Ed McBain - The Con Man

“There they are,” O’Neill said.

“That bag is full of them?” Parsons asked, taking one of the pearls and studying it.

“Yeah. Got about a hundred of them in there. Fellow I bought them from was an old Jap.”

“Are you sure they’re genuine?”

“Oh, sure,” O’Neill said.

“They’re not paste?”

“Would I pay five hundred dollars for paste?”

“Well, no. No, I guess not.” Parsons looked hastily to the young man. Then he turned to O’Neill. “Are you...are you...Did you want to sell these?”

“I tell you,” O’Neill said, “the Army discharged me here, and I live down South. I lost all my money on the boat took us back, and I’ll be damned if I know how I’m going to get home.”

“I’d be...ah...happy to give you five hundred dollars for these,” Parsons said. Quickly, he licked his lips, as if his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “Provided they’re genuine.”

“Oh, they’re real, all right. But I couldn’t let you have them for five hundred.”

“That’s what they cost you,” Parsons pointed out.

“Sure, but I had the trouble of making the deal and of carting them all the way back to the States. I wouldn’t let them go for less than a thousand.”

“Well, that’s kind of high,” Parsons said. “We don’t even know they’re genuine. They may be paste.”

“Hell, I wouldn’t try to stick you,” O’Neill said.

“I’ve been stuck before,” Parsons said. “After all, I don’t know you from a hole in the wall.”

“That’s true,” O’Neill said, “but I hope you don’t think I’d let you buy these pearls without having a jeweler look at them first.”

Parsons looked at him suspiciously. “How do I know the jeweler isn’t a friend of yours?”

“You can pick any jeweler you like. I won’t even come into the shop with you. I’ll give you the pearls, and I’ll wait outside. Listen, these are the real articles. Only reason I’m letting you have them so cheap is because I don’t want to fool around. I want to go home.”

“What do you think?” Parsons asked, turning to the young man.

“I don’t know,” the young man said.

“Will you come with us to a jeweler?”

“What for?”

“Come along,” Parsons said. “Please.”

The young man shrugged. “Well, all right,” he said.

They walked up the street until they came to a jewelry shop. The sign outside said: REPAIRS, APPRAISALS.

“This should do it,” Parsons said. “Let me have the pearls.”

O’Neill handed him the sack.

“You coming?” Parsons asked the young man.

“All right,” the young man said.

“You’ll see,” O’Neill said. “He’ll tell you they’re worth a thousand dollars.”

Together, Parsons and the young man went into the shop. O’Neill waited outside on the sidewalk.

The jeweler was a wizened old man bent over a watch. He did not look up. He kept his brow squeezed tight against the black eyepiece, and he picked at the watch like a man pulling meat from a lobster claw. Parsons cleared his throat. The jeweler did not look up. Together, they waited. A cuckoo clock on the wall chirped the time. It was 2:00 P.M.

Finally, the jeweler looked up. He opened his eyes wide, and the eyepiece fell into his open palm.

“Yes?” he asked.

“I’d like some pearls appraised,” Parsons said.

“Where are they?”

“Right here,” Parsons said, extending the sack.

The jeweler loosened the drawstrings. He shook a few of the smoky gray globes into the palm of his hand.

“Nice size,” he said. “Nice sheen. Nice smoothness. What do you want to know?”

“Are they real?”

“They’re not paste, I can tell you that immediately.” He nodded. “Impossible to say whether they’re cultured or genuine Oriental without having them x-rayed, though. I’d have to send them out of the shop for that.”

“How much are they worth?” Parsons asked.

The jeweler shrugged. “If they’re cultured, you can get between ten and twenty-five dollars for each pearl. If they’re genuine Oriental, the price is much higher.”

“How much higher?”

“Judging from the size of these, I’d say between a hundred and two hundred for each pearl. At least a hundred.” He paused. “How much did you want for them?”

“A thousand,” Parsons said.

“You’ve got a sale,” the jeweler answered.

“I’m not selling,” Parsons said. “I’m buying.”

“How many are in that sack?” the jeweler asked. “About seventy-five pearls?”

“A hundred,” Parsons said.

“Then you can’t go wrong. Even if they’re cultured, you’d get at least ten dollars for each pearl — so there’s your thousand right there. And if they’re genuine Oriental, you stand to make a phenomenal profit. If they’re genuine Oriental, you can get back ten times your investment. I’d have them x-rayed at once, if I were you.”

Parsons grinned. “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” the jeweler said. He put his eyepiece back in place and bent over his watch again.

Parsons took the young man to one side. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Looks like a good deal,” the young man said.

“I know. Listen, I can’t let this hick get away from me.”

“He’s willing to sell. What makes you think he’ll try to get away?”

“That’s just it. If these pearls are genuine Oriental, he’s sitting on a fortune. I’ve got to buy them before he has them x-rayed himself.”

“I see what you mean,” the young man said.

“The trouble is, I live in the next state. By the time I got to my bank, it’d be closed. This fellow isn’t going to wait until tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

“I guess not,” the young man said.

“Do you live in the city?”

“Yes.”

“Do you bank here?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got a thousand dollars in the bank?”

“Yes.”

“I hate to do this,” Parsons said.

“Hate to do what?”

Parsons smiled. “I hate to cut you in on such a sweet deal.”

“Would you?” the young man asked, interest showing in his eyes.

“What choice do I have? If I asked our hick to wait until tomorrow, I’d lose him.”

“Fifty-fifty split?” the young man asked.

“Now, wait a minute,” Parsons said.

“Why not? I’ll be putting up the money.”

“Only until tomorrow. Besides, he’s my hick. You wouldn’t have known anything about this if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“Sure, but you can’t buy those pearls if I don’t go to the bank.”

“That’s true.” Parsons’ eyes narrowed. “How do I know you won’t take the pearls and then refuse to sell me my half tomorrow?”

“I wouldn’t do a thing like that,” the young man said.

“I want your address and telephone number,” Parsons said.

“All right,” the young man said. He gave them to Parsons, and Parsons wrote them down.

“How do I know these are legitimate?” Parsons asked. “Let me see your driver’s license.”

“I don’t drive. You can check it in the phone book.” He turned to the jeweler. “Have you got an Isola directory?”

“Never mind,” Parsons said. “I trust you. But I’ll be at your apartment first thing tomorrow morning to give you my five hundred dollars and to get my share of the pearls.”

“All right,” the young man said. “I’ll be there.”

“God, this is a great deal, isn’t it? If they’re genuine, we’ll be rich. And if they’re cultured, we break even. We can’t lose.”

“It’s a good deal,” the young man agreed.

“Let’s get to the bank before he changes his mind.”