Werewolves - Chapter 6

Jon spent the next morning nursing his hangover and kicking himself. He didn’t particularly care that he had lost the $400 to Martin, it was the way that he lost it. As the booze worked its way out of his system and his brain began functioning again, he realized that something did not quite add up. Jon was willing to believe in coincidence, he knew all too well how random events could appear to be quite ordered, but sometimes the odds were so long that you couldn’t help wondering if there was some hidden force working behind the scenes.

Jon reviewed the previous day’s events in his mind. He loses money to Martin at the poker game. Martin just happens to run into him at the hotel bar. He follows Martin to the other bar where Martin just happens to know the waitress and two of the girls at the bar. Martin is able to, within minutes, convince an attractive woman half his age to leave the bar alone with him. A very unlikely sequence of events. Definitely worth looking into.

After a hearty lunch that settled his stomach and eased the throbbing in his temples, Jon went shopping. He bought a straw hat, large sunglasses, and a shirt bright enough that it could be seen by a mole rat. He hung out in his hotel room the rest of the day then realized he’d gotten an awful disguise. So he raided the suitcase he hadn’t opened yet and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and a ball cap. As far as he could tell, only locals had the ability to wear long sleeves during the warm nights without dying. He pulled the cap low so shadows covered his eyes. He looked in the mirror and for once felt like he wouldn’t stick out like a Weddell seal in a pod of orcas.

Once the sun set, Jon found his way back to the bar Martin had taken him to the night before. He found a stool with a decent view of the place, tried not to sweat to death, and ordered a beer. He sipped the beer slowly, tried not to stare at Tatiana, and wondered if he was wasting his time.

Well, he knew he was wasting his time. That was the whole point of his trip to St. Maarten. He had to figure out what to do with his life. He knew he didn’t want to spend it trapped behind a desk. He imagined most people felt that way, but they ended up doing it anyway. But he wasn’t most people. He supposed he should try to be modest, but what was the point? He was a borderline genius. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to do. So how the hell did he end up on Wall Street? Or even with a math degree from MIT? Those aren’t things he ever wanted as a kid. When he was young, he wanted to be an archaeologist or an architect or an artist or a pirate, ar. Or so many other things. What had gone wrong? The truth was, well, the truth was that he was afraid of the truth. There are certain things no one likes to admit about themselves. The truth was that he was weak and lazy and afraid. In high school, when he began showing his aptitude for math and science, his teachers started pushing him down a certain road that led, well, not to a bad place, just to a place he didn’t really want to go. He might have been good at math, but it wasn’t really his passion. But he wasn’t strong enough to stand up for himself and say that he wanted to do something else - the road he was on was too easy and had a secure destination at the end of it, and he was afraid of the uncertainty of what might happen if he were to veer off it. Of course the one thing that was never considered by anyone, including Jon, was: What would make him happy? The other frightening truth was that he didn’t know. So now he was left pondering that question in a bar in the Caribbean, sipping on a Heineken, and waiting for something to happen.

 And it was a couple hours before something happened. Famke and Marijke walked in and took the same seats at the bar they had the night before. After another hour Martin walked in with a man Jon had never seen before. Martin took his new friend to the same table and Tatiana took their order. A few minutes later the new guy went up to the bar and started talking to Famke. Then Martin left the bar with Marijke and the new guy handed Martin a wad of bills. The new guy left shortly thereafter, leaving Famke at the bar alone. Jon went over and sat down next to her.

“Hallo, hoe gaat het?” he said.

“Uitstekend,” Famke said. “En met jou?”

“Sorry,” Jon said, “that’s all the Dutch I know.” He turned so she could see his face.

It took her a second to recognize him. “Goddamnit,” she said.

“So do you guys do this every night?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So how much does Martin pay you?”

“You must be crazy.” Famke turned away from him.

Jon grabbed her arm. “Maybe,” he said, “but I think that every night Martin takes some sucker like me here and bets him that he can go home with one of you first. I bet he always wins. Let me know if I’m getting close.”

Famke shook her arm free. “I’m done talking to you.”

Jon raised his hands. “Okay, but I’ll be back tomorrow night. If I see the same thing again, it might look a little suspicious.” He stood up. “See you later.”

This time, Famke grabbed his arm. “Wait a second. Maybe we can talk about it a little more.”

Jon sat back down. “All right.”

“So what do you want? Your money back?”

“No, I actually don’t give a shit about that.”

Famke ran the back of her finger up and down Jon’s arm. “Something else?”

“Always, but in this case I had something else in mind.”

“Then what?”

“Look, my life is boring as hell. I just want a little excitement.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what I just offered you.”

“I’m looking for a different kind of excitement.”

“Like what?”

Jon leaned closer to her. “Let me tell you.”

*

After Jon left the bar, he went back to his hotel room. His deal with Famke had wiped out half of what was left in his bank account. He could afford a few more nights in the hotel, and then maybe a plane ticket home. If this didn’t work out the way he hoped, he might have to move back in with his parents. Not that that would have been as bad as it seemed to him. Sometimes Jon thought, as only one who has never truly suffered could possibly think, that he would’ve been better off if his childhood had been a little rougher. He would have worked harder and appreciated what he had more. Or so he liked to think. Of course, whenever Jon thought this, he would then immediately think how ridiculous it was, another attempt to blame someone else for his own problems, problems that would have been referred to by Roberto and Efraim, his freshman roommates and best friends at MIT, as ‘white people problems.’

“A problem,” Roberto would say, “is when an old lady gets mauled by a pit bull, and the cops and paramedics don’t show up for an hour.” Or, as Ephraim might say, mostly in jest, “Kill, kill, kill the white motherfuckers.” That had been an interesting living situation to say the least. In retrospect, Jon would have to say that when he arrived at MIT, he was more prejudiced than he would’ve liked to admit. After the housing lottery, and he realized he’d be living with a Dominican from the South Bronx and a Tanzanian Muslim from Queens, he had been a little apprehensive. In reality, it turned out to be one of the best things for him. They had one very important thing in common: they all had the same favorite sport, hockey. Yeah that’s right, Roberto and Efraim were both huge Rangers fans. That alone showed Jon how easily stereotypes and prejudices could be confounded. In fact, Roberto and Efraim’s favorite way of joking with Jon seemed to be trying to bait him into calling them racial slurs, and they both seemed to be greatly amused when he refused to do so.

At any rate, if his roommates had taught him anything, it was to not take his problems so seriously since in the grand scheme of things, they hardly qualified as such. If his biggest problem was that he had trouble figuring out what to do with his life because making lots of money on Wall Street wasn’t exciting enough, well… yeah, not a problem really. Still, Jon was having trouble keeping things in perspective. He always did.

He sighed, turned out the light, and tried to go to sleep. As difficult as that was in a Caribbean paradise.

*

Jon woke up the next morning feeling better. His most depressing thoughts usually hit him when he was tired so they were all but forgotten with the sunshine. He spent the day at the beach trying not to think about anything and did a fair job of it.

That night he went back to the bar to carry out his plan. It was like déjà vu. He ordered a beer, and Famke and Marijke walked in and sat at the other end of the bar. A bit later Martin walked in with his new mark and they took Tatiana’s table in the corner. The mark walked up to the girls. Everything was the same as it was the previous night. Only this time both girls left with the mark and the mark left with the money. Martin and Jon were both left smiling. Only Jon’s smile was genuine. Once the girls left, Martin’s face turned into a scowl.

Jon walked up to him and patted him on the back. “Well that sucks. I guess you win some and you lose some.”

Martin looked over at Jon. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Goddamnit. You had something to do with this, didn’t you?”

Jon shrugged. “I guess I pay better than you do. Don’t worry, they’ll be back to work for you tomorrow night.”

“Fantastic.”

“You look like you’re having a rough night. Let me buy you a drink.”

Martin shook his head. “Why the hell not?”

They sat down at Martin’s table and Tatiana came by and took their order.

Martin sighed. He pulled a poker chip out of his pocket and began moving it with his knuckles between his fingers. He nodded towards Tatiana. “It’s her fault you know. She’s clouding my mind. Before I met her, I would have sniffed this out in two seconds. I knew Famke was acting funny last night. But good for you. I’ve run this scam dozens of times and this is the first time anyone caught onto it. There’s one thing I don’t get though.”

“What?”

“If you paid the girls enough to turn on me, you must have burned a hole in your pocket. Sure, I looked like an idiot, but it cost you. Why not try to get your money back?”

“I’m bored. This was more fun. I don’t give a shit about the money anyway.”

“Fun, huh?” Martin nodded. “Conning the conman. Yeah, I guess it would be.”

 “But now it’s back home for me. I’m almost out of money. Time to turn over a new leaf. Start over. A brand new day.”

“Yeah, I get it, you’re a walking cliché. But you’re a smart kid. You’ll figure something out.” Then Martin’s eyes grew bright. “Yeah, you are a smart kid. And it is time for you to start over, but what if you didn’t have to go home?”

“What are you talking about?”

Martin rubbed his goatee between a thumb and a forefinger, and gave Jon an appraising look. “You’re a little young and you’re not as good-looking as me, but I can work with it.”

“What?”

“How’d you like to work for me, kid?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll teach you the tricks of the trade. You could be my protégé. Yeah, my protégé. I like the sound of that. Yeah, yeah, this could work. What do you say?”

Jon scratched his head, and pretended to not be excited. He’d always secretly wanted to be a conman. He’d seen one too many con and heist movies as a kid. “Okay, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You want me to train with you to be a conman?”

“I prefer the term grifter, but yeah.” He started flipping the poker chip into the air with his thumb.

“Well, I mean, you’re not a very good grifter, are you? I caught onto you pretty quick.” But the whole thing was ridiculous wasn’t it. Could he even trust Martin?

It was then that Tatiana brought their drinks over. After she left, Martin said, “I swear to God it’s her. She’s making me sloppy. Look, my game might be off right now, but there’s a ton I know that you don’t. And I’m not talking little scams either, I’m talking about the big time.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.” Jon was actually pretty sure he couldn’t trust Martin, but did that really matter? What did he have to lose? He was almost out of money. He had no job, nothing to tie him down. No matter what happened, it had to be more exciting than going home.

“I’m serious kid,” Martin said. “There’s a woman who’s vacationing in St. Maarten for the next few months. Her husbands’s worth nine figures. California marriage. Made all his money after they married. Now obviously, he does everything in his power to keep her happy, but he’s away on business. It was my plan to drive a wedge between them, but I haven’t been able to focus. I’ve already done all the research, all the set up. I just need you to go in there and sweep her off her feet.”

“So all I have to do is seduce an older woman and convince her to give me all her money?” Jon laughed. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy for the job.”

“Hey, I was about your age when I started out. I know it’s a little daunting at first, but you’d be surprised how easy it is.”

“Really?”

Martin put his elbows on the table and leaned over. “Kid, all women are easy if you know what you’re doing. You just give them what they want.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah. But how do you figure out that out?”

Martin grinned. “Okay, that’s the tricky part. But it’s easier done than said. You just have to develop a feel for it. That’s where I come in. I can pass along my years of knowledge and expertise. You know, like Cyrano.”

“That rhymes.”

Martin leaned back and took a long look at Jon. “You’re right. This isn’t going to be easy. Maybe we ought to start you off on something you can handle.” Martin scratched his chin with the chip. “You ever hear of the fiddle game?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s when you convince someone something is worth more than it really is. The classic example is you take a fiddle into a restaurant, pretend you can’t pay the bill, and leave the fiddle behind as collateral while you go look for your wallet. In the meantime-”

“Oh, OK,” Jon cut in, “I know what you mean. I read about it once. You leave the violin behind and then someone else comes in, claims it’s worth a bunch of money and leaves a card behind so the owner can contact him about it. If the restaurant owner’s greedy, he offers to buy the violin from you for much less than he thinks it’s worth, but much more than it’s actually worth. Right?”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, that’s it actually. Maybe this isn’t hopeless. How about black money?”

“Huh?”

“You take some black construction paper, cut it and bundle it so it looks like stacks of money. You find a mark and tell him that you got all this money, but it’s been dyed black so that you could smuggle it from one place to another. So you need a special chemical to rinse the bills off but you don’t have any money to buy it. You ask them for some cash to buy the chemical in return for a cut of the profits.”

“And that works?”

“Well not just like that. You’ve got to do some convincing first. Sometimes a little sleight of hand will do the trick, or if you really want to get into it, you just need a little Elmer’s glue, some iodine, and a few vitamin C tablets.”

“What?”

“Trust me, it can be done. And then there’s the pigeon drop. Like in The Sting.”

“Is that the one at the beginning? I love that movie.” Jon used to watch The Sting with his father all the time when he was growing up. It was one of those movies that whenever it came on TV they would stop flipping through the channels. Jon loved the soundtrack, especially that old Joplin rag that was the main theme.

“Yeah,” Martin said, reacting to Jon’s enthusiasm with skepticism. He stood the poker chip on edge and flicked it with his finger so it started spinning across the table and as it lost its angular momentum it began to wobble and fell down in front of Jon.

Jon picked up the chip and looked at it. It was just a chip. He put it back down on the table and slid it over to Martin. Martin didn’t touch it. “Hmm,” Jon said, “I notice that all these scams require the person you’re conning to be greedy.”

“Well, mostly, sure. You usually can’t con an honest john.”

“Ohhh,” Jon said, “So that’s what that song’s about.”

“What song?”

“‘Can’t Con an Honest John.’”

Martin shrugged. “Never heard it.”

“By The Streets?”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“I guess you wouldn’t have. Let me guess, you listen to the Stones.”

“I love the Rolling Stones.”

Jon suppressed a laugh. “Yeah, you would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re old.”

Martin grinned. “I prefer to be called experienced.”

“Yeah, that’s just another word for old.”

“Screw you, kid,” Martin said, but he shook his head and chuckled.

“So when do you want to start?” Jon asked. This wasn’t the best idea he ever had, but it sure was going to be interesting.

“Start what?”

“Showing me the ropes.”

“I already have.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Check your wallet.”

Jon pulled his wallet out of his pocket and opened it. A small card fell out.

“Call me at that number tomorrow night,” Martin said. He slid out of the booth and stood up. “See you later. And thanks for the beer.”

Martin walked out of bar and Jon sat looking at the card. The phone number was the only thing printed on it. Then he looked at the chip on the middle of the table. He finished his beer in one pull and left money on the table for Tatiana. As he got up to leave, he palmed the chip and slipped it into his pocket. Jon smiled. At the very least, this was going to be interesting.