Davis Conover, Money-Hoover
By Mike Stevens
Davis Conover looked up into the eyes of his latest mark, the widow Jane Frump. In her eyes, he saw desperation. He had scanned the obituaries in the paper, and had contacted each widow, saying for a small fee, he’d contact their dearly-departed. Every one of them had slammed the phone down on him, except Mrs. Jane Frump. She’d wanted to hear more, so Davis obliged her; telling her he, for whatever reason, had a direct pipeline to the land beyond the grave. Seeing is believing! Look at her, he thought, her face filled with true belief. How pathetic!
“Mrs. Frump, I have to be in complete darkness, so as to contact the deceased loved one; then I’m sure I can contact your Harold.”
At the mention of her husband’s name, Mrs. Frump got an excited look on her face, and replied, “Oh, I would really like to talk to my Harold again; do you really think you can?”
Perfect; she was firmly hooked, all Davis would have to do is reel her in. “Yes, Mrs. Frump, I can guaranty you’ll soon be hearing from him, but everything needs to be perfect, and that means quiet, and dark.”
She answered, “Sure, Mr. Conover.”
"Okay, Mrs. Frump, if you’ll just turn out the lights and concentrate very hard, I’ll contact your Harold.”
She walked to the wall and turned off the lights. Immediately, the room was plunged into darkness. Her voice came to him from out of the black. “Oh, I didn’t expect it to be so dark!"If you’ll just start talking, I’ll follow the sound of your voice back to the table.”
“Well, Mrs. Frump, how about if I start trying to contact him?”
“Fine, I can’t wait!”
Great, he’d just spout some bulls**t for a few minutes, then head home and do some online shopping, with her credit card! “Calling to the spirit world; I’m looking for Harold Frump; if you’re there, give us some kind of a sign!” He took a quarter from his pocket, and flipped it towards where he thought the far wall was. It rattled around before coming to rest on the floor.
Mrs. Frump gave a surprised gasp, and exclaimed, “Harold, is that you, are you there?”
“Mrs. Frump, you won’t be able to hear him, but I can, and I’ll relay your questions and his answers.”
“Oh, okay, I wish I could hear him, but okay.”
“What would you like to ask him?”
“Ask him if he’s comfortable?”
“Are you comfortable, Harold? He says if it’s really you, he needs you credit card number.”
“Really, he said that?”
“Yes, he was quite adamant,” Davis replied, and gathered all his concentration so he could memorize the number as she read it out. He’d always had the ability to remember numbers, and now it would pay off.
“Well, if Harold’s adamant, I have it memorized because I use it so much; here it is: it’s...” and she ticked off a series of numbers, which he relayed to the darkness. It was a good thing she had it memorized, because truth-be-told, he hadn't even thought of that; this con-man gig was a lot harder than it looked!
“Harold says that’s it, and he’s doing great, other than the dead thing.”
Suddenly, from the darkness, a voice said, “My beloved Jane; I’m not supposed to be able to see or hear you, but our love was so strong, it must have overridden that. It’s so wonderful to see you, and hear your voice again!”
A completely shocked Davis Conover thought wildly, 'What? It really worked? I can’t believe this!' and he promptly passed out.
Detective Larry Mars clicked on his flashlight, and stepped to the table where an unconscious Davis Conover lay face-down on the table. “I told you, Mrs. Frump, a con artist.”
“Yes, you were right to set up this sting, Detective. Thank you so much!”
Davis Conover awoke to his 100th day behind bars. Only 265 days, and 14 YEARS to go!