Authors: David Maurer
The
huge duke
is a short-con game widely used by big-con men. It is played extensively on the trains, coastwise steamers and transatlantic liners. It is one of the easiest, quickest and least obnoxious methods for big-con ropers to make expenses while they are traveling. But it requires good card sense and an expert knowledge of crooked gambling techniques, assets which all con men do not have.
The mob usually consists of three men, all expert card players. On a train, each will rope a mark and two by two they collect in the club car. One of the con men suggests
a card game, inviting the other two members of the mob and the most promising of the three marks. They call for a card table and the four of them settle down to play.
At first it may be any card game, probably euchre, played for cigars. Finally one of the mob says, “I surely wish this was a poker game, for I have a swell poker hand.”
“I’ll bet you a cigar my hand is a better poker hand than yours,” says another.
And so they lay down their hands and deal again. From now on, they jokingly bet on their hands as poker hands, even though theoretically they are supposed to be playing euchre.
Says one of the mob, “I’ve got a fine poker hand this time.”
“I’ll bet you a box of cigars that mine is better,” says another.
“How much is a box of cigars worth?” asks the first.
“Oh, four dollars,” answers the second.
“O.K.,” says the first, and they put down their hands.
Next deal they give the mark three aces. The third member of the mob says, “I’ve got some poker this time myself,” and he gives the mark a “flash” of his three queens. The mark knows that he can beat the queens with his aces, so he says, “I’ve got some poker, too,” and they bet a few dollars. The mark wins.
The plays have been so timed that the following deal falls to the mark. If he deals the cards himself, he knows that there has been no manipulation. He shuffles the cards and as one of the mob cuts them, he is “cold-decked”—that is, a duplicate deck is introduced into the game. It has previously been “chilled” or stacked in preparation for this play; the cards are so arranged that the mark will deal himself four aces, the hands of the other three members of the game being also prearranged.
The mark deals out the hands. He is elated to find the
four aces in his hand. The betting starts and they run him up as high as he will go; usually several hundred dollars is the limit. Let us say that this mark stops at $350. They get him to write a check if he does not have the cash on hand. The check goes into the pot and the hands go down. The mark sees his four aces lose to a straight flush. One of the mob is the winner and rakes in the pot.
Many con men who play the huge duke prefer the mark to use a check, for it provides a perfect blow-off. Just as soon as the mark loses, he may beef a little; if he doesn’t, the man who roped the mark speaks up and says, “Here, this man isn’t a very good player and he doesn’t know much about this game. I didn’t think we were going to play for money myself. Give him back his money.” With that he takes the check from the pot saying, “I’ll just destroy this, and everything will be all right.” The winner may protest a bit, but he is overruled. The roper then tears the check into fine bits and burns it with a match. In reality this is not the mark’s check at all, but a blank check of the same size and color which has been substituted for the mark’s check by the roper. In his pocket the roper carries a number of blank checks of various colors and sizes for this purpose. The mark, having seen his check torn up before his eyes, rests easier—until he gets the statement from his bank and is surprised to see that the check has been endorsed and cashed.
This type of blow-off is known as the “tear-up” and is perhaps the most effective of short-con blow-offs because it leaves the mark completely unaware that he has been swindled. Thus the mark is not “rumbled” and does not “heat up” the train or the boat immediately—giving the con men a chance to rope and trim several other marks before they change trains. When a con man takes a check from a responsible person, he may tear up a fake check under the pretense that it is the original one after skillfully persuading the victim to get off the train and draw
the money from the bank. Then the con man cashes the genuine check and thus gets double the amount. The checks taken on the tear-up are cashed immediately either through a fixed bank, or by businessmen to whom they are mailed as soon as they are taken. The businessman receives a commission.
As the grifters ride across the country, they get off the train about once a day, wait until the next flyer comes through, and get aboard, starting afresh with a new crop of victims. Sometimes they fix the conductor and then they can “rip and tear,” safe in the knowledge that they will be protected. There is an old saw among con men to this effect: “What can be better than a rattler full of marks and a right kayducer?”
If the mark realizes he is swindled, or if the conductor is inclined to look with disfavor upon the fleecing of his passengers, the con men usually get off the train immediately and board another. However, Eddie Mines, one of the most famous of the huge-duke players, had a philosophy which seemed to differ from the general policy among con men. Said he, “If you rumble a mark, just ignore him. He will cool out all by himself, and sooner than you would think.”
Eddie Mines, according to underworld rumor, once got a mark for the huge duke who backfired on him. He and his partner, Johnny on the Spot, were working the trains when they roped a “smart” mark. The play started and the mark appeared to be eating it up. When they put the “chill” in it was loaded with four jacks for one member of the con mob and four nines for the mark. The mark tossed in his money like hay. When they laid down their hands, the mark showed four aces. Eddie is reputed to have let out a yell that could be heard all over the train: “God damn it!” he roared. “That’s not the hand I gave you!”
Con men who ride the passenger liners are not so fortunate;
they cannot change ships as soon as things heat up. Hence, they are very careful about cooling their victims out because, once the heat is on, they can only retire to their staterooms and stay there, for bad news travels fast on shipboard and they are immediately ostracized.
While many con men use the huge duke, and some play that game almost exclusively, the outstanding old-timers who specialized in this swindle are Johnny on the Spot, Eddie Mines, Wildfire John, the Indiana Wonder, Scotty, Tom Tracy, Dog-Face Bradley and Crooked-Arm S—–. The best of the present generation of boat-riders includes Boat-rider Bill, Big-Mitt Edgar, Stewart Donnelly, Cold-deck Charley, Ocean Liner Al and the Umbrella Kid. Recent legislation which goes into effect just as this is being written will make it increasingly difficult for these gentry to continue their depredations on passenger liners.
In the same class with the huge duke belongs the “mitt store”—now practically obsolete, but at one time a very widely used short-con game played by all sorts of confidence men. The game is practically the same as that used in the huge duke. The chief difference lies in the method of operation. The mitt store is an establishment disguised under some respectable exterior; the players wait in the store while the ropers go out on the streets and into the railway stations looking for suckers, who are moved to the store for some ostensibly harmless purpose, and are then “mitted into” the card game. The mitt store as an institution has practically disappeared, but it deserves mention here because of the large part it played in the development of big-timers for the big-con games.
Another short-con game which threatens to become obsolescent, but which crops up periodically with every
large fair and exposition is the
money box with the con.
There are several versions, the one most used by big-con men operating as follows:
The con man approaches a mark with the old story that he needs an honest man to finance a dishonest project. The success of the game hinges entirely upon the ability of the operator to “tell the tale” to the mark, who, we must assume, is hardly endowed with a brilliant intellect. The mark is shown a little machine which was invented by a German who was murdered shortly after he completed the device; hence, it is the only one in existence. It will make money which cannot be detected as counterfeit; in reality, the money is not counterfeit, for the box contains plates stolen from the United States Printing Office. In order to make real ten-dollar bills in any quantity, all one has to have is a supply of the paper used by the government. Up to this point, even a “lop-eared” mark is inclined to be suspicious.
Then comes the “convincer.” The con man takes the mark to his room and produces a small piece of “genuine” government paper, replete with silk threads which give it a very realistic appearance. There is just enough left to make two bills. The con man cuts the paper, inserts it into the machine, and presto! Two crisp new bills are turned out, the ink still wet on them. The mark examines them suspiciously, but finally confesses that he would never suspect them. The con man invites him to take them to the bank to have them changed, which he does without the slightest difficulty, for they are bona-fide bills to begin with.
By this time the larceny in the mark is thoroughly aroused. He can visualize an unlimited income from this little machine. But there is one hitch. There is no more paper. The con man knows where he can get more paper from a government employee who will steal it for him. But this man must be paid in advance. For $1,500
enough paper can be procured to make $10,000 worth of money.
Then he proposes that the mark put up the $1,500—if the mark has not already offered to do so himself. There will be no risk involved for the mark, because they rent a safety-deposit box in the bank, place the machine therein, and give the key into the mark’s hands as security. Then the mark produces the $1,500 and turns it over to the con man, who takes it to Washington to purchase the supply of paper. But when the mark has waited for some time and his partner does not return, he opens the safety-deposit box and finds that he has only a worthless gadget to show for his $1,500.
This game, like many short-con games, requires some ability at sleight-of-hand in order that the operator may appear to turn out the real money from the machine, although he only creates an illusion by substituting the real bills for the blank paper which he puts into the machine. Several days may be required to take off a score with this game and for that reason it is not very popular with big-con men, who prefer short-con games like the smack, games which strip the mark immediately and allow the operator to be on his way. Foreigners make especially good marks for this swindle, of which there are several well-known variants. Lee Reil, Count Victor Lustig and the High Ass Kid (in his younger days) were specialists at this game and used it with great success.
A very popular short-con game worked with great success by American con men abroad is the
hot-seat.
Victims are often well-to-do American tourists; Roman Catholics are especially susceptible.
The roper picks up a mark and “feels him out” in much the same manner as he would for the big con. If he decides
that the mark can be played, he signals his partner, the insideman, who plants himself near the roper and the mark until the two of them find a rosary. They pick it up and speculate on what to do with it. It is a handsome and expensive rosary, evidently highly prized by someone. While they are examining it, the insideman approaches. He is hunting a rosary. They return it to him and he is overjoyed, for it is a relic which he could not replace; it belonged to his mother, and has been blessed by the Pope.
It develops that the stranger who has lost the rosary is a wealthy Irishman. He tries to reward the roper and the mark for finding the rosary, but they refuse. He professes a great liking and admiration for them. He reveals that he is about to give a large sum of money to charity, and proposes that the mark and the roper be appointed to distribute this money, as he is too busy to attend to it properly. Some con men here introduce a minor variation in that the wealthy Irishman is about to take a large sum of money to the Pope, but cannot go personally and wants the mark and the roper to be his representatives. But the outcome is all the same.
The roper suggests that the Irishman does not know them, and that he has no way of knowing that they are reliable and can be trusted. It is then proposed that the two of them put up a sum of money, say $5,000 apiece, as a sort of bond to guarantee their good faith in the deal. The Irishman takes them to his hotel suite and produces a tin box. He goes to the bank and withdraws a large sum of cash which he places in the box. The roper gets his “bond” and the mark produces his. To cement the pact and establish their good faith in one another, they put all the money into the tin box. Then an ingenious little conversation about trusting one another is begun. The upshot is that to show how firmly he trusts the mark and the roper, the insideman gives them the tin box and suggests
that they walk around the block with it. This they do, and return. Then, in order to make the test of faith all the way round, the mark and the insideman take the box and walk around the block, returning to the roper. The last test of faith requires that the roper and the insideman walk around with the box, and return to the waiting mark—who waits and waits, from which situation the game takes its name.
The American version of this game, called
the wipe
, is very seldom used by present-day big-con men, though many of them have used it at some time in the past. While the hot-seat is at present used in Europe by such masters of their profession as Pretty Sid, Snowy T—–, Kangaroo John, Melbourne Murray, Devil’s Island Eddie, Slab B—–, and others, the wipe in America has degenerated to a rather low reputation among professionals. It is now used mainly by Negroes, low-class Italians and Gypsies.
The American version goes like this: the operator visits the mark with the story that he is looking for an honest, trustworthy man to guard a large sum of money which he is going to give the Church; he tells the mark that he has inquired into his reputation and finds it is all he could desire. The mark agrees to act as guardian, so the stranger counts out $500 in cash and they tie it up in a handkerchief. They then shake hands over the matter and the mark agrees to hold the money until the stranger is ready to turn it over to the priest.