And I'm Feeling Good
S'been a couple o’ weeks or so since Jean-Robert - colloquially known as J.R., 'course - Redford's officially gone and got himself disappeared, leavin' beautiful widow Sarah Redford in his wake. That said, s'been a good deal longer that that since I've been seen by anyone save Ash and Stacie. Been stuck in our base of operations, if you will, tryin' to get rid of me soddin' tan. Wouldn't do well for an allegedly newly-arrived Londoner to look like he's come straight from the Caribbean, yeah? 'Least, that was my thinkin', so I had to resort to only goin' out at night. Took me a full week to get out o' this whole 'nocturnal' nonsense. Once I did, though, well, t'was time for the big reveal, eh?
It took some creativity in tryin' to shower 'forehand, 'course, since it wouldn’t’ve exactly worked for me to be seen muckin' about in that ' Compound when I'm meant to have been gone, but I managed alright in the end, e'en if I don't fancy havin' to repeat the whole waterfall experience ever again. Looks a sight better in the movies.
Anyway, my wonderfully brilliant Stacie managed to con that bloody box in the basement into givin' her a right smart suit a couple o' days ago. S'the sort o' suit that wouldn't 'ave been out o' place hangin' in me wardrobe back home, actually. S'a nice navy blue with some pinstripin', and a matchin' vest and jacket. Couldn't find a tie that went with the ensemble but no matter. S'not inconceivable that I would've lost the tie the moment I stepped foot in bloody million degree Cuba, now, is it? 'Course not.
So, here I am, J.R. Redford long forgotten, and in me own skin. After months o' moanin' about it, I'm finally Danny Blue again. Been sayin' it all along, I have, that Cuba's not the place for the long con. People're too honest 'round these parts and the ones that aren't haven't any money anyway. The way I see it, s'no point in lyin' about me name. M'not about to go frolic about, screamin' at the top o' me lungs that I'm a grifter, mind you, but I could do well with answerin' to just Danny and not some other name for a while. And speakin’ of answerin’ to me own name…
“Where did you say you were from again, Blue?” one of the blokes sittin’ opposite me asks. This one’s tryin’ to pass himself off as, believe it or not, Philip Marlowe. Philip Marlowe! Can you imagine? He doesn’t even look a thing like Bogart and I know that era well, thanks to that fake movie con we pulled off a couple o’ years ago. The one where I got shot, I might add. Don’t like death as an exit strategy, me. Like to avoid it at all costs.
“I didn’t,” I say, offerin’ Marlowe somethin’ o’ a half-smile. Him and the other bloke sittin’ across from me - man by the name o’ Jamie Madrox who has this right naff tattoo over his eye - just spent the last hour or so explainin’ the Island to me. Pulled off a brilliant performance, I did, with the initial disbelief and whatnot, followed by a bit o’ shoutin’ and the usual motions of the newly arrived.
We keep talkin’, the three o’ us do and, after a while, I take out me deck o’ cards and start shufflin’.
“Anxiety,” I say by way o’ explanation. “’ave to keep me hands busy, me, eh?”
We talk some more. Well, more like Madrox and I talk, and ‘Marlowe’ adds a couple o’ words in ‘ere and there. He’s more content to sit back an’ watch, it seems, and he’s taken an interest in me cards. M’about to suggest a friendly game o’ poker - not that there is such a thing when a grifter’s involved - when Madrox says, “You know any tricks?”
‘Do I know any tricks’ he asks. Do I know any tricks? S’a right challenge to hide me smile, let me tell you, and I start to set up somethin’ a bit more complex when I change me mind ‘bout half-way through and decide to set up an old game o’ Find the Lady instead.
The trick with Find the Lady is to keep it as simple as possible. Some o’ the blokes on the street like to make it all sorts o’ convoluted, yeah? All gimmick cards and sellotape and paperclips. S’nonsense, really. See, any trick o’ legerdemain can be broken into seven basic principles. Palm, ditch, steal, load, simulation, misdirection, and switch. Ain’t nothin’ about sellotape in there, my son.
“I’ll give you two goes,” I say, “to find the lady.”
‘Marlowe’ and Madrox exchange a look with each other ‘fore they both shrug and gesture for me to carry on. Now, I’ve bent all three o’ the cards in front o’ me right down the middle so that they’re like mini tents or wha’ever.
“Okay,” I oblige, liftin’ two o’ the cards, “watchin’? There she is.” I hold up the Queen o’ Spades in me right hand so that both o’ them can see ‘er properly. “See her? Watch.” They nod and I place the two cards down and start switchin’ ‘em ‘round with the third one. I focus more on them than I do on the cards, mind you, though it’s subtle. They’re both lookin’ at the cards, a bit more intently than the average mark, actually, and ‘Marlowe’ leans back after a couple o’ seconds, foldin’ his arms.
Noticin’ this, I stop a bit prematurely and lean back meself, careful to not fall off the bloody stool.
“Which one?”
After a moment, ‘Marlowe’ says, “It’s not on the table.”
“He’s right,” says Madrox. “You switched it out for another card when you put them back on the table. It’s up your left sleeve.”
Oh, but they’re right clever this lot, now, aren’t they? I reckon they probably’ve some experience. ‘Course, experience don’t mean a thing when you’re dealin’ with me, eh? They might be clever, but they’re not clever enough. There’s a reason I’m the best short con player in London, possibly the world. I pull back both o’ me sleeves to show the all clear and then tell Madrox to turn over the middle card.
It’s the Queen o' Spades.
“Oh, dear,” I say. “Another?”
Joint EP with Jamie and Marlowe! This is technically a debut although Danny has already been given the Island exposition. To simplify tagging, the order will be your character and then mine. If you would like Danny to lift something off of your character, please comment here. Some dialogue comes from Hustle, episode 1x01. The seven basic principles of sleight of hand are courtesy of Penn & Teller.
It took some creativity in tryin' to shower 'forehand, 'course, since it wouldn’t’ve exactly worked for me to be seen muckin' about in that ' Compound when I'm meant to have been gone, but I managed alright in the end, e'en if I don't fancy havin' to repeat the whole waterfall experience ever again. Looks a sight better in the movies.
Anyway, my wonderfully brilliant Stacie managed to con that bloody box in the basement into givin' her a right smart suit a couple o' days ago. S'the sort o' suit that wouldn't 'ave been out o' place hangin' in me wardrobe back home, actually. S'a nice navy blue with some pinstripin', and a matchin' vest and jacket. Couldn't find a tie that went with the ensemble but no matter. S'not inconceivable that I would've lost the tie the moment I stepped foot in bloody million degree Cuba, now, is it? 'Course not.
So, here I am, J.R. Redford long forgotten, and in me own skin. After months o' moanin' about it, I'm finally Danny Blue again. Been sayin' it all along, I have, that Cuba's not the place for the long con. People're too honest 'round these parts and the ones that aren't haven't any money anyway. The way I see it, s'no point in lyin' about me name. M'not about to go frolic about, screamin' at the top o' me lungs that I'm a grifter, mind you, but I could do well with answerin' to just Danny and not some other name for a while. And speakin’ of answerin’ to me own name…
“Where did you say you were from again, Blue?” one of the blokes sittin’ opposite me asks. This one’s tryin’ to pass himself off as, believe it or not, Philip Marlowe. Philip Marlowe! Can you imagine? He doesn’t even look a thing like Bogart and I know that era well, thanks to that fake movie con we pulled off a couple o’ years ago. The one where I got shot, I might add. Don’t like death as an exit strategy, me. Like to avoid it at all costs.
“I didn’t,” I say, offerin’ Marlowe somethin’ o’ a half-smile. Him and the other bloke sittin’ across from me - man by the name o’ Jamie Madrox who has this right naff tattoo over his eye - just spent the last hour or so explainin’ the Island to me. Pulled off a brilliant performance, I did, with the initial disbelief and whatnot, followed by a bit o’ shoutin’ and the usual motions of the newly arrived.
We keep talkin’, the three o’ us do and, after a while, I take out me deck o’ cards and start shufflin’.
“Anxiety,” I say by way o’ explanation. “’ave to keep me hands busy, me, eh?”
We talk some more. Well, more like Madrox and I talk, and ‘Marlowe’ adds a couple o’ words in ‘ere and there. He’s more content to sit back an’ watch, it seems, and he’s taken an interest in me cards. M’about to suggest a friendly game o’ poker - not that there is such a thing when a grifter’s involved - when Madrox says, “You know any tricks?”
‘Do I know any tricks’ he asks. Do I know any tricks? S’a right challenge to hide me smile, let me tell you, and I start to set up somethin’ a bit more complex when I change me mind ‘bout half-way through and decide to set up an old game o’ Find the Lady instead.
The trick with Find the Lady is to keep it as simple as possible. Some o’ the blokes on the street like to make it all sorts o’ convoluted, yeah? All gimmick cards and sellotape and paperclips. S’nonsense, really. See, any trick o’ legerdemain can be broken into seven basic principles. Palm, ditch, steal, load, simulation, misdirection, and switch. Ain’t nothin’ about sellotape in there, my son.
“I’ll give you two goes,” I say, “to find the lady.”
‘Marlowe’ and Madrox exchange a look with each other ‘fore they both shrug and gesture for me to carry on. Now, I’ve bent all three o’ the cards in front o’ me right down the middle so that they’re like mini tents or wha’ever.
“Okay,” I oblige, liftin’ two o’ the cards, “watchin’? There she is.” I hold up the Queen o’ Spades in me right hand so that both o’ them can see ‘er properly. “See her? Watch.” They nod and I place the two cards down and start switchin’ ‘em ‘round with the third one. I focus more on them than I do on the cards, mind you, though it’s subtle. They’re both lookin’ at the cards, a bit more intently than the average mark, actually, and ‘Marlowe’ leans back after a couple o’ seconds, foldin’ his arms.
Noticin’ this, I stop a bit prematurely and lean back meself, careful to not fall off the bloody stool.
“Which one?”
After a moment, ‘Marlowe’ says, “It’s not on the table.”
“He’s right,” says Madrox. “You switched it out for another card when you put them back on the table. It’s up your left sleeve.”
Oh, but they’re right clever this lot, now, aren’t they? I reckon they probably’ve some experience. ‘Course, experience don’t mean a thing when you’re dealin’ with me, eh? They might be clever, but they’re not clever enough. There’s a reason I’m the best short con player in London, possibly the world. I pull back both o’ me sleeves to show the all clear and then tell Madrox to turn over the middle card.
It’s the Queen o' Spades.
“Oh, dear,” I say. “Another?”
Joint EP with Jamie and Marlowe! This is technically a debut although Danny has already been given the Island exposition. To simplify tagging, the order will be your character and then mine. If you would like Danny to lift something off of your character, please comment here. Some dialogue comes from Hustle, episode 1x01. The seven basic principles of sleight of hand are courtesy of Penn & Teller.