The^ woman shoved the bills inside the case and then clutched it between her ample breasts with both hands.

"What do we do now?"

"We wait for Chico to call and say it's okay for you to go down to da main Lotto office and collect my money."

Rob shook his head in wonder. The gullibility of people never ceased to amaze him. This grifter was using the latest wrinkle on the Spanish handkerchief—a phony lottery ticket. It worked like this: The grifter has a state lottery ticket dated for, say, January 3 that has the correct lottery numbers for that date. Except that it's a ticket from January 31 with the "1" scraped off. The scam artist poses as an illegal alien who can't cash the ticket for fear of deportation. He corners some poor sucker, usually of similar roots, and pleads for help, promising to share the prize if the mark can prove that he or she is "a person of substance" whom the grifter can trust with his "winning" ticket. The mark checks with a local Lotto stand and confirms that, yes, the ticket does indeed have all the winning numbers. To prove her 'substance,' this particular mark had withdrawn five thousand in cash and shown it to the grifter. It was now in the pencil case.

Rob was sure that when "Chico" called, the scam artist would have to go meet him immediately due to some unexpected development. But to show his good faith, the grifter would offer to leave his lucky lottery ticket with the mark. He'd stick it in the pencil pouch with the cash. That was when the switch would be made, leaving the mark holding an identical pencil case stuffed with dollar-sized strips of newspaper.

Rob ambled over the phone where the pair hovered and reached for the receiver. The man knocked his hand away.

"We're waitin' for a call, man. Use dat phone over dere."

"Oh, okay," Rob said, smiling shyly. "Sure."

Rob moved four phones away and dropped a quarter into the slot. The encounter seconds before had enabled him to read the number on the other phone. He punched it in.