from cheap con man to developer. They’re both into risk. They’re both opportunistic. Both amoral, if not immoral. And they’re both naturally entrepreneurial.”
    â€œNot every developer is a crook.”
    Georgie looked off into the middle distance, as if somewhere between the Home Depot, Stew Leonard’s, and a discount liquor warehouse, he might glimpse one who wasn’t. “Maybe not,” he conceded at last. “But these are people who get stuff done. Which means getting your way over other people. You gotta hand it to them. They’re self-starters. Say what you will about Billy, he was a self-starter. And a darned smart one, too.”
    â€œDo you think Billy was really smart?”
    â€œYou better believe he was smart. Listen, I was in business a long time. He was one of the smartest guys around. Smart businessman. Smart con artist. All he needed was a break. When he got it—when his uncle left him the farm—he went from a small time grifter to a big time developer. How? Simple. It’s the same head. And don’t forget, you make your profit by cutting corners, which can include not paying your freakin’ bills to suckers like me.”
    â€œIf you knew that, why did you get involved with him?”
    George tossed his butt under a Volvo. “I was your classic con victim. I wanted to believe. I needed to believe. I needed the work. I was suddenly in trouble. Got overextended. He offered a deal that could have saved me. Hell, it would have if he had kept his word and paid me what he owed me. Instead I’m bankrupt and working for fifteen bucks an hour. At this rate I’ll have my debts cleared up in 2030.” He said it in a bantering tone, but his eyes were bleak.
    â€œCouldn’t you earn more driving a machine?”
    George looked at me, hard. The tendons in his neck went taut. “I won’t drive another man’s machine. I tried. Couldn’t stand it.”
    â€œWhat did you think when he got killed?”
    George laughed. “Not what I would have predicted.”
    â€œWhat would you have predicted?”
    â€œThat I’d be glad. I actually opened a beer and started to toast the kid who got him. Couldn’t.” He looked across the lot at the couples streaming into the big store. “I don’t know what happens. You get older or what, I don’t know. But it just didn’t seem right to laugh about a dead guy. I mean, if anyone deserved to get killed it was Billy. But it’s not funny. He was killed. Think about his last moments. You want to be that scared? You want to make somebody that scared? Even somebody you hate? I mean, would you really do that to