Starring Pete Duel and Ben Murphy
Sam Jaffe as Soapy Saunders
James Garner as "Shadey" Adrian Stone
Joan Hackett as Alec North
Pernell Roberts as Horace Penning
Special Guest Appearance by
Jeff Asam as Danny Blue
DO THE HUSTLE (aka: THEY CALL HIM THE STREAK)
(Acknowledgement: Fans of the BBC series ‘Hustle’ will suspect that this plot has been shamelessly – but very gratefully – filched. Their suspicions will be well-founded indeed!)Heyes and Curry, both carrying travel grips, dismount from a cab pulled up before an elaborate – and somewhat familiar – mansion within one of San Francisco’s most desirable residential areas.
"That’ll be a dollar." The driver’s hand is held out.
A dimpled smile indicates Curry should pay the man. A hand moves to a pocket, then... Sheepish look from beneath blond curls. Rolling his eyes, Heyes reaches into his own vest and settles up. Two ex-outlaws mount the steps.
"You had money when we got off the train." Heyes rat-a-tats the gleaming brass on the front door, "…You can’t have gotten in a game, ‘cos I only left you for ten minutes while I telegraphed Lom."
"There was this lady at the station…"
"Oh, for Pete’s sake!" grins Heyes, evidently in excellent humor on this fine sunny day.
"One flutter from a set of pretty lashes and…"
"NO! Nothing like that! She was a poor widow, real distressed ‘cos she needed to get to…"
The door is opened by a smart butler.
"Is Mister Saunders home?" asks Heyes.
"If you care to wait, sir, I will ascertain." The boys, removing their hats, are ushered into a spacious foyer. "Whom shall I say is calling?"
"Mister Smith…"
"…And Mister Jones. We’re expected," chips in Curry.
"Mister Smith and," the hint of a disbelieving lift to one well-groomed eyebrow, "…Mister Jones."
The butler departs.
"Anyhow, this widow needed the fare to Chicago and she’d lost…"
"Save it for the long winter evenings, Kid."
"You’da done the same, Heyes!" mutters Curry, still with a flush on his cheeks.
A sceptical look from the brown eyes.
"Well," concedes the Kid, "YOU might not. But, any fella not larcenous enough to charge his own teeth rent woulda!"
A delighted cry forestalls anything Heyes has to say. "Boys! Boys! You made it!"
Beaming all over his genial face, Soapy Saunders hurries out into the foyer. Heyes grasped the former con-man’s hand warmly between both of his.
"Course we made it!" exclaims Heyes.
"You didn’t think we’d miss the celebration for your seventieth birthday, did ya?" The Kid took his turn at pumping the little man’s hand, affectionately.
"You’re early! The party’s not until tomorrow."
"Yeah, sorry about that, Soapy, we had to leave our last town kinda sudden," says Heyes.
"No need to apologize, boys. First, I’m going to fix you an appropriate drink…"
"And we’re gonna accept it," grins the Kid, as they follow him towards the sunroom. "Then, tonight you’ll dine with me; the best meal Anatole’s magic can conjure!"
Happy smiles from two ex-outlaws who have had a few too many all-bean meals.
"It’ll be good to have a quiet evening with such dear old friends. Just the five of us."
"Five of us?" queries Heyes, as the door of the sunroom opens.
A seated figure is admiring the view of Soapy’s glorious garden from the terrace beyond the open French windows. At the sound of arrivals, he stands, turns. The slanting morning sunshine means that, from the boys' – and our – point of view, he is a silhouette only.
"You two remember each other, don’t you?" Soapy beams from Heyes to the shadowed profile and back.
The figure steps into the room. Well-dressed, tall, dark, handsome, brown eyes, dimples, charming smile. More specifically: better dressed, taller, darker, arguably – just as handsome in his own way.
A deep voice purrs, "Hello, Hannibal. It’s been a long time."
Curry casts a curious glance at his partner who, while keeping a poker-face, has a certain ‘frozen’ quality to his smile.
"Adrian Stone," Heyes says, as – after a moment of hesitation – he takes the offered hand. "I thought you were busy relieving rich folk of their money in Chicago."
"THE Shady Adey Stone!" exclaims the Kid, impressed. We gather he does not know the man, but he sure has heard of him.
"Please!" A deprecating palm is raised. A smile, of such dazzling white charm that the Kid blinks, is flashed. "I prefer ‘Honest Adrian’."
"I remember," grunts Heyes, "…These days, I prefer Joshua Smith."
"Your wish is my command." Not even such a cliché can sound lame when delivered in so silken a voice. The well-manicured hand is held out to Curry, "This must be your partner, Ki…?"
"Thaddeus Jones," supplies the Kid, firmly.
"Got it!" winks the smooth one. "Thaddeus, how would you like to hear a few stories about your best friend when he was eighteen, green as grass and trying his level best to out-talk golden-tongued Honest Adrian?"
---oooOOOooo---
The four men, all now with drinks in their hands, sit out on the terrace. Shady Adey is in full flow.
"So, I’d got him wearing a saloon gal’s bloomers, covered in maple syrup..."
"You said we’d be five for dinner, Soapy," interrupts Heyes, clearly not enjoying the story one bit. "Who’s the fifth?"
"Adrian’s partner, Alec," Soapy fills in, briefly. "Known as Smart-Alec to the inside. Go on! Heyes was dripping syrup and singing the Cowboy's Lament…"
"Outta key, I’ll bet," grins Curry. Unlike Heyes, HE is thoroughly enjoying this stroll down memory lane.
"Heyes and Adrian were the best two pupils I ever had," beams a nostalgic Soapy. "They were like brothers – weren’t you boys?"
"Sure," says Heyes. Perfectly timed pause, "Cain and Abel."
A good-humored snort of laughter from Adrian, "It was never that bad, Hanni… I mean, Joshua." To Curry, "Merely a little friendly sibling rivalry. Back then, both of us were desperate to prove to Soapy who was the best con artist." An eyebrow is raised. "I guess that argument got settled, huh?"
Heyes bristles. "I guess it did!" he agrees. The implication is clear.
"Oh, come. You gave up the beautiful art of grifting for the blunt instrument of armed robbery. And now, I understand, you’re on the straight and narrow. Admirable of course, but," a dismissive shrug, "...Can an artist keep his touch if he never picks up a brush? Besides, the true con is a team game. Now, Thaddeus here clearly has a myriad of talents – but is that one of them?"
"Adrian, the cons me and Thaddeus hadta work over the past two years just to stay outta jail would make anything YOU’VE done look like – like..." Heyes outruns his eloquence. A frustrated scowl.
"Like bouncing $50,000 down a mountain into a lake?" Adrian lights a fine cigar and offers his case first to Curry – who takes one, then to the chagrined dimpled one – who does not. "Word gets around," he smiles, "...No offense."
"Well, that wasn’t exactly our best day," demurs the Kid.
"Now, now, Adrian," reproves Soapy, with a twinkle suggesting he enjoys watching his old proteges replay former bickering. "These boys HAVE worked some pretty good cons. Heyes pulled off a $10,000 Big Store not two years past..."
Reluctantly impressed smoke ring from Adey.
"As for the Kid not being a trained grifter, that may be true – but he sure held his end up swindling a banker with a salted diamond field play."
"Nice!" acknowledges Adey, tipping Curry a salute with his cigar. The Kid, who is untroubled by the competitiveness eating at Heyes, returns the courtesy.
"However smart this Smart-Alec of yours is – Thaddeus could run rings round him!" declares Heyes.
The Kid gives a discomfited wriggle at this. All the same, his face suggests he is touched.
"Awww!" Shady Adey teases, "...I’m misting up!"
Noises off indicate a new arrival out in the foyer.
"That’ll be Alec back from the shops," smiles Soapy.
The boys look over as the door opens.
"Gentlemen," says Adrian, "Let me introduce my most invaluable cohort, colleague and collaborator, Alexandra North. Alec, come and meet a guy from my misspent youth; Joshua Smith."
Heyes’ face registers first surprise, then hair-smoothing, shoulder-squaring masculine interest as Alec – shapely, sinuous, sexy with a capital ‘S’ – comes forward, a tip-tilted smile lifting one creamy cheek. He gets, hastily, to his feet.
"...And his partner, Thaddeus Jones, who can, apparently, run rings around YOU, though, he might like to finish his cigar first."
Curry’s face registers more than just surprise. A flush mounts from chin to brow, as he meets a pair of knowing green eyes, currently crinkling with amusement.
"We meet again! Believe me, Mister Jones, if I had any idea you were a friend of Soapy, I never would have..." While speaking, Alec opens her reticule and leafs through a roll of dollars. "...I think that was the amount?"
Refusing to meet his partner’s eyes, the Kid takes back his money.
"And – here’s your watch."
"But, ma’am, I haven’t lost my..." Curry’s fingers check his vest. He shuts up and takes his watch.
---oooOOOooo---
"When we reran the Shady Acres con out at Silver Springs, we had to get everything in place in just..."
Heyes’ turn to be in full flow. He and Adrian sit forward, deep in one-upmanship. Curry, Alec and Soapy slump in their seats wearing ‘please-stop-before-my-ears-start-to-bleed’ expressions.
"So, Diamond Jim should arrive tomorrow around..." tries Alec.
"Joshua," Adrian’s voice now has an edge of tetchiness, "Bringing off a con is like making love to a beautiful woman..."
Alec gives up trying to change the subject. She catches first the Kid’s, then Soapy’s eyes, lifts her own to the ceiling and gives a tiny shake of the head. Curry checks the time on his returned watch. Soapy raises a hand to cover a yawn. For the audience, the Heyes versus Shady Adey willy-waving competition has lost its novelty.
"...An artist governs the pace. He certainly never boasts of a hasty conclusion."
"C’mon! We both know that to succeed – a con artist has to react..." Slim fingers snap. "...Like that!"
Surreptitiously, Soapy lowers the jug of delicious-looking mint julep to the side of his chair, then tips it into a handy potted palm.
"Sure! When I took the Chairman of the Chicago Pork Belly Processors for ..."
"Adrian, we’re running dry here. Will you go tell Anatole we need a refill?"
Adrian stops, mid-boast. There is genuine affection in his gaze as he looks at the old man, "Sure, Soapy." He leaves.
Heyes comes over to Curry, apparently to pass a dish of delicious tidbits, in reality to lean in and breathe, "Sheesh! Have you ever heard such a blow-hard?"
"Heyes," the Kid is also sotto-voce; Heyes leans closer confident of confirmation, "...Why’d’ya never tell me you were a twin separated at birth?"
This sinks in. Affronted blink.
"Joshua," Soapy again, "I forgot to tell Adrian we need more crushed ice. Would you...?"
Heyes’ gaze, too, mellows, as he looks at his kindly old mentor. "Sure, Soapy." He leaves.
The remaining three exchange something so close to the ‘look’, that we may as well call it, the ‘look’.
---oooOOOooo---
Heyes and Adrian, one carrying a full jug, one carrying a bucket of crushed ice, approach the terrace.
"Listen, I could beat you back in ‘69, and I can beat you..."
"You been having these memory problems long? I was always two steps ahead of..."
As the bickering - seemingly uninterrupted – returns, the threesome on the terrace exchange resigned smiles.
"...As I was saying, my dear," Soapy gives Alec’s hand a paternal squeeze, "...The two finest pupils I ever had; always jostling to be top dog. But, there’s only one sure-fire way to decide who’s the best out of a pair of hustlers and I never dared... Oh!" Soapy gives a small start indicating he has just realised Heyes and Adrian are back. "Thank you, boys."
"A sure-fire way to decide who’s the best hustler?" A quizzical smile dimples Heyes’ cheeks.
"Alec, my dear, will you oblige by pouring the drinks?" Soapy feigns deafness to Heyes’ question.
"A sure-fire way to decide who’s the best hustler?" echoes Adrian.
"Thaddeus, would you move that parasol a little to the left – we cannot have our lovely Alec sitting in a glare, can we?"
As the Kid complies with Soapy’s request, two dark-haired combatants quiver with ill-concealed curiosity. "A sure-fire way...?" Heyes starts.
"...To decide who’s the best hustler?" finishes Adrian.
They exchange a quick ‘hey, I’m talking’ scowl, and then switch back to warm ‘do go on’ smiles aimed at their old mentor.
"You never told us!" In unison.
"Look fellas," Soapy lays a fatherly hand on each of the questioners’ shoulders, "the reason I never told you, back then, is because I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist trying it." A genial smile over at Curry and Alec, "You two wouldn’t believe how competitive your partners were when they were eighteen!" Back to Heyes and Adrian, "But it’s all different now. Neither of you has anything to prove. Do you?"
"No, no."
"Of course not."
A pause. Heyes clears his throat. "Though – now we’ve grown outta all that, there’s no reason not to fill us in on this sure-fire decider, huh?"
"Well..." Soapy is hesitant.
"Oh, go on Soapy," Alec curls her feet under herself and settles back, "I’d like to hear."
"Yeah, tell us," chips in Kid Curry, linking his hands behind his head and tilting his face up to the sun. "We’ve got a whole day to fill. And, like Joshua says, him an’ Adrian ain’t dumb an’ eighteen anymore." A pause. "Well, they ain’t eighteen."
"That’s right," urges Heyes. A frown, "Hey!"
"It’s called the Anderson Challenge," begins Soapy, settling back and steepling his fingers, "It dates from the 1840s when a hustler called JJ Devlin ran a crew back East in New York. He was the best. BUT, it’s the natural order of things that eventually a young lion will come along to challenge the pride leader. One day, one of the crew, a fella by the name of Anderson, got to thinking, he ought to be running things. He issued a challenge..."
"The Anderson Challenge..." deduces Curry.
"That’s right! Both men were to be dropped off in the middle of New York at noon," Soapy takes a sip of his drink, "...Stark naked!"
"Naked?!" A spurt of laughter from Alec. Blinks from two sets of deep brown eyes.
"As the day they were born, my dear! They were to meet six hours later, and whoever had accumulated the most..."
"He won the challenge!" Adrian realises that came out both too high and too loud. With studied casualness he goes on. "Of course, I don’t have to prove who’s the better grifter – I know how good I am."
"You took the words outta my mouth," says Heyes, "’cept I’m better’n good. I’m a genius!"
Exchange of the ‘look’ between Alec and Curry. Two sets of eyes roll.
---oooOOOooo---
The five-some are gathered around a table in the sunroom; the youngsters all face Soapy who is speaking.
"Okay. We’ve an hour until noon; let’s set the rules. You’re dropped together. You both return here by six. Whoever shows the biggest gain wins."
"Who counts?" checks Adrian.
"I do," says Soapy. "And I estimate the value of any non-cash items you’ve acquired – jewelery, clothes, etcetera."
"Can we use anyone else?" puts in Heyes.
"Yes. Alec and Thaddeus will be in a prearranged pickup spot an hour in. But, you only ask for help when you’re ready to work a con – and they can only assist – not initiate a play. Questions?"
Adrian and Heyes lock eyes; classic stand-off stare. Two heads shake.
---oooOOOooo---
A closed carriage, windows blacked out, pulls up in a bustling, mid-city San Francisco square. Kid Curry is up front at the reins; Alec and Soapy beside him. He jumps down, offers a hand to help first her, then the old man. She takes a new-fangled hand-held camera from the seat and positions herself carefully to one side.
"Where are we?" It is Adrian’s voice from inside the carriage.
"Don’t worry, I found a nice quiet little spot," reassures Curry.
Heyes’ voice, "And, Alec’s not looking?"
"Would we do that to you?!" scathes Soapy. "Gentlemen, you have six hours!"
In one swift seamless movement Curry throws open the door and lets down the step. Adrian and Heyes are revealed, poised to climb out, both mother-naked.
They see the milling crowds. Both within and without the carriage eyes widen, mouths gape. A moment of frozen horror. Unseen by them, Alec clicks.
"@**@!!!" yells Heyes.
"@**@!!!" agrees Adrian.
Ignoring the step, two nekkid combatants launch a magnificent flying leap into the centre of the street. One hand waving folk aside, one hand vainly trying to preserve a PG13 rating, the pair take to their heels, one east, one west, racing past shocked, amused and just plain stunned observers.
We watch the delighted grins of Curry and Soapy as two lily-white backsides glint in the sun and two sets of swift legs weave, agile as eels, through the crowd. Our point of view switches swiftly from Adrian to Heyes – and again. We linger on Heyes for a moment because – hey, why not?
---oooOOOooo---
We follow Adrian’s rear as it turns into a side alley and he spots... Swift as a streak (pun intended) of lightning, a pair of dimpled buttocks attached to an over-confident con-man disappear into a workman’s tent next to a hole in the sidewalk and a set of parts from an unassembled street gaslight. Almost instantaneously, an extremely calm Adrian remerges, clad in filthy and baggy coveralls. With the nonchalance of a prince, and seemingly oblivious to the still bare feet to which we pan, he strolls away.
---oooOOOooo---
Back to Heyes, also heading down a side street where he encounters – nuns. He raises both hands in mute apology, realises this exposes himself (another pun intended) to yet more embarrassment and dives head first into some handy ornamental bushes fronting an impressive building.
---oooOOOooo---
Switch to Adrian, striding casually along the perimeter of Golden Gate Park. He passes an open-air café, doing good trade on this fine day. Without breaking stride a mustard pot is lifted, and dropped into a capacious pocket.
---oooOOOooo---
Heyes is still doing his ‘Adam among the fig leaves’ act. A furtive pair of brown eyes watch a noisy wagon marked ‘City Gas-Lighting Extension Program’, appropriately loaded with disassembled street lights, digging equipment and a pair of laborers. Heyes explodes from the bushes and leaps among the astounded workmen all the while yelling, "Go! Go! Get going! He’s coming!"
"Phwhat...?"
"Jaysus, Mary an’..."
"Go! Her old man’s coming! Sure and he’s got a shotgun! DRIVE!" By now Heyes has managed to inject the very subtlest hint of a brogue to his own voice, as he scrambles to hide, the picture of fright, under a tarpaulin.
"Huh?"
"But.."
"He caught us in bed! Didn’t I hafta shimmy down a fire escape! GO! He’s coming!"
The astonishment cedes to affable masculine laughter. The reins are slapped. The wagon rumbles off at the best pace such a clumsy vehicle can manage.
---oooOOOooo---
Adrian stands before a fancy department store watching well-dressed folk go by. His eyes note a particularly prosperous-looking gentleman, who with a curt word and scowl, waves aside an eager shoeshine boy. As the mark passes, a quick flick of hand from pocket to the suited back... "Excuse me," a shoulder is tapped, "I reckon a pigeon’s got you."
"What!?"
"Down your back," Adrian points.
The gentleman twists, looks, sees the splat of viscous yellow, "D*** it! This is a $100 suit!"
"Take it off, take it off," urges Adrian, in fervently obliging mode. He helps the man out of the satin lined jacket, holds it up, tuts at the stain. "My old grandma was wonderful at this stuff. What you have to do is soak it in soda water, then run it under a cold tap for at least ten minutes. Look!" A finger indicates a building opposite, scowling eyes follow. "The hotel over there’ll have soda." He hands the jacket back. "Don’t let it sit on the cloth – it bleaches!"
As the mark hurries away, Adrian turns to enter the department store’s revolving door, leafing through a well-stuffed wallet. After one revolution, he remerges – immaculate from head to toe – suave fingers giving a final tweak to an already perfectly knotted silk necktie.
---oooOOOooo---
In a much less salubrious part of town, Heyes pulls on a disgusting old jersey and an even more disgusting pair of tattered and too-short pants.
"I’ll bring ‘em back..."
"Not at all! I only keep ‘em for when we’re on sewer work. They’re ready for the rag-bag, so they are."
"As for those..." This is Laborer Two speaking, we pan to a pair of comically huge boots from which Heyes’ ankles emerge daintily slender. "Haven’t I been meaning to cut ‘em up and use ‘em for patching these six months? It’s not a drop of water they’re keeping out!"
"This is real kind. I’ll come pay yo..."
"Pshaw! Hasn’t he given us a story we can drink on for days, Pat?"
"To be sure he has, Michael!" Huge grin, "Don’t we usually have to be making them up!"
---oooOOOooo---
Adrian enters a saloon and scans the place. A jar of boiled eggs stand on the counter. He dips his head to hide a smile as he walks up and discreetly shakes a little salt into his palm.
Our point of view pulls back. In dumb show we see our guest charmer hold aloft an egg before the eyes of the barkeep. We see a sceptical customer standing an egg by breaking the shell. Currency is produced and laid on the counter. More interested customers sidle up. More notes join the pile.
---oooOOOooo---
From a discreet distance, Heyes observes the open-air café from which Adrian purloined the mustard. Customers are enjoying lunchtime refreshments in the glorious sunshine. A sidewalk artist is chalking pictures. As Heyes watches, a couple stop to examine his work. The young lady points admiringly, the young man flips a silver coin into the upturned hat. They stroll on to the café. We focus on Heyes, still short-panted and huge-booted. A musing expression settles on his face. He mooches over.
"Hey, fella."
The sidewalk artist glances up at the scruffy object before him.
A dimpled, endearing smile, "Let me have a piece of chalk, huh?"
Thinking. Innocent enough request. With a shrug, a piece is handed over.
Squaring his shoulders, Heyes marches over to the café. He stoops to place a large ‘X’ before one table. Straightening, he paces five yard-length steps – visibly counting under his breath. Another ‘X’ is chalked. Curious eyes watch. He pivots ninety degrees on his heel, marches between the tables – still counting.
Customers are – with apologetic smiles – made to shift their chairs to let him pass. A few sharply drawn-back heads indicate Heyes’ clothes are distasteful to the nose as well as the eye. Ripples of annoyance. A third X is inscribed. Heyes is now pushing, still exuding affability, through the centre of the tables. A plump man, quite possibly the owner, scurries over.
"Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?"
"Top o’ the morning to you, soir." Whereas before Heyes used a hint of brogue to win over Pat and Michael, now he displays an Oirish accent so thick you could use it to keep out the draught. "You shouldn’t have to move more than foive or six tables. Oi’m going to work all around you, so I am."
"What?!"
"Don’t you worry about me, soir. Oi’ll have this done in two or three hours, just as soon as the boys gets here. Moind you," twinkling grin, "A cup o’ tay would not go amiss!"
Heyes is still pacing out a square, shifting customers as he goes. The man scuttles after him.
"We’ll be digging down three or four feet... You moight want to move, ma’am, it’ll be a mite dusty there, so it will."
"You can’t dig here. I’ve people eating."
Heyes is deaf to him. "No, no, ma’am," reacting to the lady’s irritation as he lifts her plate and places it the other side of her table, "...No need to leave. Won’t we be quiet as a mouse? Well," cheery laugh, "...A herd o’ mouses the soize of elephants an’ wearing clogs!" To the distressed owner, trying but failing to get a word in as the silver tongue runs on without intermission, "You moight want to warn folk not to have the soup. Sure and there’s nothing worse than grit in your soup. It gets stuck in your teeth, so it does." Heyes finally reacts to the jigging owner, "Did you not get the letter, soir?"
"No, I didn’t get a letter."
"Sure and those fellas in the city office couldn’t organize the proverbial in a brewery! Though it’s not for the loikes o’ me to say so. Could it not be lost in the post and all? Oi’ll have a copy with my work order in the wagon, soir, when the gang arrive. If you could give me a hand, soir, we’ll shift these good folk..."
More confused annoyance as meals are interrupted and chairs bumped. One pair of customers leave. "Look!" The owner grasps Heyes’ arm. "Just explain what you are doing!"
"It’s effluent, soir." Nice and loud so every diner can hear.
"Effluent?"
"More shi... More poo than you can shake a stick at!" Again, full volume. Murmurs of distaste. More customers rise to leave. "Raw sewage backing up from here to Nob Hill. The street plan shows two access points; one here..." Heyes stoops, chalks a final huge X, "...And one round the corner." He points.
"Can’t you use that one?"
"Oh no, soir, as that’s only a minor access point, so it is. This is much bigger. We’ll open up – get right down to where the poo is!"
He grins happily at a lady who, hearing what she is sitting over, covers her mouth with a handkerchief and pushes away her desert.
"Please," pleads the owner, "...Use the other access point."
"No, no, soir. I can’t do that. I can’t use the other access point." The dark head is shaking, firmly, "Oh, no. Can’t do that!"
The owner leans in, "I could make it worth your while."
The head stops shaking. Dimples appear.
---oooOOOooo---
Heyes walks away from the café, counting his money. He looks up. A smart open carriage bowls by. Heyes’ jaw drops as he recognises the occupant. Adrian raises his top hat, with a charming, if smug - smile.
---oooOOOooo---
Kid Curry and Alec sit in another part of the park, listening to the music from the bandstand.
"Has it been an hour yet?" asks Alec.
Curry reaches into his vest. He sighs and holds out his hand. Alec gives him his watch back.
"You’re not funny, y’know!"
"Maybe not from where you’re sitting. Well – has it been an hour?"
"Yup."
"Do you think they’re dressed yet?"
"I sure hope so. That was NOT a pretty sight."
Curry gets to his feet. "I guess we better get to our pickup spots."
They move off to obviously pre-arranged spots. We accompany Curry. Alec waits by a water fountain, too far off to overhear, but still visible in long-shot. Curry finds himself a handy tree to lean against. He spots a very, very scruffy, though somehow familiar, figure coming toward him.
"Sheesh, Heyes. Is that you?" A grin, "Not that it ain’t a huge improvement on last time I saw ya!" He unpeels himself from the trunk. "You’re first to the pickup, anyhow."
"Where is she?"
Curry points to the distant Alec. As he does, the carriage we saw earlier drives smartly into view. It is the Kid’s turn to gape as he watches the driver let down the step and Alec join the top-hatted Adrian.
"Did you see...?"
"He only hired that to make it look as if he’s doin’ better’n me," scowls Heyes.
Curry draws in his breath, "I’d say it worked, Heyes!"
"You don’t wanna let that worry you, Kid."
"Don’t worry ME none," deadpans his partner, "I’m a neutral. Remember?" A pause. He looks at the tension on Heyes’ face. "Why do you wanna beat him so bad, Heyes?"
"Because... Because..." Silence. A deep breath. A determined look in the brown eyes. "I have to beat him, Kid. Because – he’s there!"
---oooOOOooo---
Adrian is behind an upturned barrel in a busy, though less up-market, thoroughfare. Three cards are being swished, swooshed, switched, swapped, quicker than a human eye can follow. His (allegedly) golden tongue is in full flow.
"Keep your eye on the lady – there she is – and over she goes and – there she is again – follow the lady – follow the lady – where’s the lady?"
A dainty fingertip taps the middle card.
"There? Are you sure, ma’am? You don’t want to change your mind? No? We’ve a lady who knows her own mind here, folks!"
He flicks over the chosen card. The Queen. Two tiny hands clap in delight. A trill of feminine laughter as a twenty dollar note is scooped up.
"You’re killing me, ma’am! That’s three times in a row you’ve won! She’s too quick for me folks! Who else wants to take my money off me?"
We pan back. The winner is of course – Alec. She steps aside and lets the now enthralled crowd of punters convinced Adrian is a pushover take her place.
"You, sir! You want to take my money? It’s easy. All you have to do is keep your eye on the pretty lady. There she is – and over she goes – and round and round and..."
---oooOOOooo---
Kid Curry emerges from a gentlemen’s ready-to-wear establishment carrying brown paper parcels.
---oooOOOooo---
Alec is now some yards from the bunko stand and, while maintaining an innocent face, doing a thoroughly professional job as look-out. She spots two uniformed men approaching. Her fingers go to her mouth and...
Adrian reacts to the piercing whistle like lightning. A pile of notes is scooped into his pocket. The table is abandoned. He grabs Alec’s hand and they take to their heels.
---oooOOOooo---
Kid Curry waits by fancy wrought-iron railings sign-posted ‘Gentlemen’. A dapperly-suited Heyes, adjusting a spanking new derby, runs lightly up the steps.
He holds out his hand. A pause. "Change?" he prompts.
"What change?" scathes the Kid. "Heyes, the money you made so far, you’re wearing it!"
---oooOOOooo---
Alec is inside a plush hotel bedroom. She is also in the embrace of a rumpled, nondescript, balding businessman who – not unsurprisingly – cannot believe his good luck.
"Oh, Vernon!" she gasps, apparently in mounting excitement.
"Oh, Laura!" Unpractised fingers – one wearing a wedding band, the rat! - fumble, incompetently, with her buttons. A creamy shoulder is uncovered – and kissed. Wetly.
"Oh, Vernon – I can’t believe I’m behaving this way. I’ve never done anything like..."
The door slams open, crashing and reverberating against the wall. Adrian, the picture of righteous wrath explodes into the room, exuding all the physical danger of which a six-foot, broad-shouldered, well-built man in prime physical condition is capable.
"My husband!" Terrified squeal.
"Laura!" Flashing dark eyes turn on a petrified Vernon, "You snake!"
Vernon’s lips are still puckered to a smooch as he goggles at the approaching, swift-striding retribution.
"No, Frank! No! Think of the children! What will become of them when their father is hanged for murder?"
At the word ‘murder’ the trembling Vernon’s eyes bulge in sheer horror.
"Must our darling boys suffer for their mother’s moment of frailty? Must they pay the price of her yielding to – almost irresistible – passion? Is it not enough that we can no longer afford the fees to keep them at the school they love so much?"
---oooOOOooo---
Heyes and the Kid are in the saloon previously visited by an ovoid-balancing Adrian.
"Hey," Heyes beams at a glum barkeep, "...Whaddya think the odds are I can make an egg stand on its end?"
---oooOOOooo---
In the street outside the saloon, our two boys straighten their rumpled jackets and dust off the hats thrown out after them.
"HE taught YOU that?" Curry’s expression indicates he is impressed.
"Yeah. And the five pat hands trick." Musing. "Maybe I could get in a poker game."
"What kinda game starts mid-day?"
"Not the kind that’s gonna make me rich by six," acknowledges Heyes, ruefully. A pause. "Nah. I don’t wanna just beat him, I wanna beat him at his own game. A long con."
"Before six."
"A short long con," amends Heyes. Thinking hard.
"Where are you gonna find a mark?"
More thinking. The brown eyes light up. "There IS someone I wanna con," breathes Heyes, "Someone I’ve been saving for a rainy day."
Continued in Part two...
