All of the events described herein are true. They actually took place. The mental and emotional vitriol that fuels the actions however, and the fetid ooze of thought process, reminiscent perhaps, of something you would avoid, smeared on the concrete of a Downtown alley – that’s all fabrication. At least it might be or rather it should be. What really goes on behind the small, beady eyes of a con man? What makes a crook behave as he does? Behavioural scientists may well have explanations, wrapped up in terminology that only they understand. There is only one way to really find out what makes a crooked clock tick and that’s for it to chime aloud. Crookedness from the crook’s perspective. Deceit through the eyes of the deceiver or in the words of Chub – the art of selling real estate over and over and over again.
I first encountered Chub in 2000. I never suspected at the time that he was anything out of the ordinary. In fact it took three whole years before I realized that he was far from ordinary. I have watched in fascination as he worked his craft, casting out his lines, carefully selecting his lures and setting his traps with over-meticulous attention to detail. He may spend years tinkering with the jaws of his device, but when he springs his trap it is a frightful spectacle to behold. To see his prey when the dark dawn of horror emerges over the horizon of their lives is painful, but to watch Chub, motionless, expressionless, in silent self-congratulation as he studies the screaming, frantic, fear-stricken animal quaking behind the bars of absolute material and emotional loss is indeed enough to send shivers along the spine of any seasoned hunter. The ice cold finger of truth trickles down from the brow and smothers the heart as the realization sets in that this is a trap and there is no way out.
I’ve been in the trap. I know the feeling. The simple, cruel and awesome power wielded by the conman has been so great though, that Lynne and I could not help ourselves, but to stare back at the conman and ask why?
More than ten years have passed since our first encounter and like all criminals, Chub understood at some deeper level, that he would one day have to confess and perhaps the knowledge that he too was being examined, like a fungal spore, trapped under the slide of a microscope, enticed him to approach us.
In this story Chub promises to reveal all. Every crime, every scheme, every last dirty trick up his fake Armani sleeve; he wants and needs to tell the world. Keeping a lifetime of toxic secrets takes its toll on even the strongest Ubermensch constitution and Chub knows he’s not getting any younger. If he doesn’t loosen the draw- string on his mouth now, his achievements might die with him and any life kept hidden is worthless. We all seek an audience. We cannot help ourselves. Teetering on the crumbling edge of our own shallow grave we are all sufficiently vain to demand a witness to our existence. Without cognisance we are meaningless, we have never lived. A mirror only reveals our aloneness, our loneliness. We must find an ear or an eye to acknowledge that we too have lived …. however badly.