That seemed like a problem. “How do we get him to accept the initial examination and not take it for further tests?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Alejandro’s authenticator is a smarmy son-of-a-bitch who thinks he can spot fakes instantly. He would never take it for further tests because then he’d have to admit he couldn’t do the job by himself. No. . .” He shook his head. “This will fool that guy. Just give me a day to clean it up and get it ready.”
Bea leaned closer. “How much do you want for it?”
Carl laughed. “You don’t mess around much, Bea. No small talk about how you suddenly found your lost daughter?”
“Life’s short, Carl.”
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll take ten percent. Fifty grand and it’s yours.”
Bea grunted. “I’ll give you ten grand. Take it, or else.”
Or else? Was Bea blackmailing Carl, too? I wouldn’t put it past her.
Carl rolled his eyes and grimaced. “Fine.”
Bea pulled a wad of cash from her purse. She counted out a fat handful and dropped it on the table. “Here’s half.” She stared at me but kept talking to Carl. “Dee will come to pick it up tomorrow, and she’ll pay you the other half.” My nod was both an acceptance of Bea’s demand and an assurance to Carl. We had a deal.
Bea and I slipped out the back door of the music shop and returned to her house. She wanted to talk about the next step, but I needed air. I was suffocating, pulled in by the quicksand world of grifting. The game-playing, the tension, and the gut-wrenching fear of bad outcomes had me spinning out of control. I desperately needed to recover that blackmail evidence.
Back at her home, Bea seemed to be wound tighter than a rubber-band airplane. I felt the pressure of the con oozing from her, the excitement she got from tricking people. Aunt Franny called this “con energy,” and she could always spot it in people. I could certainly see it in Bea—it practically radiated from her. She lectured me about my role, the backup strategies, and whatever else she could think of. This went on for hours, only stopping when my attention started to fade and I pleaded exhaustion.
One difference of opinion we had was how we would handle Alejandro. Could we admit to knowing who he was, or would we have to pretend to be mostly ignorant? I argued that ignorance would be foolish, because everybody knew Alejandro. Bea insisted that we play it cooler, allowing ourselves to be aware of him but pretending to be indifferent. She argued that if we came across as rabid fans, it would be harder for him to take us seriously. My problem was that I was already a rabid fan, so I couldn’t imagine pretending otherwise.