The Scammer

By Leonard Wise

Philly Joe is the country’s top Conman. He’s hired by a poker player to make certain the latter wins LA’s Junior Tournament so he can take part in The Ultimate Game in London. The Masters Organization, fearing Philly, sends 2 of their best to stop any possible scams. It becomes a battle of wits and intricate moves, and anyone’s game between the 4 men and one beautiful woman to the very last word.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leonard Wise
• Release date: Dec 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466140592

Leonard Wise

Born and raised in Hudson, New York, Len spent three years in the 82nd Airborne Paratroopers. After service, he received his F.C.C. Engineering License and worked in radio for a few years before studying writing at Manhattan’s New School of Social Research. In addition to Diggstown, Len is the author of five other published novels, a number of them bestsellers: The Big Biazarro, Doc's Legacy, The Judean, Center Street, and Center Street—The Women. Since being in California, he has been a Story Analyst at several of the Major Studios and has taught writing at UCLA. He is also a noted artist with constant sales of his paintings.

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THE SCAMMER

By

Leonard Wise

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CHAPTER ONE

Quite often there was a special treat at sunrise in New York City. The sky, the small amount one could see from the deep ravines of the skyscrapers, would turn baby blue and expand as it reflected off the mirrored walls of the buildings. The air was still clean and fresh at that first hour of daylight, and only an occasional taxicab, street cleaner, or some nocturnal hustler heading home, disturbed the tranquil solitude.

Weary after a long night of work, Philly Joe Stanton, 35, a handsome, smart and infamous Conman, had relieved some East Side procurers of nine thousand dollars in a dice game by side-betting on the winners.

He loved that early morning view, so instead of rushing home he would pause to enjoyed it every chance he got. Sitting on the small stone wall of the flower beds, Philly smiled as he gazed around and up at the panorama. It was one of Manhattan's most superb moments. However, all too soon the setting was shattered by the vociferous whine of a fire truck's siren as it came across 45th Street and turned down Park Avenue. Philly closed his eyes, hoping the noise would cease. It didn't, because directly behind the first truck came another, and another. The beauty, the solitude was all gone now or at least until the following morning.

Philly caught the next cab and was at his penthouse apartment in West Greenwich Village in less than fifteen minutes. In the middle of a work day with the usual surplus of traffic, the ride to Jane Street could have taken an hour.

After checking his messages, doing his morning exercises, and unwinding under a lengthy shower, he finally got to bed and fell instantly to sleep at 7:45 a.m. The telephone rang at 8:09 a.m.

Hello.

Philly, wake up! This is important.

What’s so important?

I’m going to play in the California NPC tournament, and I want you to work for me.

Work for you!? Who is this?

Bobby Chan! Who the hell did you think it was?

Philly took a moment to realize and comprehend what he was going to be asked to do. What’s my tote if I get you in?

Your usual fee, a mil.

It’s got to be double.

Double!? Why?

Because I’ll be going up against the entire Poker Masters organization.

Bobby Chan gave it some thought, and finally said, All right, but you better damn sure get me in. Are you positive you can do it?

Why are you calling me?

Okay. It’s a deal. I’ll meet you at Erin’s coffee shop and fill you in.

What time?

Make it ten-thirty.

After hanging up the phone, Philly Joe said, Screw you, Bobby Chan. He set the alarm clock for ten-thirty and fell instantly back to sleep.

By eleven o’clock he was up, washed-up, dressed-up, and up and out of the apartment.

The Broadway Java Shoppe on 7th Avenue and 48th Street, open twenty-four-seven, was a constant hangout for pseudo intellectuals, actors, hookers, grifters, and the rich and poor. Philly Joe was with Erin Baker, his well-endowed, freckles faced, red haired girlfriend, who was asleep at the table after an exhausting grave-yard shift at the Shoppe. With them was little Morton Mutt O'Dell, 33, an obnoxious, somewhat illiterate, loudmouth loan shark. They were having breakfast. Philly and Mutt had eggs, bacon and fresh baked muffins. Erin's eggs Benedict were getting cold. Without a word a Loser came by the table and paid Mutt a couple of C-notes.

It's about damn time! Mutt glanced quickly at the money and tucked it away.

Philly said, You should be nicer to those guys; they do pay your bills.

Damn dead-beats never pay on time. After taking a bite of his scrambled eggs, Mutt said, So have you heard about the tournament the Poker Masters are holdin’ out in Los Angeles?

Bobby Chan asked me to be part of his entourage.

As what? You ain’t no a backer. Or an advisor. You ain’t even that sharp.

You don't think so, huh?

I ain‘t tryin’ to insult you or nothin’. It's just with all the sharp guys in The City, why would Bobby choose you?

And you don't think that’s insulting?

Not if you don't take it that way. Don't be overly-sensitive, Philly. Have you ever been on a job like this?

What are you talking? I've been a player, a bodyguard, an advisor, and everything else. Unlike you whose main gigs are loan-sharking and running Three-Card Monte on street corners.

I ain't run the Monte in years; so chill out, Jersey City.

What's with this Jersey City crap?

Weren't you born an’ raised there?

I grew up in Philadelphia, hence the name. I came to Manhattan when I was twenty and been here ever since.

Okay, okay, your family of origin an’ disgrace is safe with me.

You're really starting to get on my nerves, Mutt.

Really!? Well, this should calm your ass down. Here comes Bobby.

Bobby Chan, 24, a princely Asian-American whose family were millionaires in the import-export business, was cool and competent. He had respect in the gambling world with his abilities, even though his family disowned him socially, but backed him financially. Coming to the table, he remained standing. Philly, I want you to do some research for me. Check out the competition in L.A., especially Deuce Hickey.

What about Rudyard Drier?

Good, you know about him. You're on the ball, kid.

Feeling left out, Mutt said, How you gonna call Philly a kid? He's old enough to be your daddy.

Shut up, Mutt. Anything else, Bobby?

I want to know everything that's going on out there; the backers, who's playing, and especially any scams that might be going down.

I figure Deuce and Rudyard are the only two to challenge you.

Mutt announced, I saw Deuce Hickey play. He's good.

What about Rudyard Drier?

They're both young punks. This’ll be their first shots at real big poker.

Philly said, I don't think you'll have a problem, Bobby. You know the ropes, the games, and how to handle the action.

We'll see. I want both of you to go.

Philly raised an eyebrow and said, Ahh, I have nothing against Mutt, but I usually work alone.

He saw Deuce play; you haven't. He goes.

Bobby suddenly noticed Erin with her head down on her arms. After looking at Mutt and Philly, he pointed at Erin and said, I'm not even going to ask. Get a move on. You got three days before the game.

Ahh, Bobby, excuse me, Mutt said. What about some front?

What front!?

You know expenses.

Philly quickly said, We pay our own expenses, Mutt. We're on the Champ's team. He doesn't lose.

Did you hear him, Mutt!? I don't lose.

Okay, okay. Now I understan’. No problem. Sorry I asked.

Bobby frowned at Mutt before exiting the cafe.

You almost blew the gig, Mutt.

A gig is when you get paid, Philly. This is very, ahh, speculative. An’ negative chancy at best.

Then don't go!

"Oh, I'm goin’.