You know that saying that a lie has short legs? Well, mine had long enough legs to run three whole blocks before the police lost sight of me.

  Hiding in the shadows of the alley, I take a deep breath, leaning against the damp brick wall. My heart is about to explode, and my fake mustache looks more tired than I feel. I sigh as I realize I've probably lost half of my incredible revitalizers in the escape. They were probably being stomped on by the heavy boots of the guards by now.

  "I need a better plan," I think, leaning against a dirty, damp wall. Maybe selling products wasn't enough. Maybe it was time for something bigger. Something more refined. Something... sophisticated!

  My stomach growls. Well, before any great con, I needed to eat something. With no money in my pocket and no courage to go back where the guards were patrolling, I wander through narrow alleys until I find a small café called "The Hot Steam." It's a place full of tired workers and ex-street vendors like me—people the police had given up on chasing, out of pure exhaustion.

  At the counter, I observe the owner, a bald man with a belly so big he barely fits behind the counter, cleaning dirty glasses with an even dirtier rag. I walk in with my best winner's smile, as if I hadn't just fled like a frightened rat.

  — Felix! — he says, with little sympathy. — Are you going to pay your bill, or did you just come to hide again?

  — What's this, Otis? Hide? — I smile as innocently as possible. — I came to offer you a unique opportunity.

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  He raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

  — No, seriously. I have a fantastic invention that you need to see.

  He lets out a long sigh.

  — Like that "Fairy Dust" you sold me last month, which turned out to be old flour?

  — That was a misunderstanding — I reply, fidgeting with my hands nervously. — But this is different. I'm going to revolutionize the coffee shop market.

  Otis sighs again.

  — Felix, I've already told you: this isn't the place for your cons.

  — Cons? — I feign indignation. — This is science, my friend. Just watch.

  I quickly pull out an almost empty bottle of the Revitalizer. Sure, I had just sold the idea as something energy-boosting, but Otis didn't need to know that.

  — This here is an invention that turns any ordinary tea into a powerful revitalizing drink. Just three drops in a kettle, and your customers will be working twice as hard, with twice the enthusiasm. Imagine the productivity!

  Otis furrows his brow.

  — Does it really work?

  I lean in, look him straight in the eyes, and let my voice drop into that hypnotic, calm, almost musical tone.

  — Otis, my dear friend, would I invent something like this?

  Otis seems to waver, hesitant, until a heavy hand slaps down on my shoulder with enough force to nearly dislocate it.

  — Well, well, what do we have here?

  I feel my whole body freeze. I recognize the voice immediately. Slowly, I turn and face the man who was becoming my personal curse: Inspector Grant, a man so rigid he seemed to have been assembled in a factory, gear by gear.

  He smiles, maliciously.

  — Felix, selling more of your miracle trash around here?

  I swallow hard, smiling like someone who's apologizing without actually saying sorry.

  — Inspector! What a pleasant surprise. Unfortunately, I've already sold out all my stock today. But I can save you a bottle for tomorrow, if you'd like?

  The Inspector lets out a short, dry laugh, completely humorless.

  — You won't need it. Tomorrow, you'll be selling it in jail, boy.

  It seems my long legs had more work ahead of them.