Fool's Eye Page 3

  “Call it intuition. I have a good feeling about you, and I believe I can trust you.”

  “Yeah, okay, but what makes you think I trust you? Look, I’m not looking for a partner but, since you’re trying so hard, I will hear you out. Let’s do this. Show me your Monte game and how you get paid from it. Then, I’ll see if we need to talk about doing business together.”

  “Bet. Look, meet me at Union Square tomorrow around ten. Then you can watch how your boy gets down.”

  There we were in the middle of Times Square. The sun had made its disappearing act hours ago. While most people walking around us were making dinner reservations or playing rock-paper-scissors to decide which Broadway play they were going to see, I was standing with a complete stranger and negotiating a partnership.

  I had to admit, that Malik boy had me thinking about how long I could really do the watch gig before something went wrong. If Malik was right and I could make more money. I guess it was worth hearing him out. I didn’t have time for drama in my life. However, I was curious to find out what his angle was.

  As I took my first step down to the train station, I said to myself, “Fifty dollars in less than five minutes. I didn’t know making money could be so easy.”

  Chapter 2

  It was a little after nine when I made it to my neighborhood. It took me an hour to get from Times Square to the Lower East Side: thirty minutes on the train and another thirty minutes on the bus. Normally, the commute was quick and harmless. Tonight, however, it seemed like it took forever. And I caught hell during the ride.

  I ran into Jessica Chavez, a girl from my graduating class and from my neighborhood. We never really spoke much in high school. We always made it to the bus stop at the same time and sometimes sat next to each other without ever saying a word. Now I was sitting across from her dressed, in our old high school uniform, while she had on a more professional business attire. I know she thought she looked good. This was the same girl who used to wear her hair wavy or in a bun. Now she had it blown out and falling past her shoulders. The girl once known for wearing baggy jeans and shirts now had on fitted gray slacks and a white button-down blouse underneath a cream cardigan.

  Jessica saw me before I saw her. She looked me up and down, then gave me an unpleasant smirk. I shifted my body and attempted to look out the window. Jessica cleared her throat and said, “Hey, you’re Linda, right?”

  I attempted to be surprised to see her. “Jessica, right?”

  “Yep, it’s me.” She opened her cardigan to reveal a magnetic name tag from her job.

  Who does that? Who wears a name tag when they're not at work? It was like she’d been waiting on someone to ask her where she worked. Nobody cared. It wasn’t like she was living a fab life or something. Her ass was still taking the bus, just like everyone else. When she got to her building, she would enter the same pissy-ass elevator just like the rest of us. If the name tag did anything, it just confirmed that working was for lames. You bust your ass just to have the same bullshit life you had before you had a job.

  “I thought that was you. But then, I wasn’t so sure when I saw you in our old high school uniform. You did graduate, right?”

  “Oh this?” I asked, smoothing out my skirt with my hands. “I had to wear this to an acting audition today.”

  “Oh, you act?” She got up from her seat and came to sit next to me. “That’s so exciting. I wish I could act. I bet you get to meet all kinds of famous people.”

  “Not really. I just started. Anyway, how are you? You look all professional now. Where do you work?”

  Pride raced across her face as she answered. “I work for Union Square Bank. Been there since we graduated. I was a teller, but got promoted to Customer Service recently. The money is good, and the people treat me right. I don’t know how long I’m going to do this, but I’m good right now. I really like it there.”

  I closed my eyes and prayed for God to shut her babbling mouth up. God must not have heard my prayer because she just kept going.

  “And the customers are really sweet, especially the older people. Sometimes they will just sit there and talk all day long.”

  “So you really like it there, huh?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I thought, Why did I ask her that? Now she’ll never shut up.

  “Oh yeah,” she said. “But, I guess like any job, it has its ups and downs. Today was the worst. Mrs. Pan, a longtime customer of the bank, passed away. She didn’t have anybody there for her. Now, my manager has me searching for her next of kin so we can close her accounts. The problem is, there’s nobody!”

  She took in a long breath and then gave a deep sigh. “Anyway, how did you get into acting? That is so cool. I’ve always wanted to act but never had the courage. You go, girl.”

  She gave me a light tap on my lap and kept talking. Actually, she talked the entire way home, but I didn’t mind it by then. Jessica had actually given me an idea.

  *****

  The next morning, I got up early and took the bus to Union Square and 14th Street. The cool wind grazed me when I stepped off the bus. I was close to New York University, where either kids had parents with enough money to send them there or the kids had received one hell of a scholarship. There were all kinds. The preps that were prom kings and queens in their hometown high schools or the farmer's kid whose dad paid their child’s tuition in full at the beginning of each semester. The NYU students attracted to the Union Square area were the ones who always felt they had an undefined level of creative spirit due to their artistic talent and had the determination to be seen as one. Although I don’t think the students knew it, they were all entrepreneurs. Selling their dreams rather than just giving their talents away for free.

  I watched oil painters sell visions for a price. Chess players who dared people to play them, with the only clause being you paid the chess master a suggested donation of five to ten dollars if you lost. A musician played his well-worn instrument for a crowd, while his baseball cap sat on the concrete in front of him somehow manipulating the spectators’ money to fall in it.

  This once blood-driven area that used to be one of the five points was now a free-spirited place for tourists to feel the hustle from artistic New Yorkers. Corporate America didn’t underestimate the value of this area either. There were two or three levels of trendy dress stores, a Starbucks for your caffeine fix, and even Jessica (I can’t shut my damn mouth)'s bank was nearby. With all the tourists that came to the area, it was a hustler’s dream.

  It was a Saturday, so I couldn’t wear my school uniform. Still, I had to be approachable. Since I was close to NYU, I decided to be a college student for the day. I had on a light gray NYU sweater, dark jeans, and a pair of black and red Jordan’s. For good measure, I had pulled my hair back into a tight ponytail. It helped to give me more of an innocent look. I even ran inside the bookstore and grabbed a NYU backpack to seal the deal.

  I wanted to make it there before Malik, hoping to get a watch or two off my hands before ten. However, when I stepped in the park, he was already there.

  He was playing Three Card Monte on a makeshift table that consisted of a piece of cardboard sitting on top of two brown milk crates in front of a small crowd. I decided to keep a safe distance as I watched him. Malik's hands were fast. His mouth was even faster. For every word he spoke, Malik moved the cards just as fast.

  “For every dollar you bet, you can double it,” he said to the crowd of spectators. “All you have to do is point out the ace.”

  When Malik said the word “ace”, he picked up the card with the ace on it for the crowd of tourists and locals to see.

  “I know finding the ace ain’t hard,” he continued. “Hell, I wish I had another job. But, what’s a young black man to do? I just hope you don’t find the ace, or I’ll be screwed.”

  An older white gentleman said to Malik, “I’ll play along. Now explain to me how this goes again.”

  “It’s very simple, sir. All you have to do is put the money
on the spot where you think the ace is. That’s all there is to it. You find the ace, you double your pay.”

  The old man smiled. “Sounds simple enough.”

  Malik began shuffling the cards faster. Every three seconds or so he would show the ace. I thought this was stupid. He made it too easy to follow the right card. Hell, I was willing to put up the fifty I made last night and double my money.

  With a smile, Malik said to the crowd, “Are there any more bets before the ace is shown?”

  A lady in her late twenties spoke up. “I know where the ace is, and I have a hundred dollars to prove it.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but if you can’t up your ante, the bet goes to the lady,” Malik told the older gentleman.

  Looking a little upset, the man replied, “Hey, young fellow, I had my money here first.”

  “Mister, I’m sorry. But, the larger bet controls the set. Would you like to put up a hundred and five dollars?”

  “Boy, I’m not rich. You must know this lady. That’s what this is, a scam!”

  Malik smiled at the man again. “Sir, I’ve never met this lady before in my life.” Then he turned to the lady. “Ma’am, what’s your name?”

  “Sophia,” she responded.

  “Now, Miss Sophia, have we ever met before?”

  With her eyes intently on the cards, she said, “No. Now, please, can we hurry this along before I miss my card?”

  She was really studying Malik’s hands. Every time he moved a card, her eyes went with it.

  “Now, mister, like I said, I don’t know Miss Sophia, but she does have a higher bet on the table than you. If you can’t top it, I’m going to have to give her the floor.”

  The old man looked around and saw he was starting a scene. “You know,” he said, reluctantly picking up his money, “you young kids now-a-days are so disrespectful. You have no sense of honor. You bet me first.”

  He voiced more words to express his anger and shoved his way through the crowd.

  “Now, Miss Sophia…” Malik waited for two seconds before continuing, to create suspense among the onlookers. “Please place your money on the right card.”

  Sophia put her money on the same card I would have put my money on if I had bet. To me, it looked like smooth-talking Malik had just talked himself out of a hundred bucks. However, when Malik flipped over the card Sophia had picked, everybody including myself was surprised to see an eight of spades instead of an ace of heart.

  Malik picked up his mark’s money. “Sorry, miss. Better luck next time.”

  “Wait a minute,” she protested. “Don’t I get a chance to win my money back?”

  “Sure, of course you do. I tell you what. If you find the ace this time, not only will you win your hundred dollars back, but I’ll give you another hundred dollars on top of that. Fair ’nuff?”

  “Yes, I think so,” she said nervously.

  Sophia pulled another hundred dollars from her Gucci hand bag. She’d watched Malik closer than she did the first time. To be honest, so did I. I was sure the ace was under the card she had picked.

  Malik did his same routine. Once again, I was sure the lady picked the right card, only to find another eight of spades. The lady cursed at herself for betting in the first place and walked away two hundred dollars poorer.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I need to take a break,” Malik said to the crowd. “My partner here will take my place.”

  Out of nowhere, a much stockier young man stood in Malik’s spot. He started to spit the same game Malik had. Malik looked at his watch and then looked around the crowd until he noticed me. He smiled as he walked in my direction.

  “I’m glad you made it. I was hoping you came.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “With the cards, how did you do that? I watched you. I just knew which one the ace was under. How did you change it without us knowing?”

  He waved his hands around. “The hands are quicker than the eyes. Poof!” And there was an ace of spades in his hand.

  “Damn! Now that was nice. It seems like you have a good thing going here. Why do you need me?” I asked.

  “I want you to see something. Look at Big Mike. He knows how to move the cards just like I do, but he can’t get anybody to bite. Do you know why? Because he has no style. He looks like a hustler. No one wants to play against someone they know they can’t win against. But, for people like us, we look like pushovers. We attract people because half the time they think we’re in over our heads. Look at how you’re dressed. Yesterday, you played the role of a high school girl. Today, you look like a college student. You’re smart enough to switch up when needed. I need someone with your mindset. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Have you eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Let's grab a bite. It’s on me. Plus, I have somebody I want you to meet.”

  “Is this going to take all day? I have work to do?”

  “Nah, it won’t take long at all.”

  We walked down 14th Street until we got to a diner on the corner of 1st Avenue. Malik ushered me to a table, where a man was sitting waiting for us. Before I had a chance to sit down, he stood, took my hand, and kissed it.

  “Hello. It’s nice to finally meet you, Ms. Linda. Malik wouldn’t hush up about you. Now I see why. You’re a very pretty young lady. Look at those eyes– very pretty indeed.”

  He was handsome for an old man, and charming. His words were crisp and proper, but something seemed off about his accent. He wasn’t from New York--that much I could tell--but he didn’t sound like he was from down south either. If his words weren’t so properly spoken, I would have guessed somewhere in Europe.

  I smiled at him while pulling my hand back. “Wasn’t you the man who was going to bet the forty dollars in the card game earlier?”

  The man looked up at Malik. “Hmm, she’s very observant. That's a very good quality in our line of work.”

  Malik beamed. “I told you she would be perfect. You should have seen the way she played that Elvis-looking dude last night. I’m telling you, she’s a natural.”

  “Well, that’s to be seen,” the old man said. He then apologized for Malik’s rudeness. “I’m sorry, my dear. I know your name, but you don’t know mine.” He looked at Malik disappointingly. “My name is Marco ‘Ace’ Fontanne. My friends just call me Ace.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fontanne. So, you were a part of that little act, huh? I couldn’t even tell you guys knew each other. Y’all worked everybody, including me. I don’t get it, though. If that’s only one of your games, or cons as Malik calls them, and you have other cons that make money like Three Card Monte does, I don’t understand what I can do to help you make more money, Mr. Fontanne.”

  I made sure I called him by his last name so he understood I wasn’t a friend of his.

  Mr. Fontanne replied, “Let’s order our breakfast first, and then we’ll talk.”

  He waved a waiter over to our table so we could place our orders. I had ordered egg whites, turkey bacon, and an English breakfast tea. Malik ordered a bagel with cream cheese and jelly, with some orange juice. Mr. Fontanne just ordered a large black coffee. After taking our orders, the waiter said he would be right back with our drinks. When he walked away, I noticed Mr. Fontanne lustfully smile as he glanced at the waiter’s butt.

  I asked Mr. Fontanne, “You’re not white, are you? I mean, when I first saw you, I thought you were. Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Very impressive indeed, Ms. Linda. As a matter of fact, I’m Creole, born from biracial parents. I guess it’s showing more now that I’m getting older. There was a time when no one could tell... Ms. Linda, I like you more and more by the second. Let me ask you something. Can you act as well as you think?”

  “Don’t know. I never took an acting class.”

  The waiter came with our drinks. When he left, Mr. Fontanne peaked at him again out of th
e corner of his eye. He took a long sip of his coffee and said, “You know, conning people is really like putting on a play. There are short cons that last no longer than fifteen minutes. With these, you can cut into a mark for a couple hundred dollars.”

  “Cut into a mark? What does that mean?”

  “Oh, sorry, my dear. That expression means to take the mark’s money, much like I suspect you do with your watches. You play the Good Samaritan by acting like you’re trying to return a watch to a phantom owner. You know that the right person, with the right amount of greed, will try to convince you the watch is better suited in their hands. They'll pay you to piss off, for lack of a better word. Am I right?”