"Well now..."
The man with the crew cut looked conflicted, instinctively patting his pockets. "I didn't bring that kind of cash on me. Tell you what—give me $30,000, and you take the pull-tab. The jackpot is all yours!"
"I don't have that much either! What are we going to do?"
The pockmarked man put on a face of pure misery. "Look at me—do I look like a guy who just has $30,000 sitting in his jeans?"
"Professor, you've traveled the world. Help us out here! Neither of us has the funds to settle this," the pockmarked man pleaded, turning once again to the man in glasses for "expert" mediation.
The "Professor" adjusted his gold-rimmed spectacles with a practiced, scholarly air. After a moment of calculated silence, he ventured, "How about this? I'll give you each $30,000, you give me the pull-tab, and I'll go collect the prize myself?"
The crew-cut man and his partner traded a quick look, a flash of manufactured greed crossing their eyes. "Fine! Let's do it!"
The Professor smirked with feigned triumph and pulled a leather briefcase onto his lap. He began rummaging through it with confidence, but as his hands moved faster—tossing out old clothes and trinkets—his expression soured. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow.
Finally, he let out a heavy, theatrical sigh. "Dammit! I left in such a rush this morning I grabbed the wrong bag! I only have $30,000 in cash here. You'd never agree to sell the whole thing for just that. To think... a $100,000 windfall slipping through my fingers. What rotten luck!"
"What?"
The pockmarked man and his buddy looked devastated. The Professor was short on cash, and their own pockets were inside-out. How were they going to split the "big prize" now?
The pockmarked man pivoted back into his role, leaning in desperately. "Professor, you're a man of the world. Think of something! We can't just let this fortune go to waste!"
"Well... maybe we should ask someone else," the Professor suggested smoothly. He turned his gaze toward James, who had been sitting by the window quietly watching the scenery.
"Young man, you look like someone born under a lucky star. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to strike it rich. Do you have any cash on you? Give these two $30,000 each, take the pull-tab, and you'll walk away with a $20,000 profit the moment you cash it in! It beats any interest rate in a bank. If I hadn't brought the wrong bag, I'd never let a sweet deal like this go to a stranger..."
James turned his head slightly, a cold sneer forming in his mind. This trio had their roles down to a science: the pockmarked man "discovered" the miracle, the crew-cut man provided "competition" to drive up the price, and the Professor provided the "authoritative" valuation. This "winning pull-tab" scam had been circling long-distance transport for decades; to James, it was more transparent than a child's game of make-believe.
Though James had spent years in the deep mountains training under James's grandfather, the old man was a "fox" in his own right. James had learned to read people with lethal accuracy. He might look like a penniless country bumpkin in his faded camo gear, but he had already tracked the trio's synchronized heart rates and subtle eye contact. They were wolves in sheep's clothing.
"Me?"
James let a playful smirk dance on his lips. He pointed to his nose, feigning the look of a wide-eyed provincial boy who couldn't believe his luck. "I can do that? Can I really turn this into $80,000?"
"Absolutely! Son, your ship has finally come in!"
Seeing James "take the bait," the Professor's eyes gleamed. He had noticed James's bulging canvas bag earlier—he knew there was "meat" on these bones.
Just as James was about to lean into the performance, he felt a sharp kick to his left leg.
He glanced sideways. Beside him sat a girl with striking features and a clean ponytail. She had a cold, refined aura and was currently staring at her phone, but her white sneaker was frantically tapping him under the table.
She tilted her head just enough for him to see her watery eyes, which were filled with anxiety. She gave him a microscopic shake of her head.
A wave of warmth touched James's heart. He'd spent his life hearing James's grandfather moan about how the world had become a "dog-eat-dog" place where no one helped a stranger. Yet, here was this beautiful girl, risking the wrath of three scammers just to give him a warning.
A pretty face with an interesting soul to match, he thought.
"Ahem!"
The crew-cut man was an old pro. He'd caught the girl's movement. He let out a loud, hacking cough and glared at her with murderous intent.
The girl flinched, her face turning pale as she withdrew her foot and stared down at her lap, terrified.
To James, these undercurrents were as clear as a stage play.
Besides, James was already annoyed. That stingy old man—James's grandfather—had kicked him out of the house with a pittance for living expenses. These idiots had walked right into his crosshairs. If he didn't have a little fun at their expense, it would be a very long trip to Washington.
The girl didn't dare move again, but James could feel her tension. He ignored her silent plea and gave the scammers another "honest" grin.
"I only have $49,000 in this bag... it's my entire life savings. I don't have the full $60,000," James said, scratching his head sheepishly.
At the mention of "$49,000," the three scammers skipped a breath. Their eyes lit up like starving wolves. It wasn't sixty, but $49,000 was a massive score.
The pockmarked man suppressed his joy, keeping his face long. "Only forty-nine? That makes the split a bit thin. Buddy, what do you think?"
"Forty-nine... that's $24,500 each," the crew-cut man muttered, pretending to do the math. "It's a loss, but better than a piece of aluminum. I'm in!"
"Fine. This kid looks like a good, honest soul. We'll take the hit and let you have the windfall!" The pockmarked man urged, "Get the cash out, kid. We're hitting our stop soon."
James slowly unzipped his canvas bag, his movements so agonizingly deliberate that the scammers looked ready to reach in and grab it. Finally, he pulled out a bundle wrapped in layers of yellowed newspaper. He unwrapped it to reveal five neat stacks of bills.
"Here's $49,000. Every cent I own... you can count it." James gave them a "pure" smile but kept a tight grip on the cash. "Can I have the pull-tab first?"
This really was all the money James had. Thinking of James's grandfather made his teeth ache. Over the years, James had completed missions where the commission was easily six figures, yet the old man had dragged this $49,000 out from under a floorboard, claiming it was the family's "emergency coffin fund."
The old geezer, James thought. I can't tell if he's actually broke or just testing my patience.
"Of course, of course!"
The pockmarked man and his partner practically snatched the money, stuffing it into their jackets before slapping the "winning" pull-tab into James's hand.
James tucked the tab into a hidden pocket as if it were a holy relic, even patting it for good measure. The three scammers looked like they were about to burst into laughter.
The girl beside him let out a long, defeated sigh. Seeing James looking so "happy" about his new prize, she truly didn't know what to say.
With the money secured, the trio settled back into silence, acting like total strangers once again as they waited for their exit.