Charade

Benji

When Vic told me we were going to sell the casino, I told him he was crazy.

After all, how do you sell something you don't own?

Then he told me about Stewart Wright, the cranky man behind the desk, and the deal his father had made almost twenty five years ago. Stewart hit bankruptcy in the spring of 1991 after a string of bad investments backfired. At about the same time, Vic's father – Arthur Langley – had run into a rut of his own. He'd read about Victor Lustig, also known as the man who sold the Eiffel Tower, who spent his life selling landmarks he didn't own to money-hungry tourists. He set up elaborate schemes, made tonnes of false paperwork, and met in several restaurants to convince people of his scam. Arthur loved the idea and thought it would bring in millions, so he found a dying business and made Stewart an offer: let me use your building and your employees, and I'll give you a cut of the profits. Thomas agreed. The rest is history.

Turns out Vic had a lot of these deals. The art buyers, Stewart Wright, and plenty more of the sort. He used the code word, 'Mr Lustig', to get past nosy secretaries and recording devices. Nobody thinks twice if you ask for someone, but they definitely notice if you tell them you plan on robbing Adelaide's tourists blind.

When all this sunk in, somewhere around midnight, sleep refused to come. How could I convince someone I own something I've never even been to? And what if we couldn't, what if they found out...

I got up the next morning with groggy eyes. Streaks of morning sun came peeking through Vic's thick ugly blinds. I groaned and went to the kitchen, the way I had done every morning since I moved in. I passed Vic, asleep with his head in a pile of false paperwork on the kitchen table, and figured he'd been up doing his homework to some ungodly hour.

I made two coffees and put one beside Vic as I passed him on my way out to the balcony. This was by far my favourite part of living in Vic's apartment – the view. This little balcony was smack-bang in the middle of the City of Churches, where the view was at its finest, especially in the evening when the city lights came alive. Traffic noses were loud and constant, but I loved the sound of cars rolling by and the talkative people below. It felt like home, even if wasn't where I came from.

I sat in the old plastic chair and put my hot coffee on the small metal table. Steam twirled up into the crisp morning air, highlighted by the golden sun, as I watched the fog roll in on the street below. Misty and grey, like a ghost, hiding everything inside it. I was so at peace here this time of day, when it was quiet and early and nothing seemed to worry me.

The glass door slid open and I jumped, startled, having been so zoned out. Lily stepped out into the morning sun, wigless, wearing a black tank top, bandana, and red plaid pyjama bottoms. She smiled shyly at me.

"Hi," she said softly.

I grinned.

"Hey. How you feeling?"

"Good, good. My head still hurts a bit, but I'm okay."

Lily sat in the chair opposite me, both of us facing out to city, listening to low rumble of traffic and chirping birds. I sipped my coffee.

"You're not going to steal this one, are you?" I teased.

Lily smiled.

"Not this time. But don't test me."

I chuckled and went back to watching the sky, the colour of lavender, slowly fade to baby blue. We both fell quiet, but the silence was peaceful. Within the next minute, my morning cigarette craving set in, and I pulled out my packet.

"Want one?" I asked Lily, offering her the box.

I immediately felt stupid for asking – like this girl didn't have enough health scares to worry about. I'm sure she didn't want to add emphysema to that list.