"I have no problem putting up the money." He laughed nervously. "It's just, in my side of business, a million dollars is a large investment, that's all."
Iver sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, looking Coker up and down before turning back to me again. "I don't know," he said. "It just seems like much more trouble to deal with a small-time investor, adding him into the fold. We could simply ask one of the other investors to increase their contribution by a million. I'm sure Billy Murdoch would be fine with it."
Coker's eyes grew wide. "William Murdoch is one of the investors?"
Iver's hand flew to his mouth. "I've said too much. We should leave." His eyes widened as he looked at me.
"No, no," Coker said. "I've got my laptop right here. I only wanted to meet again as a precaution. I'm ready to make the transfer."
I nodded. "When you're ready."
Iver tapped his watch impatiently. "I'm afraid we can't wait while you take care of the arrangements," he said. "As we have another pressing engagement." He strode across the room, without waiting for me.
I shook Coker's hand. "You’ll have to pardon Roger," I said. "He's so used to handling larger transactions that he's forgotten what it's like to make smaller businesspeople very rich. He used to be a small businessperson once himself."
"Small..." Coker's voice sputtered, then trailed off. I knew the gears in his head would be churning at the implication that not only was he a small business person, much smaller than the whales we usually dealt with, but that we were treating him as a virtual charity case.
The implication was that we would make him rich. Obscenely rich.
A man like Coker wouldn't be able to resist the lure.
I held out my hand, shaking his. "I must go," I said. "We'll be in touch." Then I spun on my heel and joined Iver outside.
We were both silent even after we got to the car. As I drove, Iver thumbed over the screen on his phone. We weren't even five minutes down the road when he looked up. "The money was transferred," he said.
I chuckled, unable to contain my delight. "You did a brilliant job in there," I said. "Your snobbery is quite convincing."
Iver winked. "Don't let the game fool you, darling," he said. "My snobbery is only rarely part of the con."
I laughed. "You know, when we first started together, I wasn't sure you actually had a heart."
"I've convinced you otherwise?" he asked. "And they say you can't con a con."
"Who the hell says that?" I asked. "That's not a saying. Of course you can con a con. They say you can't con an honest man."
"I'm afraid that's not very accurate, either," he said.
"You've been conning honest people?" I asked.
Iver tapped on his phone, distracted. "Not since you caused me to see the error of my ways," he said. "I'm a changed man. Reformed."
"A regular saint," I said.
"You've been Little Miss Robin Hood for a long time now," Iver said, looking up from his phone. "Have you ever conned any honest people?"
"Once," I said, Silas' image flashing in my mind. “A long time ago.”
After all, love was the ultimate con, wasn't it?
***
CHAPTER EIGHT
SILAS
“Sorry I missed the fight, man,” Abel said. He sat at the table in the bar, one leg in a cast. “I heard it was an epic one.”
“Hell,” I said. “You’re apologizing for Coker running you down? Are you kidding me?”
He laughed. “No. There's no way I’m apologizing for that. I'm just sorry for missing your comeback. I mean, if it had been me you were fighting, you’d have just been embarrassed, because you'd have gotten the shit kicked out of you.”
I held up my beer glass. “Well, cheers to the fact that I got to kick Rush’s ass, then. Instead of getting my ass kicked.”
“Cheers to that,” Trigg said. He stood. “Now, drink up. Stacey’s only working until ten, and until then, beer’s free.”
I gulped down the last few swallows, and pulled Abel’s glass from his hand, giving it to Trigg. “There you go.”
A hand slapped my back hard, and I spun around, expecting to have to knock the shit out of someone. Instead, I came face to face with an older man in a grey pullover sweater, a cane in one hand.
“You’re that fighter,” he said. “I watched you at the fight the other night. You were quite remarkable.”
This little old man was watching amateur fights? The look of disbelief must have registered on my face, because he chuckled.
“Oh, now, even an old man like me has to have some hobbies,” he said. “Betting on fights just happens to be one of mine. And you won me ten grand.”
I whistled. “Congratulations.” Must be nice, I thought. Ten grand was more than the purse for the fight.
“Well, now,” he said. “If you gentlemen would be so inclined, there’s a bar upstairs on the top floor that is reserved solely for the suites. Your drinks are on me. Whatever you would like. The sky’s the limit.”