The Art of the Con (3 page)

I
stood in the back of the truck, holding tightly to a length of coarse rope as we turned the corner a little faster than expected. Boxes slid across the floor and bounced off the wall beside me. The rope, tied to the wooden slats that lined the interior, groaned as it took my weight, suspending me at a sharp angle until the driver straightened out and I was pushed back with a few of the lighter boxes tumbling after me.

I was nervous. I had rehearsed this many times, obtained the necessary props, and considered every possible outcome. Everything seemed to make sense before I had closed the shutter and given the signal to drive away. As the truck got closer to our destination, the doubts began to creep in. What if this didn't work? What if the books were wrong? What if I couldn't pull it off?

The truck slowed and maneuvered into position, ready for a clear getaway. I checked my clothes, tightened the band on my apron, and repositioned the boxes ready for the pitch. The engine stopped and someone walked around to open the shutter as a radio in the driver's cab confirmed that cameras were rolling. A lever popped, the shutter was thrown up, and light poured in. There was no going back.

London's Chapel Market is a very busy place at ten o'clock in the morning. Stall holders fill the street with clothes, food, toys, and assorted gadgets designed to improve or enhance the lives of anyone with a little cash to spare. We had parked beside a cafe, on the corner so that the main flow of people was passing the open rear end of the truck. I handed a roll of plastic bags to my assistant and pulled a couple of boxes even closer to the opening. Behind me, stacked to the roof, were boxes for PlayStations, Xboxes, DVD players, and LCD televisions. These were the bait. All we needed now was the fish.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” I said, filling my gut with air to project as far as I could without shouting, gaining maximum volume without strain.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Chapel Market, where you find real bargains for real people.” A few people stopped. Others glanced over as they walked by. Some slowed their pace a little. Remembering a lesson from my youth, I kept talking as if a thousand people had stopped to hear. “Here at the market, you know that you are guaranteed to find the very best prices for the finest merchandise. This isn't Oxford Street. This isn't Regent Street where you pay as much for the name on the bag as you do for what's inside!” More people had stopped and the crowd was starting to fill out.

I reached into the first box and pulled out a personal grooming kit, sealed inside clear, brittle plastic. “Come a little closer, there's room for everyone. Here at the market we guarantee the very best bargains and, this morning I'm here to offer you all a deal you will never find at those big shops on the high street. Who knows what this is? It's a men's grooming kit. Ladies, this little kit is sure to clean up those dirty fingernails, trim those beards, and shave that stubble. It comes in its own case and is ready to wrap for Christmas or that special birthday boy. How much would you pay for something like this downtown? Fifty? Twenty? If you're really, really lucky, maybe fifteen quid. Here, at the market the price is—wait for it—two pounds!”

That got their attention. I could see people reaching for purses and pockets but I wasn't finished. I pulled a women's grooming kit from the box and put that beside the other one. “We also have a lady's kit for the same low price and, as part of today's special promotion we are selling both—both of these kits for the same low price of just two pounds. That's two pounds for both kits! Put your hands in the air if you have two pounds and, remember, we guarantee you'll be satisfied and we guarantee you'll be happy!”

Hands flew up as we passed out oversized bags with two kits already inside. I pulled another box toward me as the crowd eyed the boxes of expensive merchandise still stacked against the back wall of the van.

“Now, let me ask you something.” I was getting into it now, finding my rhythm. “Who would say that two grooming sets for just two pounds is a fantastic bargain? Show me your hands. Now, here at the market, we want to be sure everyone is happy so, if you are happy with your purchase, put your hands in the air and shout ‘I'm Happy!'” Everyone does. More people join the crowd; I turn to my assistant and say “Alex, everyone who has their hand in the air—give them their money back!”

The crowd was baffled as everyone who bought a kit was given a full refund. I pull out a set of twenty pens from another box. They look expensive behind the plastic wrapping—the kind a businessman might carry. I pull one from my pocket to use as an example.

“Now, I want you to look at this. You've all seen pens like this. This is a high quality writing pen that would be at home in any suit pocket or briefcase. It's a perfect gift for anyone and, if you buy it on the high street it would easily cost you fifty pounds. I'm not asking fifty pounds. I'm not even asking twenty or ten! The price you pay today is just five pounds but I'm not just going to give you one—I'm going to give you twenty! That's right, twenty beautiful pens—twenty fantastic gifts—for just five pounds! And remember, I guarantee satisfaction and I guarantee you will be happy!”

The crowd blushed with money as everyone with a bag held out their cash in return for the large plastic packages, filled with pens. We even gave out grooming kits to anyone who missed them first time around.

“Twenty pens for a fiver? Where else but the market do you get a deal like that? Now, remember, I guarantee satisfaction and I promise you will be happy so let me hear it: Who's happy?” The crowd shouts back and more people gather to see what's going on. “Put your hands in the air if you're happy, keep your hands up. Alex, if they're happy, give them their money back!”

Five-pound notes were passed back to everyone. I suddenly found myself wishing we had more people to manage the crowd, but I pressed on and removed a large glass vase from its box.

“This is something you have all seen before, probably in the bigger shops—the ones with the biggest prices. It's a vase, perfect for all those times your husband buys you flowers.” The crowd laughs. I noticed that Alex was still distributing five-pound notes from the last round of sales. The crowd was bigger than we had anticipated and it crossed my mind that we might be in serious trouble if the engine didn't start or we couldn't make a clean getaway. “This is the real deal, made from genuine Italian glass!” I snapped my finger against the cheap vase to create a ringing sound that seemed to prove something—but it didn't matter; I could see that they already wanted to buy.

“Who wouldn't expect to pay sixty or even a hundred pounds for this in one of those shops? Not at the market! Here, we guarantee satisfaction and we guarantee to make you happy. Who has ten pounds for me?” This time the hands were in the air instantly and Alex started passing large colorful boxes containing cheap, poorly made vases. Again I settled the crowd down and asked “Who's happy?” The crowd shouted back “I'm Happy!” and I smiled, getting deeper into the role. I shouted back “We guarantee satisfaction and we guarantee that you will be happy—Alex, give them their money back!”

This time I waited until everyone had their money before reaching back for a handheld game system. Alex pointed to another box, and with the crowd watching, I pretended to remember something. Replacing the game, I reached into another large box and produced a wristwatch inside an impressive presentation case (in actual fact, it was cheap “slum,” a lookalike of more expensive watches that cost less than one US dollar when bought in large quantities).

“Ladies and gentlemen, I almost forgot one of our biggest bargains. Now, this is a gentleman's watch and we have several different styles. You might recognize this one, it's exactly the same as those watches you see in magazines and sold to people with more money than sense. This is not one of those watches—but you'd have to be an expert to know the difference! This very same model is sold less than a mile away for over sixty pounds and I have to admit that, even for that price, it's a real bargain. Here at the market we are here to give you the very best products at the very best prices. If I told you this was forty pounds you'd think these were stolen—they're not but when you hear the price you're going to be stealing these from me. Not eighty, not sixty, and not even forty. These watches, in the case, with the guarantee . . . are twenty pounds and remember, we guarantee you will be happy.”

Hands filled with money shot toward us. Alex fought to take all the cash and hand out the watches. Before we knew it, every watch we had was gone and we could have sold many, many more. Alex's apron was stuffed with twenty-pound notes. I turned back to the crowd. “Isn't that what coming to the market is about? A watch like that for twenty pounds? Who is satisfied?” Hands fill the air. “Who's happy?”

Everyone shouts back “I'm happy!” and I reached up and grabbed the handle for the shutter.

“If you're all happy,” I said, “then we're happy!”

I pulled down the shutter with a crash, sealing us inside the van. The engine started and we drove quickly away leaving the stunned crowd behind us, our pockets full of money. I looked around at the empty boxes. If we had more merchandise, we could have sold it all. If we were doing this for a living, we'd be making money hand over fist—but this was not my biggest revelation that day. One of the most important lessons I would ever learn about cons was yet to come, when we returned to face the crowd and give them back their money.

This was not my first experience working a pitch. For two years, in my late teens, I spent many weeks and months on the road following “DW,” a professional pitchman (also known as a “Grafter”), as he set up new pitches then left me to continue selling while he found new locations to work. That product was the infamous Svengali Deck, a special pack of cards that could, in the right hands, perform miracles. Cards can be made to appear in any location, the deck could be seen to be normal or, with a riffle of the cards, transform so that every card was exactly the same. Each deck came with two free additional tricks for reading minds and winning money, all presented in an oversized copy of the card box.

At first, I was reluctant to follow DW's orders. I didn't want to follow his presentation to the letter and only perform the tricks according to a strict script. Like most young men in their late teens, I thought I knew better, so I ignored those instructions and developed my own routine, which I was much happier with—until it became painfully obvious that I wasn't selling enough decks to cover my expenses, let alone make a profit. Finally, I wised up and returned to the pitch that DW had originally taught me. Having built my confidence over a couple of weeks, the pitch was suddenly much more effective. People began to respond and sales increased sharply. It proved to be a wise move because DW returned one day, unannounced, to watch me work. Later, he took me for lunch and gave me some important advice: “This is not a magic show. It's a game and the name of the game is to make them want what we're selling. If you show off, you lose.”

It's a game

I remembered that, so when DW taught me how to build a crowd, how to hold them, and apply subtle pressure to make a sale, I listened. He told me, “If you learn, you'll earn” and I did both. Eventually I landed back in Scotland and ran a pitch for many months. I gained a great deal of experience about how to speak to an audience, work a crowd, and press their buttons for the desired response. Ever since, I've had a real appreciation for grafters. I've learned to observe how they construct presentations, layering every conceivable positive aspect of a product until the crowd is smothered in reasons to buy. I have studied how they manipulate groups of people into reacting without giving them a chance to think or consider their options. I've seen pitches for knives, chopping devices, miracle cleaning products, cookers, household gadgets, Saran Wrap dispensers, magic tricks, sunglasses, and even towels.

Mark Mason, a master pitchman, told me that towels were his favorite pitch of all time and that he would drive hundreds of miles to make a killing pitching towel sets at weekly markets. When I spoke to him, he slipped effortlessly into his old routine, verbally recounting each type of towel, the color options, the sizes, the thickness and quality of the cotton, that they always “washed soft” and that, for the same low price, they would receive two sets of any color they desired—and a third free set of white towels. “You know, for guests!”

There is a real art to the pitch that I've always admired. A great pitch can be an excellent bit of theater where the product is the star of the show. Often, the same item can be bought cheaper elsewhere, but it's an honest enough game most of the time. It graduates to being a scam when the result is not what the buyer expects, the crowd is manipulated by dirty tricks, or the seller lies or deceives to secure a sale.