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.