"But this case is quite personal to me," Iver said.
"And how often have we done a personal job for Iver?" Emir said. "I didn't even know he had a personal life that extended beyond screwing models."
"The intrigue and excitement in my personal life would be far too much for you to handle, Emir," Iver said, his eyes twinkling.
Emir laughed. "Actresses and champagne twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."
"Don't forget the caviar," Iver added. "And the yachts. I'm like the James Bond of grifters, really."
This was Iver's first personal request. Iver was an extremely private person. Even with how skillful I was at finding people, I still didn't know where exactly he lived. But apparently he had a housekeeper with a husband who used to be one of Coker's fighters, one who was left in a bad way after Coker was through with him. Iver considered Coker a personal problem that needed to be removed.
We are a motley crew, I thought, a group of reformed con artists still conning. But for the greater good. It was silly. Laughable. But we were who we were. My parents always said you could take a con out of the game, but you'd never take the game out of the con.
I was who I was. I did things my way, not my parents' way. They saw everyone as a mark, no matter what. And if you had a vulnerability, it made you a better target. My parents abhorred weakness.
When I turned eighteen, I vowed to do things differently - to use my skills only on people who deserved it. It wasn't until I'd gotten together with Iver and Emir and Oscar that everything had fallen into place.
Iver spoke, his voice insistent. “I never said we should pursue him,” he said. “In fact, we should set the bar higher for him.”
“Make him jump through more hoops,” Oscar said, raising his glass.
“Please don't tell me that you think this is a good idea, Oscar,” I said. “You're always the voice of reason. We don’t take excessive risks. You taught me that. We can regroup and figure out something else - Emir can hack his accounts.”
"Hacking is too risky," Emir said.
“You should listen to what Iver has to say,” Oscar said. “When we got your text, we discussed other possibilities.”
“This is mutiny,” I said.
Iver tossed his head back, laughing. “Mutiny?” he asked. “Are you suggesting you're the captain of this ship?”
“I always thought of myself as the captain,” Emir said, and Iver gestured toward him, with an impish grin.
“See?" Iver asked. "You’ve hurt Emir’s feelings. Besides, three days ago, you were set on bringing the promoter down. Suddenly you want to cut and run?”
I flushed. The truth was, seeing Silas had me spooked. I was trying not to be superstitious, but seeing him had to be some kind of sign.
It wasn't a good omen, someone just coming out of my past like that.
“I don't want to cut and run,” I lied. “I want to walk away, and live to grift another day. A wise old man taught me that.” I looked meaningfully at Oscar, who stood with his elbow on the grand piano, the picture of a harmless sweater-clad retiree. In reality, he was a brilliant strategist and one of the most successful long con artists of the last century.
“Well,” Oscar said. “I think this is a viable option.”
“Okay.” I sighed. “What’s the plan? Sell me on it.”
“The promoter embarrassed himself,” Iver said. "His fighter was worthless. You were hunting talent before, and investors for a legitimate television channel, but maybe you’re not hunting for talent. Maybe you’re really looking for the opposite of talent.”
“Guys to take a fall,” I said.
“More than just a fall,” Iver said. “What if you're actually looking for fighters for a private no-rules network, right? Maybe it’s the ultimate in no rules. Totally off the books.”
“Snuff?” I asked, shaking my head.
"I wouldn't sell it that way," Iver said. "A gladiator channel. The real kind of gladiator. A fight to the death."
"So, snuff," I repeated.
Iver made a tsk-tsk sound. "Potato, po-tah-toh," he said.
“Coker would probably be more than happy to provide the product for something like that,” I admitted.
“It’s also dirtier,” Iver said. “Which means involvement would be more expensive. Riskier.”
“Better for us,” Oscar said, winking at me.
“Which means more money. A bigger payoff. How much?” I asked, looking at Emir.
Emir smiled. “I’ve been going through his financials,” he said. “We can go higher.”
There was something sick about the thrill that rushed through me at the prospect of upping the ante, taking a larger risk. It must be the same kind of rush gamblers get, I thought.
But it was the right thing to do, I told myself. Coker was the ultimate dirtbag. And then there was the matter of Iver's housekeeper's husband - he deserved to be taken care of, after what Coker had done to him.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m game.”