at the door.
Spicer was suddenly happy to see his lawyer. He resented the “we” in Trevor’s announcement, and he resented the healthy cut he raked off the top. But the scam wouldn’t work without help from the outside, and, as usual, the lawyer was a necessary evil. So far, Trevor could be trusted.
“It’s in the Bahamas?”
“Yes. I just left there. The money’s tucked away, all sixty-seven thousand of it.”
Spicer breathed deeply and savored the victory. A third of the loot gave him $22,000 and change. It was time to write some more letters!
He reached into the pocket of his olive prison shirt and removed a folded newspaper clipping. He stretched his arms, studied it for a second, then said, “Duke’s at Tech tonight. The line is eleven. Put five thousand bucks on Tech.”
“Five thousand?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve never put five thousand on a game before.”
“What kinda bookie you got?”
“Small time.”
“Look, if he’s a bookie, he can handle the numbers. Call him as soon as you can. He may have to make a few calls, but he can do it.”
“All right, all right.”
“Can you come back tomorrow?”
“Probably.”
“How many other clients have ever paid you thirty-three thousand bucks?”
“None.”
“Right, so be here at four tomorrow. I’ll have some mail for you.”
Spicer left him and walked quickly from the administration building with only a nod at a guard in a window. He walked with a purpose across the finely manicured lawn, the Florida sun heating the sidewalk even in February. His colleagues were deep in their unhurried labors in their little library, alone as always, so Spicer did not hesitate to announce: “We got the hundred thousand from ole Quince in Iowa!”
Beech’s hands froze on his keyboard. He peered over his reading glasses, his jaw dropping, and managed to say, “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Just talked to Trevor. The money was wired in exactly as instructed, arrived in the Bahamas this morning. Quincy baby came through.”
“Let’s hit him again,” Yarber said, before the others could think of it.
“Quince?”
“Sure. The first hundred was easy, let’s squeeze him one more time. What could we lose?”
“Not a damned thing,” Spicer said with a smile. He wished he’d said it first.
“How much?” asked Beech.
“Let’s try fifty,” Yarber said, pulling numbers from the air as if anything was possible.
The other two nodded and pondered the next fifty thousand, then Spicer took charge and said, “Look, let’s evaluate where we are now. I think Curtis in Dallas is ripe. We’ll hit Quince again. This thing is working, and I think we should shift gears, get more aggressive, know what I mean? Let’s take each pen pal, analyze them one by one, and step up the pressure.”
Beech turned off his computer and reached for a file. Yarber cleared his small desk. Their little Angola scam had just received a fresh infusion of capital, and the smell of ill-gotten cash was intoxicating.
They began reading all the old letters, and drafting new ones. More victims were needed, they quickly decided. More ads would be placed in the back pages of those magazines.
Trevor made it as far as Pete’s Bar and Grill, arriving there just in time for happy hour, which at Pete’s began at 5 P.M . and ran until the first fistfight.He found Prep, a thirty-two-year-old sophomore at North Florida, shooting nine-ball for twenty bucks a game. Prep’s dwindling trust fund required the family lawyer to pay him $2,000 a month as long as he was enrolled as a full-time student. He’d been a sophomore for eleven years.
Prep was also the busiest bookie at Pete’s, and when Trevor whispered that he had serious money to place on the Duke-Tech game, Prep asked, “How much?”
“Fifteen thousand,” Trevor said, then gulped his longneck beer.
“You serious?” Prep asked, chalking his cue stick and glancing around the smoky table. Trevor had never bet more than a
Spicer was suddenly happy to see his lawyer. He resented the “we” in Trevor’s announcement, and he resented the healthy cut he raked off the top. But the scam wouldn’t work without help from the outside, and, as usual, the lawyer was a necessary evil. So far, Trevor could be trusted.
“It’s in the Bahamas?”
“Yes. I just left there. The money’s tucked away, all sixty-seven thousand of it.”
Spicer breathed deeply and savored the victory. A third of the loot gave him $22,000 and change. It was time to write some more letters!
He reached into the pocket of his olive prison shirt and removed a folded newspaper clipping. He stretched his arms, studied it for a second, then said, “Duke’s at Tech tonight. The line is eleven. Put five thousand bucks on Tech.”
“Five thousand?”
“Yep.”
“I’ve never put five thousand on a game before.”
“What kinda bookie you got?”
“Small time.”
“Look, if he’s a bookie, he can handle the numbers. Call him as soon as you can. He may have to make a few calls, but he can do it.”
“All right, all right.”
“Can you come back tomorrow?”
“Probably.”
“How many other clients have ever paid you thirty-three thousand bucks?”
“None.”
“Right, so be here at four tomorrow. I’ll have some mail for you.”
Spicer left him and walked quickly from the administration building with only a nod at a guard in a window. He walked with a purpose across the finely manicured lawn, the Florida sun heating the sidewalk even in February. His colleagues were deep in their unhurried labors in their little library, alone as always, so Spicer did not hesitate to announce: “We got the hundred thousand from ole Quince in Iowa!”
Beech’s hands froze on his keyboard. He peered over his reading glasses, his jaw dropping, and managed to say, “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Just talked to Trevor. The money was wired in exactly as instructed, arrived in the Bahamas this morning. Quincy baby came through.”
“Let’s hit him again,” Yarber said, before the others could think of it.
“Quince?”
“Sure. The first hundred was easy, let’s squeeze him one more time. What could we lose?”
“Not a damned thing,” Spicer said with a smile. He wished he’d said it first.
“How much?” asked Beech.
“Let’s try fifty,” Yarber said, pulling numbers from the air as if anything was possible.
The other two nodded and pondered the next fifty thousand, then Spicer took charge and said, “Look, let’s evaluate where we are now. I think Curtis in Dallas is ripe. We’ll hit Quince again. This thing is working, and I think we should shift gears, get more aggressive, know what I mean? Let’s take each pen pal, analyze them one by one, and step up the pressure.”
Beech turned off his computer and reached for a file. Yarber cleared his small desk. Their little Angola scam had just received a fresh infusion of capital, and the smell of ill-gotten cash was intoxicating.
They began reading all the old letters, and drafting new ones. More victims were needed, they quickly decided. More ads would be placed in the back pages of those magazines.
Trevor made it as far as Pete’s Bar and Grill, arriving there just in time for happy hour, which at Pete’s began at 5 P.M . and ran until the first fistfight.He found Prep, a thirty-two-year-old sophomore at North Florida, shooting nine-ball for twenty bucks a game. Prep’s dwindling trust fund required the family lawyer to pay him $2,000 a month as long as he was enrolled as a full-time student. He’d been a sophomore for eleven years.
Prep was also the busiest bookie at Pete’s, and when Trevor whispered that he had serious money to place on the Duke-Tech game, Prep asked, “How much?”
“Fifteen thousand,” Trevor said, then gulped his longneck beer.
“You serious?” Prep asked, chalking his cue stick and glancing around the smoky table. Trevor had never bet more than a
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