Stephen Cannell - King Con

Texaco tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, bud, I wanna talk to you about your dog," he said.

Beano turned and looked at him for a long moment, listening intently to the receiver.

"I can't talk to you," Beano whispered and turned away from him. "But look," he said into the receiver, "how the hell much could that possibly cost? I was just getting set to pick her up. I thought you said the tests came back negative." There was a long pause while he pretended to listen… "Is she gonna stay in the hospital over there?" And then he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his eyes. "Okay. But where the hell am I gonna get ten thousand dollars for a bone marrow transplant? You sure the insurance won't handle it?" And then he nodded. "Okay, I'll find a way. Okay… okay, kiss her for me. Tell her I love her and I'll get the money somehow," and he started to sob again, softly. When he hung up he had tears on his face. Beano turned and started to walk back toward the front of the airport. Texaco grabbed him by the arm.

"Hey, bud… maybe I can help ya," he said.

"Huh?" Beano looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Who are you?" he said, distracted, looking down at his watch.

"I was in the bar back there where you left yer dog. My kid was with me and he was, well, he kinda fell in love with that little mutt, and I promised him I'd look for you and see if you'd sell him."

"I can't sell him. He's too valuable." Beano started away.

"I couldn't help but overhear you on the phone there… You got problems, from what I heard. That's rough. I could go maybe two thousand for the mutt, just 'cause I never saw my kid go so goofy for a dog like that before."

Beano thought Texaco was a terrible liar; the deceit was all over his face. "That dog is priceless. I wouldn't sell him for twice that."

"Okay. Twice that, then. Four thousand." Now avarice and a low IQ were cooking the deal. Texaco's eyes were lit with greed.

Beano let himself look torn for a moment.

"My little girl has leukemia. They need to do a bone marrow transplant." He started to cry again and pulled out his handkerchief. He struggled to control himself. "I'm sorry, I gotta go," he said. "My car's double parked."

"Okay, I'll go forty-five. Top offer. That's half what you said you need. Okay? You go sell your car or something, then you got the whole bone."

Beano looked at him for a long moment. "How would you pay?" he said, readying Texaco for the sting.

"We take my Visa card over to that machine there and run it through, then I give you cash," he said.

Texaco knew he could make a clean forty-five hundred when he sold the dog to the gray-haired asshole who wrote articles for a fucking kennel magazine. "If it was my kid dyin'," he pressed, "I wouldn't put no dog in line ahead a'her."

"You're right," Beano sniffed. "You're absolutely right."

They went to the cash machine and got the money. Texaco counted it out for Beano, but wouldn't let him have it yet. As they went back into the bar to get Roger-the-Dodger, they could see Victoria still reading, and Paper Collar John sitting by Gate 16, waiting for the flight to Dallas. In the bar, Roger-the-Dodger had drawn quite a crowd. Three flight attendants were petting and scratching him under the ears. Beano opened his wallet and took one of his American Kennel Club certificates out. "This verifies his pedigree," he said, handing the worthless Xerox over to Texaco, who now released the money. Beano handed the leash to Texaco, then he kissed Roger good-bye. "So long, old friend. I'm sorry, but you're probably saving Cindy's life." Roger licked his face. "His name is Sir Anthony of Aquitaine," Beano said sadly. "He likes Pedigree Dog Chow, the beef with liver and chicken. I get him the Doggie Cookie Treats from Alpo if he's been good."

"Whatever," Texaco said and, in a hurry to complete the transaction, walked out of the bar holding the leash.

Roger-the-Dodger bounced right after him. The dog was well trained. Each time Texaco thought he would have to tug on the leash, he found Sir Anthony of Aquitaine right on his heels.

He went to find the man with the gray hair who had the crisp hundred-dollar bills in his briefcase. He went directly to Gate 16, the flight to Dallas. But the man wasn't there, and Texaco started to panic. The man had been there just seconds ago. And then the flight to Miami was called. Victoria got up and walked to the gate, showed her original ticket, and put her purse through the Security check. Then she walked through and down the ramp. Beano followed her. Texaco turned and, with panic in his eyes, watched them go. Then, once they were through Security, Beano turned, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and whistled for Roger-the-Dodger. The dog took off running.

"No, you don't," Texaco said and yanked back on the leash, now discovering why Roger had heeled so precisely… the dog was wearing a tear-away Velcro collar. Roger zipped out and away, leaving Texaco dumbfounded, holding a leash and an empty collar.

Roger ran right through the Security check area and jumped up into Beano's arms. Beano and Victoria took off running down the ramp. Texaco Phillips went after them. He tried to crash the gate at Security, but two airport cops grabbed him and tried to hold him down. What happened next was not pretty. The ex-Patriot linebacker threw a meaty left hook and knocked one of the cops out… He hit the ground unconscious. All that was missing was the Tweety Birds over his head. Texaco Phillips was now loping down the corridor, a team of angry airport cops trailing behind him like determined wake sewage. Finally he was tackled by four at once, then wrestled to the floor. He put up a horrendous struggle.

"My dog," he yelled, "my dog! He stole my fucking dog!"

But the cops were not about to listen. They were too busy playing catch-up. They hammered his already flat face with metal billy clubs, and took fungo shots at his puckered balls. They Maced him until their cans spit air. When they were done he was on the floor, doing a reasonable imitation of a beached flounder.

Beano and Victoria stopped before boarding, and opened the folding kennel case that read CANINE DRUG ENFORCEMENT, U.S. CUSTOMS. They put Roger inside and then went aboard and settled into their first-class seats to Miami.

Beano counted the forty-five hundred dollars he had just gotten from prison-bound Texaco Phillips. He put it into an envelope, licked it closed, wrote John Bates on the outside, and called a flight attendant. "Could you page this gentleman and ask him to pick this up at the ticket counter?" he said, handing it to her. "Tell him I couldn't get the whole ten, so he'll have to make do with forty-five."

"Of course, sir," she said and left. When she came back, she said that Mr. Bates had been waiting out front and had been given the envelope and the message.

"What was all that commotion out there?" Beano said pleasantly. "That man the police were chasing, what did he do?"

"He tried to break through Security. That's a Federal crime. Apparently he had a gun; that carries a mandatory sentence of ten years. I don't think we'll be seeing him for a long time," she said.

"Really?" Beano said with mock surprise.

"The Feds take that very seriously," she answered, and moved off.

Victoria smiled. "I am very impressed, two birds with one dog," she grinned.

Roger-the-Dodger was wagging his tail inside the case; it banged happily against the side of the carry-kennel, giving the effect of well-deserved applause.

The plane rolled down the runway ten minutes later.

They were off to Miami and then to the Bahamas. They had eliminated Texaco Phillips.

It was time to put Tommy Rina in play.

*

"Some lies are more believable than truth."