My mother used to say that when everything goes wrong, the universe sends a sign. Well, if she was right, the universe had a terrible sense of humor. My "sign" came in the form of a skinny man with a dubious appearance and curled mustaches, who approached me while I was still recovering from my latest run-in with the police behind the pile of crates.
— Felix, right? — the stranger asks, his raspy voice emerging from the shadows like he just appeared out of nowhere.
I'm so startled that I almost swallow my own heart.
— Depends. Are you the police?
He laughs, as if I've told a joke.
— With this face? Spare me. My name's Hector. And actually, I came to make you an offer.
Suspicious, I give him a good look: worn-out clothes, an uneasy glance, a crooked smile. Either he's trustworthy or a swindler even worse than me.
— I don't have any money, in case this is some kind of collection.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
— Relax. I'm here to help. I saw the show with Inspector Grant earlier. — He laughs again. — You run well, Felix. And more importantly: you talk well.
I raise an eyebrow.
— And how exactly do you know me?
He grins widely, revealing a row of yellowed and chipped teeth.
— Let's just say people like you don't go unnoticed. I'm also a businessman. One of those... alternative types, you know.
— Oh, so you're a swindler too? — I venture, still wary.
— I prefer to call myself a specialist in opportunities. — Hector adjusts his worn-out suit in a pose of questionable dignity. — I'm putting together a team. I need someone like you.
A team? The offer is starting to sound even more suspicious—and more interesting.
— A team for what exactly? Robbing banks? Smuggling? Train heists?
— For now, something more modest. Just small cons. Simple stuff, easy, honest—well, maybe not so honest, but definitely profitable.
I hesitate. My hypnotic voice never fails in simple situations, but bigger cons... I'm not sure if I'm ready. Hector notices my hesitation and smiles slyly:
— Felix, look. You can keep running from the cops, or you can take a chance with me. Easy money, low risk. What do you say?
I consider the situation for a full five seconds—long enough for my stomach to growl and remind me that the only thing I ate today was half of an old loaf of bread.
I extend my hand, shaking his.
— Alright, Hector. I'm in. But if I end up in jail, it's all your fault.
He smiles, satisfied, his yellow teeth glowing in the dark.
— Don't worry. You're exactly the kind of guy I need for my next big project: The Instant Dream Machine.
I swallow hard, already anticipating trouble. Whatever this machine is, I'm almost sure it's just another hodgepodge, just like mine. And this time, I won't even need to fake surprise when it all goes wrong.