Ed McBain: The Con Man

“Well,” Parsons said in a seeming attempt to cajole O’Neill, “I’ll pay for the next round.”

“Oh, no,” O’Neill said. “We’ll match for the next round.”

“We haven’t even finished this round,” Jamison said politely.

“Makes no never mind,” O’Neill said. “I’m gonna lose, anyway. Come on, let’s match.”

“You shouldn’t take that attitude,” Parsons said. “I believe that, in matching, or in cards, or in things like that, you can control your own luck. No, really, you can. It’s all in the mind. If you go into this thinking you’re going to lose, why, you will lose.”

“I’ll lose no matter what,” O’Neill said. “Come on, let’s match.”

The men flipped their coins.

Parsons showed heads.

O’Neill showed heads.

Jamison showed tails.

“You’re a real lucky fink,” O’Neill said, his irritation mounting. “You could jump into a tub of horseshit and come out smelling of lavender.”

“Well, I’m not usually lucky,” Jamison said apologetically. He exchanged a quick glance with Parsons, whose uplifted eyebrows clearly expressed the opinion that O’Neill was a strange duck, indeed.

“Come on, come on,” O’Neill said, “let’s get this over with. This time I’ll call.” He and Parsons flipped their coins and covered them. “We match,” O’Neill said.

Parsons uncovered heads.

O’Neill uncovered tails and said, “Son of a bitch! You see? I never win, never! Goddammit, let’s match for the next round.”

“We’re already a round ahead of ourselves,” Parsons said gently.

“You want me to pay for all the damn drinks, is that it?” O’Neill shouted.

“Well, no, no, that’s not it.”

“Why won’t you give me a chance to win back what I’ve lost?”

Parsons smiled gently and looked to Jamison for assistance.

Jamison cleared his throat. “You misunderstand, Frank,” he said genially. “We hadn’t planned on making this a big drinking night. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even had dinner yet.”

“Is three rounds of drinks a big drinking night?” O’Neill asked irritably. “I say we match for the third round. I insist we match for the third round.”

Parsons smiled weakly. “Frank, it’s really academic. We may not even get to the third round. Look, let me pay for the last two rounds, huh? This party was my idea, and I’m a little embarrassed—”

“I lost, and I’ll pay!” O’Neill said firmly. “Now, come on, let’s match for the third round.”

Parsons sighed. Jamison shrugged and caught Parsons’s eye. The men flipped their coins.

“Heads,” Jamison said.

“Tails,” Parsons said.

“Tails,” O’Neill said sourly. “This Jamison never loses, does he? By God, he never loses. Come on, it’s between you and me, Charlie.”

“It’s my turn to call, isn’t it?” Parsons asked.

“Yes, yes,” O’Neill said impatiently. “It’s your goddamn turn to call.” He flipped and covered his coin.

Parsons flipped, covered the coin, and said, “We won’t match this time.” He lifted his hand — tails.

O’Neill uncovered his coin. “Heads! I could have told you! I could have told you even before I looked at the damn thing. I never win! Never!” He rose angrily. “Where’s the men’s room? I’m going to the men’s room!”

He stalked away from the table, and Parsons watched him.

“I’d like to apologize,” Parsons said. “When I invited him, I had no idea he was such a sore loser.”

“Hell, the matching was all his idea, anyway,” Jamison said.

“God, he really got riled up, didn’t he?”

“He’s a peculiar fellow,” Jamison said, shaking his head.

Parsons seemed to have a sudden idea. “Listen,” he said, “let’s have some fun with him.”

“What kind of fun?”

“Well, he’s a sore loser — worst I’ve ever seen.”

“Me, too,” Jamison said.

“He said he’s got three thousand dollars with him. Let’s take it away from him.”

“What?” Jamison said, suddenly righteously indignant.

“Not for keeps. We’ll take it away from him and then give it all back later.”

“Take it away? But I don’t understand.”

“We’ll change the matching rules when he comes back. We’ll make it odd man loses. All right, we’ll make sure that your coin and my coin always match. Nine times out of ten, he’ll be odd man. And loser.”

“How we going to do that?” Jamison asked, beginning to get interested in the idea of a little sport.

“Simple. Keep your coin on end so you can shove it down to either heads or tails. If I touch my nose with my finger, make your coin show heads. If I don’t touch it, show tails.”

“I see,” Jamison said, grinning.

“We’ll keep raising the stakes. We’ll clean him out, and then we’ll give him back his money. Okay?”

Jamison couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Boy,” he said, “he’s really going to blow his stack.”

“Until he knows it’s all a gag,” Parsons said. He patted Jamison on the back. “Here he comes. Now, let me handle this.”

“All right,” Jamison said, secretly beginning to enjoy himself.

O’Neill came back to the table and sat. He seemed angry as hell. “The second round come yet?” he asked.

“No,” Parsons said. “You know, Frank, it’s your attitude that makes you lose. I was just telling that to Elliot here.”

“Attitude, my ass,” O’Neill said. “I’m just unlucky.”

“I can prove it to you,” Parsons said. “Come on, let’s match a little more.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t going to be a drinking night,” O’Neill said suspiciously.

“We’ll match for a few bucks, all right?”

“I’ll lose,” O’Neill said.

“Why not give Charlie’s theory a chance?” Jamison put in.

“Sure,” Parsons said. “I’ve got a little money with me. Let’s see how fast you can take it away from me, using my theory.” He paused, then turned to Jamison. “You’ve got some money with you, haven’t you, Elliot?”

“About two hundred and fifty dollars,” Jamison said. “I don’t like to carry too much with me. You never know.”

“That’s wise,” Parsons said, nodding. “What do you say, Frank?”

“All right, all right, what’s your theory?”

“Just concentrate on winning, that’s all. Think with all your might. Just think, I’m going to win, I’m going to win, that’s all.”

“It won’t work, but I’m game. How much do we bet?”

“Let’s start with five,” Parsons said. “To make it quicker, we’ll do it this way. Odd man loses. He pays each of the other players five bucks. How does that sound?”

“Well, that sounds a little stee—” Jamison started.

“That sounds fine to me,” O’Neill said. Parsons winked at Jamison. Jamison gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and then hastily said, “Yes, that sounds fine to me, too.”

They began matching.

With remarkable regularity, O’Neill kept losing. Then, perhaps because Parsons wanted to make it look good, Jamison began to lose a little, too. The men matched silently. Their table was in a corner of the place, protected from sight by a translucent glass wall. It is doubtful, anyway, that anyone would have stopped the men from their innocent coin-matching. They flipped, uncovered, and exchanged bills. In a short while, O’Neill had lost something like $400. Jamison had lost close to $200. Parsons winked at Jamison every now and then, just to let him know that everything was proceeding according to plan. O’Neill kept complaining to Jamison — who was losing along with him — about Parsons’s theory. “The only one that goddamn theory works for is him himself,” O’Neill said.