Free Conman by Richard Asplin Page A

tapping me one-two-three on my forehead with a firm index finger. “That’s your problem. Things aren’t always about things, Neil. There’s no convenient back-story to people. And why should there be?”
    “You –”
    “I mean bally jove, nobody goes looking for a shark’s back-story , do they? To find out what went on in his childhood that made him a killing machine.”
    “We’re not sharks,” I said, angry, confused and not a little bit drunk.
    “Ahh, but do you know why, though? The only reason I am not a shark is that my mummy and daddy weren’t sharks. That’s all. The only reason you aren’t a shark is that Mr & Mrs Martin happened not to be sharks. Now, you going to let that itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot quirk of fate cost you your business ? Your home? Cost you …” and he paused. He looked at me. “Your family ?”
    The whole sumptuous room seemed to lurch slightly, like it was trying to pull out at a busy junction. Scott began twiddling the envelope in front of him. My better judgement nudged my back bumper, tooting.
    But I stayed where I was.
    “What do you know about my family?”
    “Well Zilch McGrew, as a matter of fact,” Scott shrugged, “but I know something about people . I know, for example Neil, that young men with thriving businesses, savings tucked away and a bank manager they play golf with, tend not, by and large, to go to lunch with peculiar-acting men. That’s more the behaviour of the desperate, wouldn’t you say?”
    I blinked at him, keeping him focused.
    He went on, as I rather feared he might, turning the envelope slowly.
    “More the behaviour of a man in need of a quick fix. A one-off , chance of a lifetime deal, that’ll get him out of whatever unfortunate hole he’s stumbled into. Coffee?”

four
    I should have left. I don’t know why I didn’t. But I should have.
    Though actually –
    Actually no, I know exactly why I didn’t. It’s because – and I’m aware of how stupid this sounds – it’s because I hadn’t seen inside the envelope yet.
    It was there, inches away, and it had something in it of value otherwise what was all this about? And hell, it’s not like we’d done anything wrong. We were just two guys. Just two guys talking. So I let him order coffee. And I told myself, a coffee, a look in the envelope then go.
    Just for curiosity’s sake.
    Coffee, envelope, go.
     
    “Picture this if you might,” Scott said, fine crockery now between us. “You’re out walking one lunchtime and you spot something valuable in the street.” He had sat back and was turning the envelope in his fingers. “Say … a gold watch. Like this one,” and from the side of the table, Scott’s foot slid out quickly. Lifting his brown brogue, he revealed beneath it a heavy-looking gold watch. He returned his foot to under the table. The watch remained where it was, curled on the carpet.
    “Naturally,” Scott said, “you bend to pick it up.”
    I looked at the watch, lying there. I looked up at Scott.
    “Well, go on then,” he said.
    Hesitantly, feeling this was the first in what might turn out to be a long line of regrettable moves, I leant over to retrieve the watch from the floor, when Scott suddenly lunged for it gruffly, the table clattering. He grabbed it up with a snarl of Mine !
    Startled, I looked up and Rudy’s greasy hat was back, along with his character it seemed.
    “Now I’m a fuckin’ tramp, arn’ I,” Scott drawled, face lowamong the wine glasses and coffee cups. “Didn’ see me lurkin’ in a doorway did ya? See, I spotted this watch too. Juss as you did. An’ I wanna pawn it, sharpish. Get m’self a few beers wiv’ dis li’l beauty I bet. Look at it shoine,” and he curled it in the lamplight. “Rolex an’ all. Heavy. Bet we could get two ’undred nicker for it, eh? Whaddya say mate?”
    I wasn’t sure what my line was here. I was toying with ‘uhmm’, or possible ‘goodbye’ when Scott kicked me, helpfully, under