Chapter 1- The Peepspage Con

It was a normal posh London street but not that busy. There were pedestrians walking to and from the shops not far from a very expensive nesting of houses. One lady was walking down the street, maybe forty years old, bleached blonde hair, spreading around the waist but she still had great legs peaking from below a modest blue dress. In the opposite direction strolled a handsome man in his mid twenties. He was clean shaven, dark black hair and deep brown eyes.
These two strangers were exchanging cheeky glances, him fantasising about a cougar and her about being ravaged by a young hunk once again. It was getting close to the point where they’d cross each others path and just keep on walking, consigning the fantasy to another ‘could have been great’ moment. They smiled and passed without a word being said, only ten seconds later there was a scream.
“Arrgh.” Quickly followed by, “My bag, my bag!”
As the man turned to see what had happened a young black man sprinted past him. Realising that the women, who just moments before he had imagined scrapping her nails down his back in throws of passion, had been mugged his hero instinct kicked in and he pursued the mugger.
“ Oi you, get back here!” He demanded.
The youth turned off down a side street but slipped on the curb and launching himself like a professional rugby player he speared the mugger into a pile of garbage bags. The mugger wriggled free but the heroic and handsome vigilante grabbed the bag. The youth took one look and saw it wasn’t worth the struggle but for good measure kicked the saviour in the face busting his picture perfect cheek wide open. He then turned and speed off before anyone could arrest him.
The grateful women rushed over and nursed the man to his feet.
“Thank you so much.” She said still not able to smile like she wanted to after such a shock. It was a shock and was written on her face.
“Are you ok?” She thought he wasn’t but he mustered some manly pride and offered her bag back.
“Here you go. It’s just a scratch.” He acted like he’d done it before, like it was an everyday occurrence. Well I’ll go grab the milk, pay my bills at the post office, stop a mugger and pop into Branigan’s for lunch.
“Thank you so much. My life is in this bag. I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost it.” She was nice, he was nice but still he couldn’t believe her life was in the bag.
“You must let me reward you.” She said. “Will you take a cheque?”
A cheque he thought. For saving your ‘life’ you’re going to offer me a cheque? He didn’t say this though instead he suggested, “I was just going for lunch, would you like to join me?”
So they did, off to Branigan’s it was. He’d have to pay those bills afterwards. They had a pleasant meal and talked for several hours. She paid the bill and they both left to go home, separately but promising to meet soon. She went home to her husband who was a city banker. He was a millionaire but was never around. He only cared that she looked good on his arm at events.
The saviour though went back to a hotel suit and inside there were five of his friends and a new, very attractive young girl. 
“How did it go?” Asked Paul a man in his mid fifties. Paul was about 5,10” but looked smaller as his hair was visibly thinning.
“Great but I can’t wait to take these contacts out.” Carl replied. Our handsome saviour didn’t wear contacts to see better but alter the colour of his eyes.
“How did the hair dye hold up? No problems I trust.” His girlfriend Stella asked.
“Golden as usual my dear.” He said kissing her, dipping her and sweeping her round in a move he probably stole from a flamenco show he saw as a kid on a holiday to Spain. Stella was a bit younger than Carl who normal showed his true age with his grey hairs dotted among his jet black locks. He had dyed his hair to assist with meeting his mark, the forty year old city banker’s wife.
“’Sup dog.” Donovan said.
“You didn’t need to actually kick me.” Carl said nursing his wound. Donovan had played the mugger in the scam. He was a perfectly believable mugger. He was a young black male and that is the typical media image of a London mugger.
“I did it for effect.” Donovan replied.
“I bladed for effect.” Blade-ing is a technique Carl employed to create a cut. He used a simple blade from a razor and swiped it across himself to create a wound just deep enough to invoke sympathy but not too deep to leave a scar. It was a natural fit with the mugging scam and showed the mark that he really struggled to be their saviour.
“It worked didn’t it?” Donovan said.
“I guess so.” Carl conceded. “Good job.”
The other members of this con-artist crew were Angie, the de facto leader, a 50 year old (ish) short woman with grey hair and the build of secondary school dinner lady and Trevor, a rather burly looking man in his late thirties. Trevor was well over 6 foot tall, stocky and a skin head. In short he wasn’t to be messed with, well he didn’t look like it anyway.
Joining them was unofficial crew member and apprentice Donovan who they affectionately monikered ‘Famulus’. Paul did anyway in reference to a servant or assistant in Latin. Paul had spent a few years behind bars and spent his time inside reading. It served him well and he retained a lot of what he learnt but not everyone appreciated him spouting his knowledge at every opportunity.
“This is my cousin Chantelle.” Donovan said introducing a slim, athletic but very young looking girl. She had a mysterious look about her, maybe Asian, maybe Hawaiian, who knew?
“Hello everybody.” She said coyly.
The group said hello back.
“I thought she could help us out on the mugger scam.”
“No Donovan.” Angie said firmly.
“We already have Stella for that.” Carl said.
“And Angie too.” Trevor said. Trevor had been the saviour before and Angie had played the victim when the role was reversed. She had handed that role down to the younger and more pert Stella now, like many other roles in different cons it called for a young attractive women. Chantelle would be perfect in a few years but now she looked too young, too innocent.
“Sorry honey.” Angie said. “Maybe we could use you in a few years time.”
She got up and put her coat back on. Donovan walked out with her.
“Famulus!” Trevor shouted. “Don’t forget about tomorrow’s job.”
Tomorrow was another mark. A guy called Marcus and Stella would play the victim, Donovan the robber again and this time the mark, Marcus would be her saviour. Even heroes aren’t safe from scam artists.

While Carl gets to play it cool and wait three days for his follow up second date Stella the victim has to push hard and follow up with her second date the next day or her ‘saviour’ might lose interest. The big plan hinged on all three marks being primed on one day for the payoff. If they weren’t all in play then the chance to con them was gone.
It all seemed so simple, so logical but many mishaps could happen along the way. The group were hoping for only one of the marks to see the con through and net them the cash. If all three came off it would be a huge payday. They had learnt over the years it was a numbers game. They also knew that they could have to up sticks and move at any moment losing everything they were working on. They also knew that the money they bounced between accounts could be seized, lost or even stolen. They were on the wrong side of the law and had nowhere to go when things went wrong.
They all dreamed of getting away from the life. Trevor wanted a club in Spain, Carl wanted to spend more time coaching kids sports and Stella wanted to spend her days shopping in Italy. Paul and Angie had given up such dreams, they’d had too many set backs. They just wanted to have a nice little nest egg to see them through to their dying days. They were having a good run and were getting to the point that retirement was a serious option. A few more months and they’d be done.
Carl never wanted the life but the hours gave him time to devout to coaching and Stella just loved the life style. They all justified it in there own way and worried about Donovan’s attitude. Donovan didn’t care, he seemed to get a kick out of conning people and that was a dangerous thing in their game.
He bounced down the street readying himself to steal Stella’s little handbag. They had practised this quite a few times and even though it was the first ‘live’ run they were both confident it would go well.
“Oh no!” Stella squealed as Donovan made off with her bag.
“Come back here.” Marcus shouted as he began his pursuit.
Donovan was too quick and had to do a fake fall which in retrospect was horribly staged but allowed Marcus to catch up to him.
“Got you.” Marcus exclaimed out of breath.
Donovan lay below him and he saw Stella approaching. Marcus went for Donovan rather than the bag. Donovan improvised and hit Marcus with the bag then for a second time slow enough so he could grab it, Donovan could let go and the con could proceed.
“Oh thank you sir.” Stella said.
Donovan made his escape and Marcus stayed around to collect his reward letting the chancer live to fight another day.
“He got away but I got your bag.” Marcus said still panting.
“You are so brave.” Stella said stroking his bicep.
“Just a normal guy.” He said modestly. “Are you ok though?” He followed up caringly.
“Now I am.” She said tilting her head to the side. “My life is in this bag.” Carl had told her what his mark had said and she thought it was a good line even if he didn’t.
“Well am glad I could save it for you then.” He smiled and offered his hand to her. “Marcus, Marcus De Viers.”
“Well Mr. De Viers please let me buy you lunch as a thank you.”
“No need. A good deed needs no reward.” He said soon followed up by. “But you could do me the honour of allowing me to buy you a drink.”
“It would be my pleasure.” She said.
They went off to a local bar and she told Marcus about her big deal but stopped short and said that she shouldn’t talk about it until the ink was dry. He nodded and said he understood, he didn’t want to talk business but he dropped many hints that he was a successful man.
“We have exchanged dictatorships for democracy,” He said trying to sound like a knowledgeable, charitable man, he really was but he wanted to sound like it too. “The factory for the call centre and the plague for obesity.” Stella just nodded and indulged him with more and more wonderful smiles. “We still have problems and as much individual political power as ever, we still have problems. Nothing has really changed.”
He was working himself up about this situation, he wanted to show that he cared. Stella didn’t care, she just kept on nodding like there was something wrong with her neck.
“We encourage consensus and happily repeat post modern mantras as if we were singing hymns in Church. We are not a new breed, we just like to think so and once you acknowledge the inevitability of your enslavement to the system the sooner you can forget about it and begin to be ignorantly happy.” He didn’t want to go on another rant, he was more interested in her and her private life.
She told him how she was single but looking. “It’s hard in this city to find a real gentleman anymore. You have to get mugged to find one these days.” She blushed on cue and touched his hand.
“Thank you. Look I have to shoot off right now but maybe I could take you out for dinner sometime?” Perfect she thought.
“Tomorrow would be good.” She suggested.
“Tomorrow it is then Jenny.” Jenny was Stella’s secret identity. She thought it sounded sexy, like a Playboy bunny or something.
“I look forward to it Marcus, my own personal Superman.”
“Ok then.” He said kissing her on the cheek and taking his leave.
‘Every individual has a responsibility to try and solve their own problems, seek knowledge from those who have it but do not suffer without attempting to overcome your suffering, success begins with overcoming a hardship not giving up when one is met.’
This was written on the inside of a brain crisp. They were the latest wacky nibbles to invade the capital. It cost about a quid and was like a big fortune cookie but it was a crisp and had normal crisp flavours. Marcus had bought a pack of plain and Stella thought that it summed him up a plain crisp, vanilla, no action, no fuss kind of guy.
She reported back to the crew that the mission was a great success and her second mark went just as well, still Stella had an attack of morals. The whole con looked good but there was still work to be done and not just on the mugger con they had another con finishing up.
“Maybe Marcus isn’t right for the con.” Stella said feeling guilty about her vanilla hero. “Maybe he is just misled.”
“Ha ha,” Angie laughed, “The people are only misled? Never! They are corrupted completely and we are showing them the way back from corruption.”
She almost believed this. It didn’t matter if she believed it, she used it as her justification, her moral compass. They all had their little stories that made it easier for them to do what they loved to do. Everyone does, justification, rationalisation, it’s all part of adult life. When honesty isn’t enough we use other tools and that is fine, it’s accepted by everyone.

Carl arrived at the bar where the other con which was now it its wrap up stage was set to take place. He had with him a lady who was looking to buy rights to some Shakespeare play and change it into a movie.
“Ok so am offering you 2 virgate’s. Now that is half a hide because a hide is 4 virgate’s.” Paul said with an authority which made her look to her Carl for well, understanding or anything.
“This is our man.” He said as Paul stood and shook his hand continuing his pretend phone conversation.
“Yes. I know we’ll sign the papers tomorrow. I have gotta go I have a meeting.” Paul said putting his mobile down. “Sorry about that but am a busy man lots of deals. John Stevens.” He said offering his hand to the lady.
“Margaret Steinbeck.” She said sitting down in a grand red leather chair.
“Where is this woman then?” Carl said. He would be Tommy for the purpose of today’s con.
“Calm down Tommy she’ll be here. Have you told the lovely Mrs. Steinbeck about the other options I have for her?” Paul asked.
“We are only interested in this deal mate.”
“No.” Margaret interrupted putting her hand on Tommy’s forearm. “He hasn’t please tell me more.” Then smiling coyly she added. “It’s Miss Steinbeck too.”
“Look the Shakespeare stuff is just one thing I have at the moment but as big as the potential is for that I have some other huge things too.”
This con was really a simple one. The gang knew that after an author died and seventy years or so had passed their work became what’s known as ‘public domain’. This meant that the characters and story could be retold by anyone. It is why you see so many rip offs of The Bible, A Christmas Carol and other such stories. The only problem was that you must stay faithful to the original and not use Disney’s Cinderella. You could use Cinderella but not if it was the Disney incarnation, only based on the original.
The con was just that they’d sell the mark the right to reproduce the story in their own words or the ability to use the characters.
“I have options on a few things by the great Sherlock Holmes writer Sir Arthur Conan  Doyle if your interested.”
“Oh please tell me more.” She said putting her head in her hands and resting her elbows on the table. “Tommy why didn’t you tell me about these things?” She never looked at Carl/Tommy so Paul/John continued his spiel.
“Well I have three things, sets that is that might be useful.” Paul took a swing of whiskey and called over the waiter he ordered another whiskey, Ms. Steinbeck ordered a wine and Carl ordered a brandy. All very sheik but then again the place called for a little spending and up scale theatre.
“Well one of the things is a short story.” He stopped lit his cigar and started again. “You want to make a movie don’t you?”
“I do, I do indeed.” She said with her eyes beginning to light up at the prospect of producing a movie based on Shakespeare or now ACD.
“Great, this would make a great movie.” Paul said.
Carl was quiet. That was his role. He brought the mark in to meet Paul the ‘middle man’ who would then offer an alternative to the Shakespeare work. Angie, Stella and Trevor would turn up as the sellers. Angie would be the wife of the deceased, Stella the daughter and Trevor her husband.
Angie would say that her husband wanted this stuff not her, Stella would get tearful and not want to sell. Stella would play the grieving daughter wanting to hold on to her fathers things. The price would go so high that no deal could be made. The mark would return to one of the other public domain offers made available then Carl would back out of his agreement to co-finance the movie saying he only wanted in on the Shakespeare deal. This would leave Paul to close the deal and get the full cash from the mark who though conned out of their cash could actually use the information and the ‘product’ they bought to make their movie or write their book. This con had little potential for blow back as the mark got what they paid for really and the amount charged could escalate as high as hundreds of thousands of pounds so the crew thought it was perfect.
“We are only interested in the Shakespeare stuff mate.” Carl interrupted.
“I’d like to hear about our options Tommy. Stop being so narrow minded.” She said.
“Ok, good choice.” Paul said thinking things were all going swimmingly. “It’s a story about finding a diamond.”
“Maybe.” She said.
“Well I do have his tales of mystery and horror.” Paul said.
“Anything more romantic Mr. Stevens?” She asked.
“Oh please call me John.” Paul said. “How about Don Quixote?”
“Wow that is interesting but I was thinking of a lost, forgotten gem.” She replied.
“Shakespeare has never been forgotten.” Carl added really pushing the con and hoping that she would end the deal with the others soon so that he could make his exit and let Paul seal the deal.
“How about Bellamy’s ‘Looking Backward from 2000 to 1887’?” Paul said remembering the name but not what the hell it was about. He felt that she would reject the first offer he would make anyway. He was right.
“Anything else?” She didn’t know it either.
“How about Kipling?” He asked.
“Which one?” She replied slowly.
“The man who would be king.” He said as if he was impressed with himself.
“Hmm.” she said.
“Hello John.” Angie said introducing herself, Stella and Trevor before Margaret could answer.
The con went as planned, Stella started crying, the price rose, Stella stormed out, Trevor went after her and Angie said take it or leave it and thinking about her other options she left it.
“That’s your chance gone now!” Angie said angrily before storming out.
“In boxing you snooze, you bruise!” Paul said.
“Good job we’re in movie producing then isn’t it.” Carl said getting up to leave. “Come on Maggie.”
“You go.” She said waving him away. “Am going to talk some more. See you around Tommy.” Perfect he thought, no follow up, she was blowing him off.
“Night then.” He said and walked away happily.
It was just Paul and the mark. Everyone else had played their part and now it was down to the most seasoned grifter on the crew to bring it all home. These cons worked repeatedly so well because most people even when everything points to it being a con and they are finally conned they looked for another explanation. When one doesn’t emerge they rationalise their actions, the situation, the person who sold them the con. ‘Tommy wouldn’t do that to me.’ ‘Not sweet, sweet Jenny.’ The truth was that the marks kept on marking out even when the con was gone. They tried to forget and move on. The real reason the cons worked so well though was that they were the dirty little secrets, the guilty pleasures, the easy money, illicit affair or the sure thing. It was all a work, all an angle and the smoke and mirrors tricked everyone, especially those who thought they spotted the con. That was what they wanted you to see, to distract you from what was really happening. It was a beautiful urban ballet, magic for a distrusting world. It was the grift.
“Tell me more about my options I have a hundred thousand to invest and I want something magical.”
She was going to get something magical and Paul knew that when she said she had a hundred k he could get two if the sell was right. A few days in the future she would realise and curse him and the crew for conning her but two hundred k down she would still make her movie. Who knows she could make a movie about the con if she wouldn’t be too ashamed.
“Ok then Maggie for one hundred k we are looking at ‘The Warlord of Mars’ by Burroughs.” She didn’t appear to like the idea of that. “Well I do have ‘The Mysterious Island’ by Jules Verne.” Again she shook her head in disapproval. He knew she didn’t want mystery or sci-fi and now he could offer her what she wanted but obviously it would cost more.
“I want something serious.” She said as if her first production was going to demand an Oscar. “But low budget, none of this sci-fi stuff.”
“I see. The cost is an issue.” He said.
“Well tell me what you’ve got and we’ll talk about the cost.” This was it, she was set up beautifully and Paul was sure the crew were set for over 100k.
“Ok then how about the Kipling?”
“I’ll think about it.” She said dismissively. “Anything else?”
“How about ‘The Man Who Lost His Name’? It’s about a young Norwegian traveller.”
“Rather not.” Ms. Steinbeck said getting rather frustrated.
“How about ‘Long Odds’?” He said hoping that his odds of cash were going to improve.
“Oh yes by Rider Haggard?” She said recognizing the story.
“Indeed.” Paul said pleased.
“And I get to use the story and the characters in any sequels I wish to make?”
“That’s correct.” He said. “So do we have a deal?”
“I think we do Mr. Stevens.” She said chuckling. She was now a producer of a great story. “How much then?”
“That I have to check but if memory serves it’s a hundred and sixty five thousand.” He said hopefully.
“Umm maybe it could be a hundred and twenty five?” She asked.
“It could be as low as one fifty but no lower.” Paul needed to bargain more than she did but she didn’t know this.
“I can cut you a cheque for one forty here and now.” She pulled her cheque book out and was poised to write.
“Well if you put it like that it’s always nice to compromise.”
“That it is.” She said signing the cheque.
The book that had finally got the money hadn’t even been read by any of the crew they just picked the name off a list. Paul didn’t want to hang around. To be found out.
“In the increasingly Global World countries are expected to achieve centuries of evolution in years, and how do they do this… not by taking their own route as others did in the past but by becoming a carbon copy of somewhere else. This is not how it should be done in my opinion and it leads to a tragic double burden. The old ways collide with the ways things ‘should’ be done.” Using the bunny ears to show that she didn’t agree. Paul was mesmerised. She hadn’t strung two sentences together all night and now she got to thinking of the Africa she had awoken. “The multinationals know best and the traditions of ancestors which have stood for thousands of years can be forgotten so you can learn good customer service. You will learn to be more demanding and you shall learn to sue for anything that is not your fault. Which by the way will be nothing because everything is blameless in today’s society.” She just kept going and it all washed over Paul as he finished his whisky. “If you are a criminal it is due to your parents, your community or the drugs but not because you’re a moral bankrupt. No, not even murders are to blame in this World so forget your civility, forget your traditions and pick up some new consensuses that mirror the Global Worlds.”
“Yeah.” He said hopelessly.
“But then again who am I to prevent individuals from affordable mass produced food and clothing? The luxuries I take for granted?” She was having a conversation with herself. Paul just thought of the cheque and smiled then nodded. “Just so that when I return from my foreign holiday I can say I never saw one McDonald’s or a GAP only beggars and tigers.”
“I know what you mean.” He had no idea what she was babbling about.
“Is this what we really want, the experience of others to remain in an idyllic, for us and probably not them, state?” Again a nod but then terror struck Paul as he spied an old school friend enter the bar. “With them doing what their families did three generations ago?”
“I am tired, best be off to bed.” He said interrupting her but she wasn’t finished yet.
“I know if some do gooders wanted me to work down the pits or in a cotton factory I would tell them to do one.”
“Ok nighty night.” He said standing up and turning away from the bar.
“What makes the rights of others progress any less important?” She was standing now too but she continued to talk. “Only our own selfish desires that is what.”
She finally finished and put her coat on. Paul put the money down for the bill and they continued to the exit.
“My friend asked me once why we did not just take all the criminals and put them on an island.” Paul said trying to keep his face turned towards Margaret and away from his old school chum at the bar. “We did that I replied, it's called Australia.” He laughed, she didn’t.  “True story.” He said like it would have made a difference.
He hailed her a cab and as she climbed in his friend spotted him and waved.
“Oh wait a minute.” She said to the cabbie.
“What are you doing?” He said.
“It’s my friend Charlie, in the bar.”
“Oh shit.” He mumbled under his breath Charlie wasn’t waving at him but at Margaret. It had been a hell of a long time and maybe he wouldn’t remember a very different, much younger Paul.
“Oh my god it is you.” Charlie said strolling over.
“Of course it is Charles.” She said.
“No Paul, It’s you isn’t it Paul?” Charlie said extending his hand.
“Sorry mate wrong geezer my names John.” Paul said trying to keep cool.
“Yes.” She said with authority upset that Charlie was ignoring her. “He is John.”
“Could have sworn you were Paul.” He said. “Ahh maybe not I heard he got sent down for some sort of con anyway.”
“A con? What con?” Maggie asked.
“Ha.” Charlie laughed. “He pretended to own land and sold a load of fake plots to people.”
“Not me mate am in copyright procurement.” This was dragging out far too long for Paul’s liking. People don't have secrets, secrets have people he thought as the taxi papped his horn.
“Come on Maggie your taxi is waiting.” Paul said trying to resolve the matter.
“I think I’ll have a drink with Charlie and celebrate.” She said waving the taxi away.
“What are you celebrating?” Charlie asked.
“I just bought the rights to make a movie of ‘Long Odds’.” Steinbeck said proudly.
“Bought?” Charlie scoffed. “That book is public domain, it’s free.”
Paul jumped in the taxi and told him to speed off. The cheque was no good but at least he got away. He got out of the taxi three blocks from the flat and wondered home disappointed.
He told the gang his story when he returned. They had already started celebrating. Tonight though had been a loss, a waste of money and a very close call.

“Positive change takes time and hard work, succumbing to the evils of the World is as easy as giving in.” Charlie told Maggie diplomatically at the bar. He didn’t know why he was defending his old school friend who’d just shunned him but he was.
“Do you think that going straight is a reference to homosexual behaviour in male prisons and the inmates changing sexual preference when they are released?” She said sniggering, her sniggering grew to laughter and she nearly fell from her bar stool which she’d perched on.
“As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.” Charlie said beginning an exchange of wisdoms that would continue until the barman asked them to leave. By the time they were stumbling about outside they had moved on from Paul or John, con artist, school friend, copyright salesman.
“If the cap fits...” Charlie said. “It’s because 1 size fits all.” Maggie laughed then slumped against him.
“Death pays all debts.” She said. This seemed to sober them both up for a moment and then they laughed.
“Before trying to change others we should reflect on changing ourselves.” Charlie said philosophically as he thought about his forgotten friend, his life and why he was drinking with this woman when his wife was at home.
“A new broom sweeps clean,” Another patron began joining in what he thought was some sort of competition.” “But the old brush knows all the corners.”
“A rumour goes in one ear and out many mouths.” Maggie said scowling at the other patron who quickly retreated.
“Oh this is a good one.” Charlie said standing as if he was about to answer the question of life. “A thief believes everybody steals.”
“Falling in love…” She began and Charlie thought this was his lucky night. “Is very much like having a good poo.” Then again maybe not. “If you try and force it, it is going to hurt, you can look silly and there may be bleeding.” This was very graphic coming from a lady Charlie thought but they had ceased to be a gentleman and lady after the fourth round of Dirty Lime slammers. “If you let things flow naturally however it feels better and you know when its time.” She said widening her legs crouching down and urinating on the street. All Charlie could think was thank God it was crap.