I like to watch street scammers in action. Actually, their victims are much more interesting. They’re so gullible. So many think that they can come upon a seasoned professional con man and beat him (or her) by merely paying attention.

The set-up varies, but the basics are the same. A man or woman will set up a little table or box and start moving three objects around. Originally – hundreds of years ago – these objects were thimbles, shells, or small cups. A small bean or ball would be placed under one, the cups are moved swiftly around the staging surface, and the victim – having placed a bet – picks one.

It’s more often done with playing cards these days, and you’re looking for the Queen (psychologically, the most attractive playing card to seek). The con man will let a shill – a partner who plays the role of an unassociated passerby – win a few bets. Even victims are allowed to win small bets. But the confidence-boosted big bets almost always go to the con man.

He’s a pro, after all. He’s a master of manipulation and dexterity. He performs this shell game, thimblerig, three-card monte, follow the Queen – whatever you want to call it – hundreds of times a day, and has for years. He always makes money. His victims, his patsies, don’t have a chance.

But it’s not even those foolish patsies that earn my closest attention. No, I watch members of the audience, passersby who considers themselves too smart or too cautious to be taken in by this con. They stand by and watch instead, living vicariously through the victim who puts up the money.

These audience members are very often victims, too, but fail to realize it until later – if at all. This street shuffle that they’re watching is very distracting. The audience concentrates fully on the con man’s actions, on the victims behavior, and on their own musings of beating the con.

While someone picks their pocket.

That’s right, pocket picking is the real money maker for many of these street teams. Conditions are perfect for pickpockets: A crowd that jostles each other to see the action, spontaneous slaps on the backs among strangers as the con man appears to lose a bet, the sudden burst of activity as the con man pretends to take off quickly to avoid a perceived approaching policeman.

Me, I stand back at least a couple of car lengths from the crowd. Even at this “safe” distance, I curl my fingers tightly around my wallet in my front pocket. I never watch the con man. I check out the “remoras”, the scavenger fish that push into the crowd from behind. I watch their hands as they pick through a crowd like migrant farm workers picking strawberries from a field.

Misdirection is the heart of the art of the con.

Scrud Kelley

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