July12
Happy to say that my lecture at Taylor’s Magic Shop on Monday night went down a treat.
Sean is a wonderful host and made sure I had everything I needed while supplying the audience with drinks and biscuits during interval.
We had a full house made up of magicians, members of the general public and a few cops.
We looked at a bunch of classic bar bets and other ways to win money in bars. These included a way to make money from the game Nim, which I called The Smack.
I also taught a version of poker that uses any ten cards in the deck. Even when your opponent gets six cards you still win every time.
I was really surprised how much the audience appreciated all of the little subtle details that I have long since taken for granted.
In the second half, I explained how the shell game, three card Monte and Hungarian Monte are played around the world and showed some of the photos and videos I got while in Europe.
I made up some sets of Hungarian Monte disks that sold out before the lecture was even finished. I had to take orders for some extra sets.
I’ve had a offer to record the lecture as a DVD to sell to magicians (and con artists) which I may well take up.
What do you think? Would you be interested in a con artist instructional DVD?
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July7
When we last left this story I was hunting the Trileros along the streets of Las Ramblas in Barcelona. For many years, these gangs of con artists have worked this busy tourist strip, hustling tourists with the shell game.
Three matchboxes. One ball. No chance.
I was worried because the Trileros had spotted me trying to film them and had vanished down the many side streets and alleys that line Las Ramblas. I had hoped to play the game a little, lose some money and maybe get some hidden camera shots of them in action.
For the next hour, I combed the street, getting more djected the further I walked without seeing them. I talk to a couple of police officers who confirmed that they are cracking down on the Trileros and other swindlers. They sent me a nearby information stand where I found a flyer warning of 3000 euro fines for even playing the game, let alone running it.
I head back to Las Ramblas where the Trileros are back in force.
The boss who I saw handing out money earlier is the same but the rest of con artists are all new faces. It seems that the man in charge sets of franchises. He’s running several crews at once all up and down the strip. He hands at the cash, picks the spots, takes no risks and pockets a fortune.
I keep my video camera away and take out my semi-hidden camera. Really, it’s just a regular camera in a bag but ’semi-hidden camera’ has much more of a James Bond ring to it.
To get them on side, I decide to lose my money up front and then photograph them after.
Pickpockets often work the pockets and bags of crowds so I’ve lock all my valuables in my backpack and have only my camera and 20 euro in my pocket.
I push my way to the front of the crowd, wait and watch….
an accomplice goes to place a winning bet.
Within seconds, an hand grabs hold of my elbow. One of the many accomplices has spotted me and is trying to rope me into the game. He’s an older man and speaks in broken English.
“Where is it? Come, you help me!”
He pulls me up close, his vice like grip digging into my arm. My choices are either play the game or, pull rudely away from this kindly old man. I am certain that people play the game just out of politeness.
The Trilero thrusts 50 euro in my hand saying, “play with my money.”
I watch the matchboxes fly around on the ground desperately trying to keep track of where the ball should be while also looking for the moment where he swaps the ball invisible from one matchbox to another.
At the last second, he bumps on the matchboxes with the heel of his hand accidentally flashing the ball’s position. My friend squeezes my hand and hisses, “look! look!”. He taps his foot on the box that, apparently, contains the ball.
So I reach out my foot and place it squarely on the winning box.
The Trilero reaches out and takes the 50 euro he just handed to me. The old man hands over 50 euro of his own. They both turn me expectantly. The hustler holds out his hand.
“50 euro”
“Sorry, only 20.”
“50.”
“Nope. 20.”
“Ok!”
He takes my 20 and pulls me down to the ground with him.
“Watch”
I slowly take my foot off the box.
“Watch”
He grabs hold of the box in a awkward grip. Years of watch bad magic shows tells me he’s doing the dirty move.
“Watch”
He slowly slides it towards me and flips it over. The box is empty. I’ve lost my 20 euro.
The sliding move used to steal the ball was quite ungainly and unnatural. A magician would illicit heckles and protests if he tried a similar move in a magic show.
But here on the street, no one says a word. It’s because the tourists are foreigners in strange land, playing a game they don’t really understand, surrounded by people they don’t know or trust.
Whether it’s fear, politeness or confusion, no one accuses them of cheating the whole time I’m standing there. Maybe the crowd just isn’t looking for it.
I step back into the crowd and take a few more photos and little film footage before my camera is spotted. The game is finished once again and the crew vanish into the busy street but not before a few threats and a little abuse is thrown my way.
I spot eight different hustlers helping out in just this one game:
1) The Trilero playing the game
2) The boss handing out money
3) The old man who helped me bet
4) Two look outs
5) Three other players
This isn’t some little street hustle….this is an industry.
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July1
Within two hours of arriving in Barcelona I’ve been offered cocaine, hashish, hooker and 5 euro genuine Ray Bans.
I’m in the right place if I want to find a con artists.
Barcelona is packed full of them. Everyone you meet on the street is working an angle. The guy running the hostel pocketed our cash ‘off the books’. We got 11 euro change from a 20 euro note for a 3 euro beer. Illegal street vendors stalk the streets selling beer, handbags and coke (both the canned and small plastic bag varieties).
Some of the street vendors have taken to spreading their wares out on large blankets. The corners and edges of the blankets are attached to half a dozen pieces of rope that the salesman holds in his hand. As soon as the police show up, the vendor pulls the ropes, slings the sack of product over his shoulder and legs. An entire mini marketplace can spring up in seconds and vanish just as quickly.
But I’m not here to shop. I was looking for the Trileros.
For many years, the Trileros have plied their trade on Las Ramblas, the most famous tourist strip in Barcelona. They invite passerbys to play a game of Trilero or, as it’s more commonly known, The Shell Game.
To win, you have figure out which of three matchboxes has a small white ball hidden under it.
Like most people, I’ve long known that the game is fixed, that it is impossible to win. But what I’m here to learn is why people play. What makes a perfectly reasonable, rational person who shuns lottery tickets and rolls their eyes at time share apartments hand over 50 euro to a complete stranger on the street?
I’ve set myself up with my special tourist outfit.
Backpack. Loud shirt. Sunglasses.
I’ve got my camcorder and a semi hidden camera. I’ve also got a 20 euro note burning a hole in my pocket itching to be bet and lost.
The street itself is little more than a kilometre long. But its jammed full of human statues, flower shops, hawkers, beggars, restaurants and even pet shops. A tourist could spend hours here without seeing it all.
I avoid the buskers and shops and keep my eye for the crew. Every time I see a crate or box that the Trileros could use as a makeshift table by heart leaps. Each time I pass a police officer, I am crushed.
After 45 minutes wandering up and down, I come across a strange sight. A vegetable crate has been set on it’s end on the side of the street. Standing about 2 metres away are five people. One woman and five men. They stand several metres apart, avoiding each others gaze. Suddenly, one man takes out a wad of cash and hands piles to four others. This man is the boss, handing out cash for his accomplices to gamble with. They’re called boosters and cappers in English, but in Spanish it’s Palos Blancos or White Woods.
This is it.
I sneak around the corner and get out my video camera. Holding it by side, I walk back to where they are set up and strike up conversation with a man handing out fliers for Spanish guitar concerts. The camera is trained on the men who are fixing a piece of cardboard to the top of the end of the crate to give it a flat surface.
I head across the street to get a better look as the game begins. The accomplices start betting straight away, winning and losing as the Trilero mixes the matchboxes on the top of the table. Tourists quickly come over, peering at the game, trying to follow the white ball. No one is convinced the bet.
All this while, I’m struggling to get my camera back out to film them at work. I have to keep the camera hidden because any hint of being filmed and the game is over. Suddenly, I feel two eyes in the back of my neck.
Without realising, I’ve sat down directly in front of the look out for the crew. He’s set up on the opposite side of the road to watch for police. And now’s his breathing down my neck.
He yells what sounds like “Auga” (the Spanish for water) and the games breaks up. They don’t vanish straight away. They wander off a few feet, looking around, wanting to come back. I’m reminded of pigeons. You can scatter a flock of pigeons but they won’t go far.
But the jig is up and the crew have now gone, heading down the side streets.
I’m not sure if they’ll be back.
And even if they are. I’m not sure they’ll let me get close enough to film.
Have I ruined my chances?
TO BE CONTINUED……
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July1
Had lunch with Todd Various yesterday.
I’ve been helping Todd, whose an American busker, with some tips on performing the Three Card Monte for his street magic show and he’s been giving me a few tips on escaping from a straight jacket while wrapped in chains.
Todd told me that he’d run into a Romanian man who is staying in Edinburgh at the moment.
He came up to Todd after he’d just finished busking with magic on the Royal Mile and asked him, “You ever see this?”
He pulled out three round disk, a little smaller than a saucer. One had a spot on it. He mixed them up face down and asked Todd to pick which one had the spot.
“This game. I play it here?”
“Here? No way, you’ll get arrested.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah - plus they have camera all over the place.”
“Thank you for warning me.”
Apparently, he’s still hanging around the mile watching the buskers but he sure as hell hasn’t been playing.
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