Silvestri and Dumarché - Con Artists

As one would expect from a 1936 month of January, it was well below freezing outside. But despite that and the snow covered ground, Dumarché stood on the roof, pacing occasionally back and forth with his cigarette snugly placed between his index and middle finger.

“Well, good morning Professeur Leguen” Silvestri greeted his colleague as he emerged from the rooftop access staircase.

Dumarché scoffed and threw his cigarette to the ground.

“Shame my mother isn’t around to hear that” he replied all while covering his discarded cigarette with snow, extinguishing the remnants of its flame.

Silvestri laughed out loud while jollily walking towards his colleague and grabbed him by the arm, directing him to face the cityscape. The latter had a vivid orange glow to it, making the buildings indiscernible from one another. It seemed as if a large, panoramic shadow stood quietly before them.

The calmness of dawn was almost therapeutic to Dumarché, especially when he knew what lied ahead of him.

“You’ll be having a coffee with Mr. Fitzgerald at the café adjacent to the Royal Theatre at 10 am sharp,” Silvestri said, rubbing his hands together “but be there at 9:55, always good to give a good impression”

Dumarché turned towards his colleague, “Despite what happened yesterday, he still doesn’t suspect a thing? No suspicious questions raised? Or even out of place statements on that matter?”

Silvestri scoffed, “No, you’re still known as the man who can speak to the dead and I’m still known as the assistant of the man who can speak to the dead”

“Very well” Dumarché replied as he looked down at his watch, “I should be off soo-

“You’ve got his family’s background information?” Silvestri cut him off, eagerly trying to reassure himself that the plan will go smoothly. There wasn’t any room for error.

Dumarché cleared his voice, keeping his gaze on the horizon, “James Fitzgerald Jr. didn’t know any of his grandparents, so no need to mention them. He didn’t get along very well with his late sister, yet she was very important to him. She’s the one who initially worked in the shadows to help him get where he is now, but after a few years they fell out. Then, unbeknownst to him, she got diagnosed with TB and her health quickly deteriorated soon after. Mr Fitzgerald wanted to give her a necklace as an apology, but soon found out that his sister had died. Ten years has passed and he still keeps the necklace in his right pocket. Then I play with his emotions and discuss about touchy subjects then I should be alright”

Silvestri nodded then took a few steps backwards, indicating to his colleague that time was of the essence.

“Oh,” Silvestri suddenly added, “don’t forget to add that his father was a farmer and that his mother used to work as a florist downtown”

Dumarché frowned, “why is that even relevant?”

“Well,” Silvestri crossed his arms, “Because no one knows about it. It wasn’t ever specified in any of the interviews he has partaken in”

Dumarché nodded and made his way to the door leading to the staircase. His hand hovered over the handle as he paused: he turned around to face his colleague once more.

“Where did you get that information from then?” he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

“I managed to set up a small engagement with the old lady, but don’t worry, she has probably forgotten about our encounter by now” he reassured him with a smug smile.

January 1935, 10:01 AM

The two men decided to sit in a secluded area of the café: no window in proximity nor any tables to avoid any potential eavesdroppers. Just him, Fitzgerald and the waiter who would occasionally stop by.

The appointment hadn’t started yet, instead, Mr Fitzgerald bombarded Dumarché with questions. His curiosity was understandable though: the man who sat in across him was going to reveal some potentially sensitive information, so it only seemed fair to dig into their lives.

Dumarché calmly responded to one question after the other. He had rehearsed all possible outcomes: after five years of practice, he had sometimes wondered how he hadn’t convinced himself yet that he was indeed whom he pretended to be.

Dumarché then pulled a slight frown on his face: the first act of his show.

Usually what was expected from his “clients” was slight sign of worry or surprise. Once they blurt out a classic, what’s wrong, he could start the session.

But instead Mr Fitzgerald proved himself to be a difficult customer.

Question after question, Dumarché found himself improvising answers. He couldn’t lose his Fitzgerald now, he was the only means to get what him and Silvestri wanted: reach the other elites of the city, grow close to them and hit jackpot.

Dumarché looked around the room for diversion: coincidentally, a nearby overhead lamp sporadically flickered. What seemed like the perfect way to start a session turned out useless. Fitzgerald didn’t seem very receptive to Dumarché’s cues to ever so slightly look at left side of the room.

How long will I be able to stay in character…

Then, as if it were rehearsed, the waiter appeared with two cups of tea. As he placed the mauve cups on the table, Dumarché noticed a flowery pattern on them. A potentially promising conversation starter.

Before Fitzgerald was able to resume the interrogation, Dumarché cleared his voice as gently placed both of his hands around his cup of tea.

“If I’m not mistaken, your mother used to work as a florist not too far from here. Is that right?”

Fitzgerald seemed totally taken by surprised by the statement.

“Yes. How did you..?”

“Know? Well. The universe works in mysterious ways, so it’s hard to say really. It’s one of those things that I just know”

The client slowly nodded. Dumarché closed his eyes to add a bit of theatrics.

“But that’s because your mother is still alive. But now I do sense a presence… yes… another woman in fact..”

Fitzgerald’s eyes widened.

“Did you have a sister perhaps?”

Dumarché slightly opened one eye to keep track of his clients reactions. Fitzgerald seemed to be in a trance, impatiently waiting for what he had to add.

“Mm. She tells me that a necklace that was destined to her is still in your possession. It’s always close to you isn’t it? In a pocket perhaps?”

And from that point on, Dumarché knew he had just bought his way to the higher ranks. The session only lasted for half an hour, but given how Fitzgerald reacted to the trip down memory lane, it was safe to say that it was successful.

Both men shook hands and according to Fitzgerald, the payment was going to be imminent. Professor Leguen didn’t have a fixed price for his sessions, instead, he would announce the price at the end of each rendezvous. And as you would expect, he didn’t charge a small sum of money.

January 1935, 13:12

Silvestri and Dumarché met up on the usual rooftop. Lunch was especially dull that midday but the morale was high. Maybe this time around the plan was going to be successful.

“And tomorrow, we will get our 500 dollars” Dumarché announced as he dug into his Campbell can of soup.

“I still can’t believe you pulled it off” Silvestri said, not hiding his surprise. Fooling men like Fitzgerald was beyond difficult, some would argue that it was a stroke of luck.

“Well, the job’s done”

“Mm. You’ve read through the history of the other clients?”

“I quickly skimmed through them. Not very important people so frankly I’m not too worried” Dumarché confidently replied, “Where are you going next?”

Silvestri sat silently for a few seconds, visibly hesitant about his response. Dumarché was distracted with his meal, so his doubt went unnoticed.

“I’ll go around the city so I can retrieve more information about Fitzgerald, he ought to arrange a new meeting soon or later” he blurted out.

“Yes you’re probably right” Dumarché said as he slurped the remaining soup at the bottom of the can. He then stood up to readjust his coat.

Silvestri sighed and stood up as well, “We must meet at the local park at ten tonight, alright? We’ve got to talk about the financial aspect of all of this”

Dumarché smiled, “Financial aspect? I know we’ve being struggling in the last few months but I think we’re on the road to success, if you’re asking me. I can assure you, we will be eating at five star restaurants if we keep going on like this”

“Just… meet me at the local park at ten tonight, alright?” he insisted, before adding “I… want you to meet someone that can help us”

Dumarché seemed slightly suspicious but ultimately went on with it. There was no reason to argue at this point: That day has been the most successful day they’ve had for a long time.

January 1935, 9:50 PM

Silvestri paced back and forth between two trees with his arms crossed. His shivers were partly explained by the frigid weather. His colleague was to arrive in five minutes.

How am I going to put this to him. There is no right way to do this.

He stopped pacing and took the time to look at nearby busy road just beyond the treeline.

The hubbub of the city was always somewhat comforting to Silvestri, especially when he knew what lied ahead.

“Silvestri?”

He spun around to find his colleague, making his way towards him through the thick snow.

Silvestri looked down at his watch: his colleague turned up way too early, it wasn’t meant to happen this way. He quickly scanned the nearby street.

This time around though, Dumarché caught onto Silvestri’s nervousness.

“What’s wrong?”

Silvestri took a big inhale, and took a few steps backwards from his colleague, surprising the latter.

“As.. As you may know, we’ve been struggling lately. And to be candid I didn’t know how long the financial problems would last for. I have a family to take care of.”

Dumarché seemed slightly nervous about his colleague’s unusual behaviour.

“Where is the other person who was supposed to be here?”

“He’ll be here any minut-“ Silvestri cut himself off for a few seconds, but ultimately continued, “No one’s meant to show up, Dumarché”

Dumarché took a few steps forwards all while being wary of his surroundings.

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you specifically ask me to meet you up here? To meet someone?”

Silvestri took a few additional steps backwards as his colleague approached him.

“Dumarché… the police knows what we’re doing.”

Dumarché turned pale upon hearing that but immediately tried to think rationally.

“Well… in that case we just keep our profile low for a little whi-

“No” Silvestri cut him off while nervously running his fingers

through his jet black hair, “They’re after you”

Dumarché paused and shook his head in denial, “and you as well”

A sudden commotion sounded at the other end of the park. Streaks of lights between the trees and the foliage grew stronger and stronger.

As Dumarché was ready to make a run for it, he noticed how calm Silvestri looked. This made him stop dead in his tracks.

“What are you doing for god sake, come one!” he urged his colleague

“Dumarché… they know you’re here because I told them that you were to meet me here.”

“What?”

“They offered me a great sum of money, incomparable to what we had gotten before. My kid is not well, Dumarché!”

Despite the growing sound of footsteps in the background, Dumarché stood there in disbelief. After quickly processing what his colleague just said, he placed both of his hands on his head in frustration. He couldn’t think straight.

“Why... why!”

“I had no choice.”

In pure anger, Dumarché abruptly walked towards Silvestri and threw a punch across his face, causing his colleague to fall into the snow.

Dumarché threw himself onto him and placed his hands around Silvestri’s neck.

“You bastard! We’ve being working together for the past god knows how many years and this is how you repay me? You worthless son of a-

His loosened his grip and jumped backwards as soon as he realised that the police was just a few trees away from them at this point. He quickly glanced at Silvestri, who still was lying in the snow, heavily breathing with his hand on his neck.

Dumarché took two steps backwards and before spinning around to run, he took a last good look at his colleague, “We’re not done” he menacingly said.

And before he knew it, he was running down a beaten path in the dark. He had no notion of where he was going nor of what he was doing.

All he knew was he was about to loose a good chunk of his life because of the way he lead said life.

The numerous footsteps behind him seemed to get closer by the second.

The adrenaline pumping though his veins wasn’t going to keep up with much longer. He knew it was over.

He found himself running along a lake just as police officer tackled him from the side.

His cheek hit the snow, cushioning his fall despite the weight of the police officer on his legs. The amount of mist coming out of his mouth blinded him during the first few seconds of his being on the cold ground.

As soon as it started clearing up, he was greeted with a beautiful reflection of the moon on the lake. The last spectacle of nature that he would be witnessing for a long time.