Camel's Billboard
“Dan warry joo kan trust me, besides
now you know where I lives,” She smiled.
“Okay, bye now, we’ll
see you in a few days.” Lisa smiled, and left. It was the last time she saw either of them or her money.
When Dick came home,
she couldn’t wait to tell him the good news. As soon as she mentioned that she
took ten grand out of their account, he grabbed the purse, and poured the contents onto the floor. They were in
shock as shredded newspaper rained down on the
floor.
“It a moiphy, ya
mom’s bin conned,” the detective lamented. “Diz hea biz coid is a phony fo sher. Dat guys bin doing diz fo a long time, an he
ain’t Cuban, he’s been known to say he’s Argentine, a Spaniard, an a bunch a oda tings,
but all he is is a bum.”
“Ya think ya kin
catch im?”
“Nah they long gone
by na.”
“They?”
“Yea! Ya don’t tink
det sweet lil goil wuz an inosent by standah doya?”
“Oh no!” Dick winced.
“Mind if I smoke?” He
asked as he pulled out a butt .
“Can I have one
please?
“I thought ya dint
smoke.”
“Well I don’t really,
but now is as good as any ta start, uh?”
“Hea ya go pal. Ima
file diz hea wepoit, boot I wudn’t go getting me hopes up.”
A long time ago an
old wise man told me that you can’t fool an honest man. In order for a con to work, there must be a little larceny in his prey.
If she wasn’t into getting something that obviously wasn’t hers, she would
never have been conned. Last I saw him, Dick still hadn’t forgiven his mom, and
he was smoking more than that old Camel’s billboard on Times
Square.
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