Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
My brother answers after the fourth ring.
“Brother Gabriel,” he drawls with amusement in that deep, rasping voice of his. “How are you, my brother in Christ?”
I roll my eyes and chuckle. “What are you, a method actor now? Get out of character and talk fucking normally. I’ve been church-talking all damn day.”
Kane sights. “Alas, brother, I am but a humble servant of the…” he trails off with a snicker. “What’s up, man?” he chuckles in his more normal speech.
I shake my head and take a drink. It’s funny how we both got here—both of us playing the same game in different parts of the country. I was sixteen and Kane was twenty when Jasper found us in downtown Charleston hustling bar patrons. We did it all, man—conning college frat boys at the pool tables, bullshit games of “find the marble” with three cups for the tourists at White Point Garden. Mail fraud, check fraud, hotel scams. You name it, and we were well on our way to being blackbelts at it back then.
But then, we met the grand-fucking-master.
Jasper saw right through our little scams and parlor tricks. But what he saw was raw talent, I guess. Kane and I had been on the streets for about a year by then after our parents took off, and for whoever reason, but probably because of the dollar signs he could see in us, Jasper was like the uncle we never had, and he took us in. Took us in, took us under his wing, and gave us a masterclass in scamming and conning.
I mean, Jasper was the Harvard Law School of conning. We went in with bachelor’s degrees in card tricks and pick-pocketing and came out with doctorate’s in parting fools from their money. Jasper ran a lot of schemes, but his main gig was the traveling preacher routine. And man, the dude pretty much wrote the book on it. For Kane and I, it was like learning to shoot hoops from Michael fucking Jordan.
That was years ago, now. After Kane and I split off to do our own things, Jasper got picked up for mail fraud by the damn FBI. He did a few years in McCreary Federal Correctional Institution up in Kentucky before he ran afoul of the Aryan brotherhood there and got his throat cut in the showers. It’s a damn shame, not to mention a complete waste of brilliance and talent. But it’s also a sobering reminder of what happens if you slip up in this game.
“Not much, man,” I drawl. “How’s the wild west?”
Kane and I make sure we never cross territories or visit ones that the other has been too, for obvious reasons. Mostly, I stick to the northern midwest and the south-east, and Kane takes the west coast, the south-west, and some of the Gulf coast. He’s in Arizona now, I think.
“The wild west is pretty fucking great, man,” he chuckles. “Hey, I found a new one for you.”
“Oh?” I can hear him grinning, and I take another swig of whiskey.
“Yeah, check this out. It’s an arthritis medication.”
Yes, we really are this shameless and awful. Hey, it pays the bills.
“Oh really?”
“Oh, dude,” he grins. “Mix up some menthol oil and some low-dose lidocaine with a clear gel, like hand sanitizer.”
“And?”
“It gives a tingling, slightly numbing sensation, lasts a while, and smells nice.” He chuckles. “Shit, man, people swear by this thing, too.”
I laugh and shake my head and take another drink. “I’m assuming this has no basis in medical fact.”
“None whatsoever,” Kane grins into the phone. “And I charge twenty-five bucks for a six-ounce bottle of the shit.”
I whistle. “Jesus.”
“A-fucking-men, brother. Business is booming.” I can hear the “crssshht” sound of a beer can opening. “So how’s… where are you, Florida?”
“Georgia.”
He whistles. “Fuck, man. That’s gold country right there.”
I nod, taking a drink before I frown. “Hey, Kane?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever think this job is… you know?”
“Don’t get soft of me, Gabe,” he says with a small laugh.
“Naw, not like… listen—”
“No, you listen,” he sighs. “You want a conscience? Go sell used cars, or become a politician.”
I frown. “I’m not sure that’s a great example.”
“No, it’s a fantastic example, because those sneaky lying fucks have more scruples than we do, and we both know it.” He sighs and takes a drink of beer. “Gabe, you want to be honest? Be honest with yourself. Don’t ever buy your own bullshit, bro. We are what we are, just like Jasper taught us.”
“How to be con men.”
“How to be businessmen, Gabe. How to live on the road.”
“How to dull our souls.”
He sighs. “Gabe, Jasper’s in a pauper’s grave because he never knew when to pump the brakes, and he never knew how to save, or how to keep it going. That’s where we’re better. C’mon, man, where are the second thoughts coming from? You’re in fucking Georgia. Jesus Christ, Gabe, that’s like panning for gold at Fort fucking Knox.” He chuckles. “You prick, I can’t believe I let you have the south-east, and here you are bitching about it.”