Anyone could be conned. Anyone. What: Trying to get a little cash When: Current Where: A busy street corner
Anyone could be conned. Anyone. Jamie knew this, he just really wished he had a partner to pull it off with. That guy over there... over dressed. Over confidant. He could pull him into a found money wad scam with a second person. Bundle of money, equally thick bundle of blank paper, a partner to swap out the money for the paper. That guy looked loaded, he could throw down a hundred easily to ensure that he would not take off with the bundle of "money," which would already have been switched out for blank paper. He looked too sure of himself to think he could ever be scammed. It would've been perfect.
But here was Jamie, severely lacking in a partner and stuck conning people with the shell game. Jamie hated the shell game. Sure he was good at it, but that didn't mean he enjoyed doing it. It was high risk, if anyone in the crowd got agitated and made a grab for him before he could replace the ball, he was boned. It was low money, it was a freaking miracle if people put in as much as fifty bucks to the pot. Fortunately, Jamie was a showman and was willing to "lose" a few bucks in order to build confidence of his audience to make them more willing to throw in more money.
It was slow and bothersome effort, but Jamie had managed to con about three hundred in an hour or two. High work and low yield, but better than nothing, he reminded himself. He skillfully moved the shells about, rolling the little rubber ball that people were to watch for into his sleeve so no matter what they picked it was not there. Using a quick lift, bump and roll method, he made it reappear under a different shell to show why they had lost. It was all going great, Jamie was quick and cunning and while not a master of slight of hand, he was pretty good. Pretty damn good, he smirked to himself mentally.
That, of course, was his damning thought.
"Hey!" A cop who clearly had nothing better to do came wandering around the corner. Maybe one of the losers had been sore and tipped him off. Maybe he was just suffering from doughnut withdrawal. Either way, the guy was clearly looking to bring Jamie trouble. "You have a permit to be here?" The guy was already reaching for his nightstick and eying the mound of bills on Jamie's little crate serving as a table. Green eyes flicked to the cop, down to the bills, then back to the cop.
They both knew it was on.
Gritting his teeth, Jamie closed a fist around the fattest part of the pile of bills, kicked the crate aside, sending shells, coins and loose bills flying as he darted into the crowd. "Bite me, pig!" Jamie's sharp tongue lashed out without his really meaning to. Why did he keep saying shit that he knew would only get him into trouble? Pocketing the bills as best he could, Jamie shot through people, ducked around corners and eventually scaled a fire escape to hop a fence. He landed on the other side, sure he had sprained an ankle, but there was no way the pudgy cop was going to be able to pursue him now. He still moved as quickly as he could, limping with each step and huffing for air, to lose himself further in the city.
Damn cops. A man had to make a living, didn't he? They just had to spoil all his fun.