I toss my keys to the half-a-fag valet and make my way into the hotel. Cal's been waiting for me all day and I can care less. Mel's stupid jungle-loving ass calls me up a few ticks back giving me the litany on Cal and his waiting as if I should give a shit. I had to put Mel in check as I have so many times in the past. This is MY FISH, and I'll rope the fucker MY WAY. And that's why Mel is busy blowing his wad on Oxy and Nigger-chicks... he's an idiot. He couldn't grasp in a thousand years why I would string along a potential mark for as long as I did Cal today. He doesn't see the angles... I (for instance) am a chess player, Mel's lucky to be a checkers guy at best. I can see four-to-five moves ahead at all times...
For instance the Cal situation...
I know that by making Cal sweat for a few hours, I'll be able to judge exactly what kind of fish I'm dealing with. If he sits it out and waits for my arrive, then he's a pushover and I can start roping him on the ASAP. If he gets up and walks after thirty, then I know this guy thinks I need him more than he needs me; which makes me switch up the game-plan.
I've had all kinds, but in this case (as I approach the bar) I can see Cal's one of the pushovers. After stiffing him for over three hours he's still sitting there at my table. He notices me on the approach and shoots me the thumbs-up. By the looks of his facial expressions and the empty glasses on the table I'm getting the feeling Cal dumped half the fucking bar into his stomach while waiting for me.
I'm semi-irritated that he's sitting at my table and milking the bar but I let it go... keeping in mind how much I'm going to take this daddies-boy bullshit artist for allows a lot of room for annoyance.
I take a seat at the table while ignoring whatever the fuck Cal's saying to me. I need to be spared with the how-you-do's right now. Just looking at this guy makes me want a stiff drink down the throat on the ASAP.
I snap my fingers at the waitresses direction and call out the word, "nurse". She blushes, thinks it's cute (possibly me too), and asks what I'll be having. I tell her New Castle, two of them. She nods and walks away. I look at her ass - wouldn't mind cupping it between the sheets - maybe if Cal doesn't get on my nerves too much, I think to myself, I may just stick around and try to earn myself a much needed bed-mate.
I'm wandering off in my mind thinking of fucking the waitress and then remembering fucking Sonya and then wondering how hard it would be to convince both Sonya and the waitress to fuck each other while letting me watch...
My fantasy suddenly comes to a halt the moment I realize Cal's been talking this entire time. As I watch his drunken lips go up and down I feel myself overwhelmed with the urge to just punch the lame-o-fuck right in the lip and take his wallet. Not that I'm a violent man, in fact I despise violence and the meat-heads that practice it. But at the same time, as much as I may hate on a given day, I really don't think I've ever met a person I hate more than this Cal cat in my entire life... and the fucked thing is I don't even know this guy... or why I hate him for that matter...
"... and that's why I thought maybe it was traffic or something", Cal says, pulling me from my train of thought.
"What?" I ask in a manner that should show just how much this fucking asshole annoys me.
"I was just saying..." He offers timidly, then says after a pause, "Well you're a few hours late... So I uh, you know, assumed you hit traffic or something."
"Yeah, Traffic or whatever... you know LA." I say as I light up my last Lucky Strike.
"Oh you don't have to tell me about the traffic..." he offers uncomfortably, then says, "You know, speaking of California, I don't think you're supposed to smoke inside."
I look at the moron for what seems like forever. He's sweating bullets - afraid I may be pissed at him or something along those lines. I can't help but to think to myself how easy this guy is going to be to rope. A real mommy's-boy type of cat. Fresh meat all the way.
I ash my Lucky Strike into one of his glasses and finally respond to his lame-o question, "Yeah I know, but it's cool here. They know me." I blow a cloud of smoke into his face as he forces a bullshit "cool dude" of type smile.
"That's awesome man. You must have a lot of pull around here then..." He sucks up.
"I guess you could say that..." I want to say something cool but can't find the words so I take another drag from my Lucky and put it out in another one of Cal's cups that I think he was actually drinking out of. The funny thing is, what Cal will never know, is I don't have any pull in this place - none whatsoever. In fact, nine-out-of-ten of these rich pricks would love nothing more than to come up to my blue-collar ass and rip the cigarette out of my mouth but they don't... not even the fuckers that own the joint... and you know why? Because they don't know who I MAY BE...
That's the beauty of this town and the key to survival... act as if.
Act as if you fucking own the joint. Act as if you're a hot-shit producer's kid with a trust fund that can limp out the biggest dick in Dubai. Act as if whatever you may choose, just act it well.
In reality I'm a blue-collar boy from the other-side of the tracks grinding it out in a rich man's world. But they don't know that. For all these fucks know I'm from the Rockefeller Bloodline... and I'll let them keep thinking that. From the busboys all the way up, all of them are thinking to themselves "if this kid's smoking he must have pull", when the truth of the matter is I'm nothing... just a boy who never grew up and never stopped playing make-believe...
Somehow I've been drinking a New Castle I don't remember arriving and Cal's been talking about some chick he fucked or some person he met at a party or something like that and I realize I must have zoned out again. I could easily pretend for Cal's sake that I've been listening all this time but I realize he's not worth the effort so I simply ask him in the most annoyed tone I can muster, "What the fuck are you talking about?".
He pauses for a beat, probably offended but I can care less, and then pathetically says, "I was just telling a story... you know, about the party the other night."
"That party was full of shit and I wager your story is too. Spare me with it okay? I've had a cunt of a day."
Cal's eyes float around the restaurant. He doesn't know how to respond. I swear the guy is like a broad. I get tired of all the pussy-footing around so I step to the plate and say, "I don't mean any disrespect, but we are here for business after all, aren't we? So lets talk some business. I don't have all fucking night."
Cal puts on a "music-to-his-ears smile" and says, "I hear you" then after a small beat he asks, "So how does this work?"
"It's all pretty cut-and-dry. I've got a guy back home in Chicago that can get me almost any type of electronic good on the market at bottom-rate prices. We prefer Macbooks because they move fast and don't give us any trouble in the re-route process." I say as I have to so many people like Cal in the past.
"What's a re-route process?" He interrupts.
"It's something you don't have to worry about. Bottom-line is we can pretty much handle any order you need. But I'm not looking to get fucked without a reach-over, if you know what I mean? We'll start with a test run, something around five to ten. If all goes fine, we can go bigger."
"How much bigger?" He asks, feeding right into my grift without any problems.
"It depends. A, how big are you looking to go? And B, can you afford it?"
"Well that depends too? How much per?"
I know I don't want to blow this grift before it gets started on account of greed. That's where the talent comes in; each fish is different and it's up to the con to decide exactly how much they can rope. The whole point of this con is I get them wet at cost the first time, and then on the second order I stiff them completely for ten times the amount of the first order. Cal looks like he can handle some heavy green but I don't want to blow my load too fast so I ask, "Well how much are you looking to go per unit?"
"If you can get black Macbooks I'm looking to pay around a grand per". He says with much more confidence than he had presented when we first met.
"A grand per is fine with me for the first order if you can lock into five."
"I can put that together." He says with a smug-fuck smile.
"Okay, well at 1K per I'm gonna need you to commit to at least ten for the second order."
"That's right around where I wanted to be anyway..."
"And after the second, can I expect a third?"
"That all really depends on how the first two go." He says as if he actually believes he's in control.
"Fair enough" I say as I can almost feel my cock getting harder and harder. There will never be a third order anyway, that's just something I say to all the fish... and this fish was the easiest to rope to date. When this is all said and done I'll have made an easy ten-grand off this Daddy's boy fuck without lifting a finger. Not bad for a week’s work.
Step one, get the money. Step two, invest with one of my Credit Card cats and get the computers at a few hundred less than a grand per. Step three, come through - if the fish walks then, I still have a grand profit for my time. Step four (my favorite) set up another deal, take the money, and never come through.
It's an easy scam. A cake-walk...
And this kid is perfect for it.
"Alright" I say, "Get together the five for the first batch and we'll exchange cash for product on the spot so there's no trust issues. Then, if all goes well, we'll talk about round two."
"Round two is what I'm waiting for" He says.
"Yeah" I say, then smile, "I know".
He smiles. Raises his glass.
I smile back. Raise mine.
Another fish on the line. Another day at the office. Cal has a look about him that suggest he's thinking behind those full-of-shit eyes of him that he's taken advantage of another sucker in the City of Angels. I know better.
If he could read my smile he would know that mine comes from relief... A smile born from the death of the hustle...
I'm tired. I've been at this game for too long. And I don't think I have another one in me...
It's been the same song sang wrong, "I'm gonna pull this last one. Save the cash. And work on my writing"... yet somewhere along the line life gets in the way and I end up blowing the money on ways to forget how many times I've fucked up in this life of mine... and how many people I've ruined in the process...
I can't count it on ten hands...
But this time will be different. This time I'm going to finally walk away from it all clean. With what I have put away added to what I'll be able to fleece from Cal, I'll have enough to do nothing but write and focus on my dreams for two or three years.
To this daddy's boy motherfuck this is all business...
To me, Cal's helping me start the first day of the rest of my life.
