easy money 2

        They were speeding along in the Sunbeam when Mister Radcliff decided to pass the time by telling a story.
        "I knew a man who was a fool. A greedy fool who thought he could come into some easy money. I knew him at Oxford, a Nigerian fellow. His family had sent him up for a liberal arts degree. He studied European history and philosophy, with a smattering of physics. Became enamoured of the Medici and the Borgia and led himself to believe he understood Guth, Gell-Man and Weinberg. The plan was that he would return to Nigeria a gentleman. Stupid plan. Nigeria didn't need any more gentlemen."
        "I have a feeling  that he called you at some point."
        "Quite right. He offered me a plum deal."
        Mister Radcliff chuckled sardonically.
        "Oil was a booming business down there. My chum had no business skills, but he did posess a silver tongue and he could glad-hand his way into anyone's country club. Black or white. When he called me he represented a consortium of petty bureaucrats and civil servants looking to make a fortune. They were part of a multinational.Their scheme went this way. When a series of contracts were executed, pricing things like crude oil distribution, turn-around maintenance of refineries, or building new storage facilities, these paper-pushing bastards played hanky-panky with the invoices."
       "Imbezzling."
       "Most of the companies were headquartered in the States. Most likely, their bean-counters were on the take for kickbacks. It was all doomed to fail."
        "The multinational must have caught on."
        "Everything was hunky-dory. Project officials were commissioned and construction began. Nobody in the States was squawking about being bilked. No ripples in the pond. The silence was ominous, I would think. But my chum was oozing confidence. After all, he was a con-man."
        "You trusted him?"
        "He wanted me for my discretion. I could set up the perfect Cayman account. Have to admit, I was feeling greedy too. We got along swimmingly. While at Oxford he became embroiled with a white tart in SoHo. I handled the necessary financial affairs to get him out of trouble. I risked my good name because I could afford embarrassment more than he could. Lucky for us, the tart disappeared without a trace."
         Hannah blazed. "You were the fool, darling."
         "Excuse me?"
         "He played you. God knows what he did to her."
         "Stop the car."
         She pulled over just beyond some barens. Mister Radcliff lurched into the field, fell to his knees and puked his picnic into the dirt. She petted his head and said, "I hope he hasn't snookered you again."
         Bleary eyed, Mister Radcliff replied, "No. He was butchered on a roadside. His family too. Machine-gunned his Rolls. Then they made it look like a tribal thing. Chopped his babies to bloody hash."