Major Peabody lit a cigar, blew a smoke ring, smiled and tried to convince me he had a consuming interest in the welfare of youngsters. His interest was such, he informed me, that he had already invited two of his friends to join him and volunteer for a humanitarian endeavor aimed at insuring adequate supplies of milk for the tiny tots. When I registered mild disbelief, he came forward with a more complete explanation.
In Iowa, pheasants were destroying local corn crops. Corn, the Major informed me, formed a part of the diet of cows which, he further informed me, produced milk. “When I discovered that cow’s milk was the same stuff small children drink,” he told me, “my better nature came to the fore. What could be more altruistic than eliminating the nasty pheasants that destroy the corn crops used to feed the cows that produced the milk that nourished the tiny babes?
“I immediately looked for men who shared my altruistic sentiments and, of course, I thought of you. My plan,” the Major told me, “is to get such a group together, travel to Iowa and do our very best to reduce the population of the marauding, ravenous pheasants. It will be our purpose to save the corn crop thereby providing adequate sustenance to the local dairy herds and, thus, protect little children from the terrible effects of a milk shortage.”
Translated into plain English, the Major wanted me to go to Iowa with him. His hidden agenda was quite obvious to me. I knew he wanted to engineer some kind of bet which I could never win and/or draw me into a poker game. This time I would escape his trap. I was in the middle of drafting a very intricate Estate Plan for James Larson, one of Philadelphia’s most successful and clever Personal Injury attorneys. I was quite pleased when the man complimented me after he reviewed a rough draft of the Trust, but I do wish he hadn’t used the phrase “tax evasion”.
I had a good excuse to decline the Major’s invitation. That trust document and the allied incorporation, the drafting of deeds and the arranging of stock transfers all required a good deal of time and attention. In addition, I had no inclination to go to Iowa and had no interest in contributing to the Major’s financial well-being.
On more than one occasion Mr. Larson had mentioned his avid interest in shotgunning. I suggested the Major invite him in my stead. And so it came to pass.
* * * * *
The hunters arrived at their destination in the late afternoon. They ate, enjoyed a libation and had time for a friendly poker game. The following morning, the sun had risen and the hunters, still in their motel room, were dressing and preparing for their imminent humanitarian campaign. At that moment, however, Peabody’s thoughts were directed at neither the hunt nor the welfare of the children.
His attentions were directed toward one of his companions. Major Peabody carefully considered the civil damage trial attorney, James Larson. When the poker game began on the previous night, Peabody recalled how Larson had asked: “I can never remember - does a straight beat a flush or does a flush beat a straight?”
At the time, Peabody thanked the Poker Gods for delivering the attorney into his hands. The fellow’s subsequent performance at the card table, however, was not something calculated to fill Peabody’s gizzard with unbounded joy. Larson carefully conned the Major into investing far too much in second best hands. The Major and his friends had been injured by the man’s display of poker expertise.
Major Peabody scolded himself. “I should have known better,” he complained. “How could I have failed to recognize him as a con artist? This man is a successful Personal Injury lawyer. He has been schooled in guile, trickery and deception. He has been trained to convince juries of make-believe injuries. He has made a business of misleading knowledgeable judges. As far as I know, he has been able to avoid being charged with perpetrating crimes against humanity, but the man is nothing more than a devious knave. I admire him so very much.”
After breakfasting in the restaurant adjacent to the motel, the Major engineered an opportunity to speak privately with the attorney. He complimented him on the subtle ways he mislead them at the poker table and the cunning mechanisms he employed to convince losers that their hands deserved one and sometimes two additional pointless bets. Then the Major got down to brass tacks.
“With a little more training and experience,” Peabody informed him, “my hunting companions might become mediocre marksmen. Correct me if I am wrong, Larson, but I suspect you are a damned good shot?” It was a question, not a statement. The lawyer looked at Peabody and cautiously nodded. He suspected the Major was trying to entrap him.
“I will admit,” the Major continued, “that I have the reputation of being able to hit what I shoot at.” He paused for a bit before adding, “I believe it might be profitable for us to join forces.”
The attorney could recognize a kindred spirit when he saw one. The scheme was hatched on the spot. On the first day, Larson agreed to fire with a complete disregard for the range of his shotgun. He further agreed to miss on nearly every occasion. Peabody agreed to have an “off day”, but not shoot so badly as to raise suspicions on the part of his usual hunting compadres.
When the first day of the hunt had ended, the attorney had not a single pheasant in his game pouch. Peabody had tried to shoot poorly but, nevertheless, had killed three birds. Later in the evening, when the single malt Scotch and the cigars had been distributed, the Major made his move. Peabody suggested a contest. It would begin on the next morning. He and Larson would spot each of the others a one bird advantage and, at the end of the remaining three days of the hunt, the team with the most birds would split the pot.
Before Peabody could propose the size of the wager, both of his friends declined to participate. They were gun shy. They knew the Major well enough to avoid betting with him. Sad experiences taught them he had a way of winning nearly every bet he made. Peabody’s expression telegraphed his disappoint-ment. It clearly proclaimed, “Well, I tried.”
The Personal Injury lawyer was conditioned to turning disaster into triumph and he seized the opportunity. He told the Major’s friends that he expected they would want to recover their poker loses. Abandoning the Major’s team effort proposal, he suggested that he and the other hunters create two pools. Each of them would put $500 into one of the two pots. Since he would be involved in both of the pots, he would contribute a thousand dollars, putting 500 into each of the two pots. Peabody wouldn’t be involved in the bets. He’d have to sit this one out.
“If I can only win one of the pots, I’ll break even,” Larson said in an effort to strengthen the appearance of his inability to master the shooting of a bird in flight. Peabody’s friends took the bet.
Later, Peabody again had a private conference with the lawyer. “I was afraid they might react that way,” the Major told him. “I was afraid they’d turn down my proposition, but, they accepted yours. I’ll put up 500 dollars to cover my end of the bet.”
Then Larson disappointed Peabody by refusing to take his money or recognize his value in setting up the scheme. “Sorry, Major. You’re out of the picture,” he told him. “I made the deal with them. I put up the thousand dollars. I’m the one doing the shooting and I’ll reap all of the rewards.”
On the following day, a startling metamorphosis took place. Larson was heard to exclaim such things as: “Good heavens! What a lucky shot,” and “I never expected to hit it,” and “Is that my bird? Didn’t either of you shoot?” Unexpectedly, the same metamorphosis affected the other two hunters. They were heard to say: “Great Scott. I was falling down went I pulled the trigger,” and “I shot at the first one and the second one dropped.”
At noon, the men were having a field lunch of sandwiches and coffee. Each of Peabody’s friends was well ahead of the lawyer. The Personal Injury attorney arose from his camp stool and stretched. He looked at his fellow hunters. Both were trying, unsuccessfully, to look innocent.
“This charade has gone far enough,” he announced. He pulled out his wallet and shuffled through the wad of bills stuffed into it. He handed $250 to each of the other hunters and then gave $500 to the Major, saying, “I presume each of your friends was going to split the pot with you.” The Major nodded and the other hunters smiled.
“It’s my own fault,” Larson said. “I should have suspected something. I believe you and these two thieves have been hunting together for some time?” It was a question and the Major nodded an affirmative. “Your snare was well hidden and your confederates were very convincing,” the attorney admitted. “It was a well engineered deception.”
He was silent for a moment while he considered how he had been conned. Then he looked at the Major and asked: “Did you, by chance, ever practice personal injury law?”