and like I say, you might meet some people who will help you make up your mind.“
I accepted his invitation, because he was right, in a way. It was quite possible some of his guests could help me. By letting me fleece them.
It was a black-tie affair, but I had no trouble finding a tuxedo rental shop that was open and which could fit me on such short notice. I also had no trouble locating the city father’s home, which proved to be uncomfortably close to a certain banker’s home. I hoped she wasn’t a guest also, but I had the parking attendant position my car for a quick getaway, just in case.
She wasn’t a guest, but the most stunning and attractive blonde I’ve ever encountered, before and since, was a guest. I noticed her moments after I joined the throng of guests, and she kept attracting my attention all evening. Oddly enough, although she seemed always to be the center of a circle of admirers, she didn’t seem to be with any one of the men paying her court. My host confirmed the fact.
“That’s Cheryl,” he said. “She’s a standard decoration at parties like this. She’s a model and she’s been on the covers of several magazines. We have a pretty good arrangement with her. She lends excitement to our parties and we make sure she gets mentioned in all the society columns. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
She made it immediately known that she’d been curious about me also. “I saw you arrive,” she said, extending her hand. “That’s a lovely Rolls. Is it yours or did you borrow it for the occasion?”
“No, it’s one of mine,” I said.
Her eyebrows arched. “One of yours? Do you have more than one Rolls-Royce?”
“I have several,” I replied. “I’m a collector.” I knew from the gleam in her eyes that I’d made a dear friend. She was obviously impressed by wealth and material possessions. In fact, I was continually surprised throughout the remainder of the evening that such a beautiful exterior masked such a venal and covetous interior. However, I wasn’t interested in her lack of virtues. I was attracted by her obvious vices. She was avariciously gorgeous.
We weren’t together the entire evening. We would part occasionally and go prowling separately, like two leopards seeking prey in the same jungle. I found the prey I was hunting, a couple of fat and juicy bank pigeons. She also found her prey. Me.
I took her aside about 2:30 a.m. “Look, this party’s about dead,” I proposed. “Why don’t we go back to my penthouse and have some breakfast?”
Her reply was a blow to my ego. “What’s it worth to you for me to go back to your hotel with you?” she asked, eying me provocatively.
“I thought you were a model,” I blurted, surprised.
She smiled. “There’re different kinds of modeling. Some modeling jobs come higher than others,” she said.
I had never paid a girl to go to bed with me. The world of professional sex was an unknown realm. To my knowledge, I’d never before met a hooker or a call girl. But apparently I had now. However, I still wanted her in my bed, and having established her true calling, I made an attempt to establish her price. What the hell, I had plenty of money. “Uh, $300?” I ventured.
She grimaced prettily and shook her head. “No, I’m afraid $300 isn’t enough,‘ she said.
I was astonished. Obviously I’d been cavorting in luxury for years without knowing the value of the wares I’d enjoyed. “Oh, all right, let’s double it and say $600,” I said.
She gave me a coolly speculative look. “That’s closer,” she said. “But for a man of your means, I should think it would be higher.”
I looked at her and was irritated. I had established and followed a certain felonious code of ethics since taking up crime as a profession. Among other things, I’d never diddled an individual. For instance, I’d never purchased a wardrobe or any other personal item with a hot check. Too many department stores and business firms held an individual salesperson responsible for bogus checks. If a salesman took a check for a suit, and the check bounced, the cost of the suit came out of the clerk’s salary. My targets had always been corporate targets-banks, airlines, hotels, motels or other establishments protected by insurance. When I splurged on a new wardrobe or anything else of a personal nature, I always hit a bank or a hotel for the needed cash.
It suddenly occurred to me that Cheryl would make a lovely exception to my rule. “Look, we could stand here all night and argue price,” I said. “I hate quibbling. Instead of going to my place, why don’t we go to your apartment, spend an hour or so there, and I’ll give you $1,000.”
She reached for her purse. “Let’s go,” she agreed. “But I don’t have an apartment at the moment. I lost my lease and I’m staying at a hotel in Miami Beach.” She named the hotel, which was one not too far from mine, and we were there within thirty minutes.
She was inserting her key into the door of her suite when I turned, saying, “I’ll be right back.”
She grabbed my arm. “Hey, where’re you going?” she asked, somewhat agitated. “You’re not going to back out, are you?”
I took her hand off my arm. “Look, you don’t think I carry $1,000 in my pocket, do you?” I said. “I’m going downstairs and cash a check.”
“At three-thirty in the morning!” she exclaimed. “You’re not going to get a check cashed for that amount at this hour. You couldn’t get one cashed for $100.”
I smiled loftily. “I think so. I know the owners of this hotel. Besides, this is a certified cashier’s check, drawn on the Chase Manhattan Bank in New York. It’s like gold here. I cash them all the time.”
“Let me see it,” she asked. I reached inside my jacket pocket and extracted one of the Chase Manhattan counterfeits I’d acquired before coming to Miami. It was in the amount of $1,400. She examined the voucher and nodded. “It is like gold,” she agreed. “Why don’t you just endorse it over to me?”
“Uh-uh/‘ I declined. ”This check is for $1,400. We agreed on $1,000, and while $400 isn’t that important, a deal is a deal.“
“I agree,” she said. “So endorse it. I’ll give you the $400.” She dug in her purse and came up with a thin sheaf of $100s, from which she took four and handed them to me. I endorsed the check and handed it to her.
I have the sequel from what reporters call “reliable sources.” Several days later, when her bank informed her the cashier’s check was a counterfeit, she called the Dade County Sheriff’s Department, furious. She eventually was contacted by O’Riley.
“Why’d he give you this check?” asked O’Riley.
“That doesn’t matter,” she snapped. “He gave it to me, and it’s bad, and I want the bastard caught.”
“I know,” said O’Riley. “But I also need to know how this man thinks, so I can catch him. Your description fits Frank Abagnale, but he’s never given any bad paper to an individual. He doesn’t even pass bad paper in retail stores. Why, all of a sudden, is he giving a square John, and a beautiful woman at that, a worthless check for $1,400? What was the purpose?”
O’Riley is something of a con artist himself. He obtained the full story from her. “I don’t mind his getting a free piece/‘ she concluded bitterly. ”Hell, I’ve given it away before. But that bastard conned me out of $400 cash. That I resent.“
I have always agreed with O’Riley’s assessment of the matter. We both got screwed.
However, her session with me was probably more delightful and less costly than the encounters I had with the two bankers before leaving Miami. I ripped them off for more than $20,000 each. I also flimflammed the Fontaine-bleau by paying my bill with a counterfeit cashier’s check that yielded me several hundred dollars change.
I put the Rolls in a storage garage and sent a telegram to the California leasing firm informing them of its whereabouts. Cheryl was right. It was a lovely car and deserved better than being abandoned to the elements and vandals.
I holed up in Sun Valley, keeping a low profile and an honest demeanor, for the winter. As spring approached, I flew back to New York, set myself up in a brownstone flat in an elegant section of Manhattan and dropped “reminder” notes to each of my prospective “stews.” The replies I received assured me that my fictional status as a Pan Am promotional executive was still believed, so I proceeded to fulfill my fleshly fantasy. I knew the name of the Hollywood firm that designed and manufactured all of the stewardess uniforms for Pan Am. I flew to Hollywood and, wearing my Pan Am pilot’s garb, called on the fashion firm. I presented a phony letter of introduction to the woman in charge of Pan Am’s account, detailed the fictional public relations tour of Europe and had my explanation accepted at face value. “We’ll have the ensembles ready in six weeks,” she said. “I presume you also want luggage for each of the girls?”
