My Week with the Con Artist

Let me tell you a story...

One infamous Sunday night at our favorite two-for-one drinks hotspot Manyanas, my friend Harry broke up a fight involving a boy named Jay. Harry and Jay chat it up the rest of the night, and Harry discovers that Jay is a 23-year-old self-made man; the manager of a bar in Tenerife (an island off Morocco) and an online poker extraordinaire. They exchange phone numbers and become Facebook friends.

A few days later, Jay messages Harry to ask if he would like to make some cash by depositing (aka fronting) money into Jay's British betting account (betting/gambling is legal in the UK). Jay has a Spanish bank account in Tenerife and they won't let him transfer money electronically. Harry, then, would get a percentage of the earnings. We all think this is dodgy but at this point, Harry decides that the money he would lose is minimal and that this could be the risk that turned out to be worth it.

It turns out Jay is good at poker and he is making the big bucks. Harry awaits his check in the mail and responds kindly to messages that the check was actually returned to Tenerife. 

Fast forward a few days. Jay calls Harry and says that he is back in the UK for a friend's funeral and can deliver his money to him in person! The only thing is that his bags were stolen from him as he left the train station and he does not have his bank card or cash- he must wait for his parents to return (who are vacationing in Australia, obvi). 

With much excitement, Jay arrives at our doorstep- a little Shrek of a man at five foot six, rockin Timbs and a cut-off hooded T-shirt. I can't say I wasn't: a. floored that he is a real person, and b. very excited to figure him out. A few of us go to dinner with our new guest and he tells us all about his club back on the island, his dog Sammy, his most recent female friends, and even a little about his family. Enter the most epic fictional character in this Preston tale...Big-Arms Billy. 

Jay tells us that his mom and dad live in Sheffield, a town about an hour away from Preston, and that they call his dad "Big-Arms Billy in the village" because he owns a chain of security companies...and has big arms. We were all in luck because Big-Arms was on his way to Preston to sort out Jay's passport issues and hand over the money owed to Harry. Needless to say, my friend Toni (who made a mental note to add this character to her next short story) and I were giddy at the thought of meeting Big-Arms B. Somehow he never quite made it to Preston, getting stuck in an enormous traffic jam on the motorway at 10pm on a Monday. Logically, Billy spent the night at a hotel off the highway since the 45-minute drive was too taxing. 

At this point, Harry wants Jay to: a. take a shower, b. leave his room, and c. get him his money. Jay manages to snake a few more UCLan acquaintances and finally leaves Harry's room. The week progresses and each day Jay comes up with a new excuse as to why I am still seeing him chain smoking in the courtyard outside my flat. 

Harry's mom comes to visit Preston the following weekend and Jay shows up to have a drink and meet the fam. He proceeds to describe a scam he heard of in which a man looks through obituaries and then charges the deceased's loved ones for an empty package. Pure class. Hint number 243 that he is indeed a schemer. 

Things start to go sour, which is no surprise considering Jay does not shower or brush his teeth. Jay defriends me on Facebook. Good riddance. Harry and Jay can never seem to meet up. Jay's phone dies. Jay loses Harry's number. Jay has gone to the police because he thinks Harry's tone is threatening. Jay is on a train to Liverpool. Big-Arms Billy is sending Harry the money, but is not happy about it. Jay is on a flight to Miami to start his own club. Lies my friends, all lies. 

After a cycle of embarrassment, anger, frustration, and disgust, Harry accepts his 700 pound loss and decides to go to the police. Although the money issue is a civil dispute and would have to be recovered in court, Preston police are interested in tracking down the man whose alias is Jay Attard (as it turns out, his name and Sheffield address are fake).

Like I've mentioned, there were so many clues that this man was a complete fake, but you would be surprised how smooth he was. Everyone could see there were holes in his story and no one really trusted him, but he is definitely a professional. Looking back, I laugh at the little things he messed up on. He had mentioned the woman managing his bar while he was away was really screwing things up and then later said he was firing him. I snapped back that I thought it was a woman, and he replied, "Well we don't really know what he is. We all just say shim usually because he wears women's clothes, but it's probably a man." 

The saga continues, but I think we've all learned some valuable lessons here. Namely, don't trust a man who admits he looks like an ogre and then tells you he had a threesome in the Manchester airport. 

...The End...for now...

Have you seen this man?