The Big Con (8 page)

Three days later he is back in New York with a draft for $25,000. He is at a high pitch of excitement. This business turns over a profit quicker than anything he has ever seen. And he gets a strange sense of elation—the same feeling, magnified a thousand times, that he felt when he had that first ten dollars on Seabiscuit and watched him romp home. He has a sure thing.

Maxwell takes him to a bank which has been fixed. Mr. John Bates endorses the check, and now has $25,000 in cash. It burns holes in his pockets.

“This afternoon I think we can work,” says Charley. “I’ll find out what the best odds are, you stay near the ’phone booth, and I’ll tell you what to bet just before each race. I’ll get any last-minute change in odds as they come through over the wire, and we’ll take all that into consideration. We’ll work the same as we did the other day. Now hold on tight to that money.” Then he goes back to directing the destinies of a minor province in the great empire of the Western Union.

The next few hours are critical ones for the con men. Between now and post-time the mark is most likely to have a “brain-blow” and lose his head. Marks have been known to go to the police with the whole story right at this point, and a “wrong” copper might lay a trap for the con men and get the mark to co-operate. Or the mark might worry about so large a gamble and look up some friend or acquaintance to consult about the matter; of course any of these might tip the whole thing off. Occasionally
the victim insists on seeking the advice of his wife, in which case wiser con mobs encourage such a move, for they have learned that such a consultation usually works in their favor. Some marks simply get cold feet at the last moment and go on about their business, or return home.

So a “tailer” is put on Mr. Bates during all the time that he is not with either of the con men. The tailer, a man of ample experience in such matters, can tell immediately by the mark’s actions how he is getting along. If he consults the police, the tailer reports back immediately and the con men may simply not see him any more, or they may ’phone him and tell him that the Western Union has become suspicious and that the deal must be postponed. However, if he has consulted a “right” copper or detective, the con men know that they are safe, for they can pay their way as soon as the score comes off. They go right ahead and play for him knowing that the police will not “knock” him or tip him off to what is happening. If it seems necessary, the insideman himself or his fixer will go down and have a chat with the officer in order to be sure there will be no slips. Meanwhile, Mr. Bates, if he has had any traffic with the police, feels better in the knowledge that the officers of the law are not suspicious of the men with whom he is dealing or of the deal (if he lets that out) which he is contemplating.

Meanwhile, Louis stalls the victim along with the pending sale of his store, which, during the play, fades into the background. Some marks become so feverish that, during the period of the tie-up, they apparently forget all about the original reason for their coming to the city where the big store is located, or resent the roper’s attempts to continue negotiations for the business while this big deal is in the air.

Post-time finds Mr. Bates and Louis haunting the ’phone booth, awaiting the call which will come sometime
during the afternoon. Bates hugs his $25,000. Louis handles his quarry skillfully, knowing just how to arouse his anticipations and how far to go in quieting the doubts which may be troubling his mind.

At last the ’phone jangles. Mr. Bates rushes into the booth. It is Maxwell.

“Hello,” he says, “is that you, Louis?”

“No, this is John Bates.”

“Well, I’ve got the winner. Hurry right on over and place the money on Flying Lill. Call Louis to the ’phone, will you?”

Louis talks briefly to Charley. “O.K.,” he says. “I understand. Place it all on Flying Lill. Good-by, Charley.”

They hurry over to the poolroom and plunge into the atmosphere of synthetic excitement. There on the oddsboard is Flying Lill, 5–1. Mr. Bates feels a momentary sinking in the pit of his stomach. His mouth is dry and his hands tremble. Louis takes the bills from his hands and pushes them through the cashier’s window. “Flying Lill to win,” he says. “Twenty-five thousand.”

The cashier gives him his slip and begins to count the money. “They’re off!” calls the announcer, and the next two minutes are hectic ones. It is Unerring by a length. Flying Lill second. Lady Maryland third.

Mr. Bates is stunned.
Unerring won.

“Wait a minute,” says Louis, “there must be something wrong. It isn’t official yet.” He looks with mingled sympathy and anxiety into Mr. Bates’ ashen face.

But it is official. The announcement cuts through the smoke and clatter like a great somber gong. It is official.

“We’ve lost,” says Louis, and they go out into the street.

It may occur to Mr. Bates that he has been betrayed. His mind is probably such a chaos that he cannot think at all. He may break into sobs immediately, and wildly tear his hair. But we will assume that he is a gentleman and that he restrains his emotions and reserves his judgments
until he learns what has happened. Louis has already solicitously begun the “cooling out” process which will pave the way for Maxwell’s smooth patter.

They meet Charley, who can only partly conceal his jubilation, a short distance from the Western Union office. He is talking in terms of winning $125,000. Mr. Bates tells him that Louis bet the horse to win, but that it placed and they lost. Charley turns on Louis in a fury. “Don’t you know what the word
place
means?” he roars. Louis tries to justify his mistake on the basis of their misunderstanding of the word
place.
But Maxwell will have none of it. He rakes that young man over the coals until he hangs his head in red-faced shame and humiliation. Mr. Bates is very likely to come to Louis’ defense, on the grounds that he, too, misunderstood. Then Mr. Maxwell turns on him and gives him also a piece of his mind. But finally he cools off.

“Well,” he says, “we’ll never make that mistake again.” Then he takes Mr. Bates in hand in such a way that the “cooling-out” process is perfect and Mr. Bates lives only until he can raise enough money to give the plan a second trial. When Charley Maxwell cools a mark out, he stays cooled out. And if he has decided that the mark is good for another play—as about fifty per cent of them are—he will “feel him out” to see whether or not he can raise more cash; some marks have been beaten four or five times on the same racket. If he knows he has been swindled, or if he cannot raise any more money, he is “blown off” and disposed of as quietly as possible. Let us assume that Mr. Bates, being the perfect mark, is good for another play. Mr. Maxwell retains his confidence to such an uncanny extent that he will do almost anything he is told to do. So he is “put on the send” again for $20,000, which he borrows, using real estate as collateral.

The second play takes up just where the first left off.
The only delay is caused by obtaining Mr. Bates’ money. Louis knows how to handle the deal regarding Mr. Bates’ business and assures him that everything is going along fine, but that his corporation is going to investigate the department store further before they sign the final papers. Usually, if the mark is good for a second play, he is by this time so wrapped up in the wire that he has practically dropped the legitimate deal. Some con mobs will send a tailer along home with the mark to see if he consults the police before returning. The tailer may pose as an agent for the corporation which is interested in the mark’s business.

The big store, the boost, and all the necessary stage-settings are again called into play. When the time comes to make the big bet, the sting is put in a little differently. Over the ’phone Mr. Maxwell gives the mark Johnny J. at 6–1 to win. Mr. Bates and Louis bet the $20,000, making sure that there is no misunderstanding this time regarding that tricky word
place.
The betting is heavy all around them, though Mr. Bates does not realize that those bank rolls have seen much service as props. The $50,000 in cold cash laid down by the better just ahead of him is real money; it makes an impression.

“They’re off!” says the caller. The room quiets. The smoke drifts in swirls. The gamblers listen with polite eagerness. It is Johnny J. by a neck.

Mr. Bates feels a great exhilaration; his fingers and toes tingle; a warm wave of relief sweeps over him. His horse has won $140,000. Now to take his share and build it up into a fortune.

“Let’s cash it right away,” urges Louis, “before something happens to it.”

Mr. Bates waves the ticket before the impassive cashier, who is imperturbably stacking big bills; Mr. Bates has never seen so much loose cash. It is everywhere. The cashier looks at him with polite indifference.

“Cash this, cash this, please,” says Mr. Bates, pushing the ticket under the grating.

“Just a minute, sir,” says the cashier. “I’m sorry, but those results are not yet official. Wait just a minute.”

“Flash!” says the caller. “Flash! A mistake in colors. It was Silverette by a neck, Johnny J. second, Technician is third. This is official.”

Mr. Bates vaguely hears a man beside him say to his friend, “I’m very glad that horse disqualified. I had $7,000 on Silverette.”

“I’m not,” says his friend. “That damned Johnny J. cost me just twenty thousand ….”

Mr. Bates is dazed. He remonstrates with the manager. He cries and curses his luck. He suspects that he has been swindled but doesn’t know how. The manager is polite, firm and impersonal. The heavy play goes right on for the next race. Louis, crying and complaining as if it were his $20,000 which went glimmering, leads him out into the street. The outside air only intensifies the terrible feeling of loss and despair in Mr. Bates’ heart. To him money is a sacred thing. This is terrible.

Outside on the street they meet Charley. He looks tired and worried. He is nervous and distraught. He listens absently to the tale of woe. “Yes, that is terrible,” he agrees. “But right now I am in terrible trouble myself. The Western Union detectives have been investigating the delay in race results and I’ll be lucky if I only lose my job. If they pin anything on me, I’ll go to prison. Maybe all three of us.”

Mr. Bates hasn’t thought of this angle since Charley first explained the deal to him. Fear now adds its agony to despair. They talk over the possibilities of arrest. Maxwell advises that Bates and Louis leave town as quickly and quietly as possible. They return to the hotel. Louis obligingly gets the time for the next train to Providence. It
leaves at 10:00
P.M.
Mr. Bates, worried, nervous, broken, agrees to take it. Charley promises that, if this thing blows over, he himself will raise enough money to play the game again and will give Mr. Bates all his money back, and some profit to boot. Then he leaves, so that he may not be picked up. Louis draws Mr. Bates aside.

“How much money do you have?” he asks.

Mr. Bates looks in his wallet. “Less than fifty dollars,” he answers. “And I have to pay my hotel bill.”

“Well,” offers Louis, “I have nearly a hundred and fifty. You have had a bad break and I hate to see you stranded. You have been a fine sport to take it the way you do. Here, let me lend you seventy-five to get home on. You can pay it back any time. And remember,” he adds, “our auditors will be at your place next week. Then I’ll have everything in good shape at this end and well close the deal.”

Mr. Bates takes the money which is pressed on him. He is surprised. Louis is a pretty nice fellow after all. He is ashamed of the way he has felt about him recently. Still in a daze, he shakes the proffered hand and Louis departs. “I’ll be back about nine-thirty,” he says, “to see that you get to the train safely. Wait for me in the lobby.”

From now on, it is up to a local tailer to keep close tab on Mr. Bates to see what he may do, reporting any tendency he may show to consult the police. Mr. Maxwell may have him paged to the telephone and continue the cooling process by ’phone. The tailer watches closely; if, after this conversation Mr. Bates consults the house detective or a detective he has stationed in the lobby, the tailer reports immediately to Maxwell, who puts the machinery of the fix into operation. Or, Louis may deliberately delay his arrival at the hotel to see his victim off. As the time for departure approaches and Louis fails to appear, Mr. Bates may get nervous and make a ’phone call to the police, or consult a detective already stationed in
the hotel. The tailer can predict the mark’s reactions with a good deal of accuracy, for he has had ample opportunity to study at first hand the psychology of the trimmed mark.

Just before ten, at the tailer’s signal, Louis appears with a good excuse for lateness, bundles Mr. Bates carefully into a cab, hurries him to the station, buys his ticket for Providence, and puts him on the train. He waits solicitously until the train pulls out.

As soon as the mark is safely on his way, Mr. Maxwell meets his roper, the manager and the boost at the hangout. He is a meticulous bookkeeper. He gives each one a plain envelope containing his share of the score, and drops a word about an appointment for eleven-thirty on Wednesday. And so the big store goes on.

There is one fundamental weakness in the wire; the victim must furnish his own money.

Like the wire, the pay-off sprang from a humble beginning. It came as a bright idea to two hungry race-track touts in the city of Seattle. Their names were Hazel and Abbot. They seem to have been ingenious touts, for they are credited by their contemporaries with being the first to advertise in the newspapers for clients. Even so, money was tight in 1906.

A contemporary who knew them well and himself had a finger in the early development of the pay-off says that Abbot gave him the following version of the inception of the greatest of all confidence games.

The touts had been working the race-track at Seattle and were very discouraged because they could hardly make a living. “This touting is a dud,” said Hazel. “We’ve
got to get something new or we’ll starve to death. The fans are getting hep to this old racket. I’ve been thinking that if we gave a mark a horse and then paid him off after the horse won, it would convince him that we were in the know.”