Unc? That Pete’s in on the con?”
“He wouldn’t have to be. You trust him, that’s good enough for me. I’m just saying I’d look, that’s all. Maybe there’s a little pigeon drop going on here, too.”
The “pigeon drop” is another classic short con, in which the victim literally winds up holding the bag. The bag is supposed to be full of money, but it turns out to be stuffed with worthless paper. I sighed.
“Couldn’t just one thing be what it looks like?” I said.
“In this sorry old world, probably not much.”
“What about the killing? You figure Evans for it?”
“Could be, but I don’t think so. If he did it, it was a mistake, and he’s trying to pin it on you. But if he’s clean, then he might really think you did it. Either way, you’ve got some running time.”
“How’s that?”
“I figure Evans is in on the con, no matter what. He’ll let you be a wanted man for a while, just to keep you off balance, but he isn’t going to let you go down until the game plays itself out and some money changes hands. If Plan A didn’t work, he’ll go to Plan B or Z, but he won’t give up on it. There’s too much invested at this point, and the gang has its little hearts set on the payoff.”
“Which I’m not going to give them.”
“Are you sure? People who do this for a living are awfully good at it, you know. You might not see the hook until it’s too late. At this point, you probably haven’t even seen all the players.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Well, you can’t turn State’s evidence, because you don’t have any evidence.”
“This is true.”
“So the only thing to do is see another card. Then turn the hook back on the grifters, if you can. If you can’t, at least you might find out who killed the girl, get clear of it yourself.”
“Play the hand I’m dealt? Where have I heard that before?”
“Play the hand out, damn straight. But keep a gun under the table, you hear? This thing is going to get ugly before it’s done.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Murder by automobile is not the professional’s method of choice. It’s a caper with a lot more rage than thought. Believe me, there’s still plenty of it left floating around for you.”
“Okay, so I need a gun.”
“An untraceable gun.”
“Absolutely. Who do I shoot with it?”
“Well, that’s the art of it, you know? If it’s not clear by the time the last card’s turned, you could be in deep shit.”
“You’re just full of good advice today, aren’t you?”
“You remember the story I used to tell about the horse trader in Constantinople?”
A guard was going around the tables, telling people their time was up.
“You mean the one with the little kid who saw…” I began. Uncle Fred motioned to me to cut it off.
“Yeah, that one,” he said. “You keep that one in mind, and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t see how it applies here.”
“Then you’ll just have to find a way to make it apply, won’t you?”
The guard was about to come up and poke one or both of us, so we preempted him by standing up and shaking hands again.
“Twenty miles south of here,” said Uncle Fred, “there’s a little dump of a town, has a diner on Main Street. The house specialty is pecan pie. You ought to stop and try it.”
I didn’t for a minute take that to be a casual suggestion.
“Pecan, you say?”
“That’s the stuff. You got to ask about it. Rosie, the waitress will know.” He gave me another wink and a final squeeze of my hand.
“You take care of yourself.” I stopped myself short of calling him “Unc” in front of the guard.
“Count on it.” He thought for a moment. “Count on it, Mister Sam Hill. And you watch your back.”
Chapter Eight
Pecan Pie at the Last Chance Café
The rush of being on the run and the pleasure of seeing my uncle were long gone by the time I headed the Pontiac back through the blighted lowland, and the road back seemed longer than it
“He wouldn’t have to be. You trust him, that’s good enough for me. I’m just saying I’d look, that’s all. Maybe there’s a little pigeon drop going on here, too.”
The “pigeon drop” is another classic short con, in which the victim literally winds up holding the bag. The bag is supposed to be full of money, but it turns out to be stuffed with worthless paper. I sighed.
“Couldn’t just one thing be what it looks like?” I said.
“In this sorry old world, probably not much.”
“What about the killing? You figure Evans for it?”
“Could be, but I don’t think so. If he did it, it was a mistake, and he’s trying to pin it on you. But if he’s clean, then he might really think you did it. Either way, you’ve got some running time.”
“How’s that?”
“I figure Evans is in on the con, no matter what. He’ll let you be a wanted man for a while, just to keep you off balance, but he isn’t going to let you go down until the game plays itself out and some money changes hands. If Plan A didn’t work, he’ll go to Plan B or Z, but he won’t give up on it. There’s too much invested at this point, and the gang has its little hearts set on the payoff.”
“Which I’m not going to give them.”
“Are you sure? People who do this for a living are awfully good at it, you know. You might not see the hook until it’s too late. At this point, you probably haven’t even seen all the players.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Well, you can’t turn State’s evidence, because you don’t have any evidence.”
“This is true.”
“So the only thing to do is see another card. Then turn the hook back on the grifters, if you can. If you can’t, at least you might find out who killed the girl, get clear of it yourself.”
“Play the hand I’m dealt? Where have I heard that before?”
“Play the hand out, damn straight. But keep a gun under the table, you hear? This thing is going to get ugly before it’s done.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Murder by automobile is not the professional’s method of choice. It’s a caper with a lot more rage than thought. Believe me, there’s still plenty of it left floating around for you.”
“Okay, so I need a gun.”
“An untraceable gun.”
“Absolutely. Who do I shoot with it?”
“Well, that’s the art of it, you know? If it’s not clear by the time the last card’s turned, you could be in deep shit.”
“You’re just full of good advice today, aren’t you?”
“You remember the story I used to tell about the horse trader in Constantinople?”
A guard was going around the tables, telling people their time was up.
“You mean the one with the little kid who saw…” I began. Uncle Fred motioned to me to cut it off.
“Yeah, that one,” he said. “You keep that one in mind, and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t see how it applies here.”
“Then you’ll just have to find a way to make it apply, won’t you?”
The guard was about to come up and poke one or both of us, so we preempted him by standing up and shaking hands again.
“Twenty miles south of here,” said Uncle Fred, “there’s a little dump of a town, has a diner on Main Street. The house specialty is pecan pie. You ought to stop and try it.”
I didn’t for a minute take that to be a casual suggestion.
“Pecan, you say?”
“That’s the stuff. You got to ask about it. Rosie, the waitress will know.” He gave me another wink and a final squeeze of my hand.
“You take care of yourself.” I stopped myself short of calling him “Unc” in front of the guard.
“Count on it.” He thought for a moment. “Count on it, Mister Sam Hill. And you watch your back.”
Chapter Eight
Pecan Pie at the Last Chance Café
The rush of being on the run and the pleasure of seeing my uncle were long gone by the time I headed the Pontiac back through the blighted lowland, and the road back seemed longer than it
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