It’s always the young ones, the ones who have just finished with their schooling and have that shine of life in their eyes that twinkles in the dark, there is no need for complex movements nor plans. No need for big stories, for they get sucked in not by stories but ideas.
When you wish to have them purchase something you must plant the seed first, let them think it’s theirs and as the night goes on all you have to do is water it until it bursts forth. But it always begins the same. I sit in my corner of the bar, having a cigarette and letting the smoke pool on the ceiling, their eyes wandering to the older more veteran looking griffon of the corner. They look into my eyes, they see something that can be taken and like all griffons the promise of success and wealth is irresistible.
The droning of others speaking, the constant static of the bar speaking, silencing all doubts yet feeding the questions. They sit down ahead of me and I raise a claw, quickly a barmaid gets me two drinks, one for the bespeckled youth in front of me and a heavier one for yours truly.
They ask me my name, I tell them it’s Ram and they expect me to ask them for theirs. So when I ask them using their name, what they're here for, they are taken off balance, nervousness mixing with curiosity in an intoxicating blend that will kill any feline.
I tell them of success, of life, death, philosophy, knowledge, education, I regale them for hours with tales and concepts beyond them. Cementing myself as the knowledged veteran of us two. Their trust makes their wallets open, ready to be filled using the tactics I bestow upon them. I tell them of a business opportunity, all they need to do is trust me and why wouldn’t they?
We’ve been talking for hours now, come on we’re friends aren’t we? Oh, I don’t need your bits, just your help. I'm no scammer nor trickster, no huckster looking to fill a bag with the gold of others. Trust me here pal, let's make the deal of a lifetime and get rich.
They trust me, their eyes filled with longing and practically leaping off their leathered chair at me for that promise. Their life’s ahead of them and here they are ready to strike a business opportunity so elusive and powerful they might be set for the rest of their life.
And so I reach into a backpocket, pulling the contract out and unfolding it for them. Just sign here, here and here and your wildest dreams will come true. A haze of drunken trust and hours of discussion having ripped apart their mind’s defenses at their seams they pick up the pen and sign for dear life.
Once they are done, they pass out and spill onto the flooring, the contract burning to dust. Another night’s work well done, I throw their limp body a bag of bits and leave. Telling the bartender that a drunk has passed out in the corner. And as I leave I truly feel accomplished, both sides have won tonight. They have grown richer in gold, while I’ve grown richer in spirit.