Conned in a game by two con men - The Sting (Revisited) scene and analysis

 Sometimes...what you think you see isn't as real as it seems:

Chapter 2 - The Bait-and-Switch 

(From The Sting - Revisited - A Review of a 7-Oscar-winning film)

 Flush with cash and the responsibility for it, Mattola straightened his tie as he exited the building. As he descended the stairwell, a blonde man who looked rather ungroomed carefully crossed the street across the way. He badly needed a shave and a haircut beneath the cap he wore, and he carried a large suitcase. Mattola gave him a casual glance and then turned his head: someone was shouting for help.

 It was an older black man with gray-white hair, limping in the effort, and he was yelling for someone to stop a younger man who was barreling his way through a dirty alley that led to the street in front of Mattola. “You, there! Hey you, stop him. Stop that man—he’s got my wallet!” The blonde stranger pulled up short, to sum up the situation as well, and Mattola stepped back too. The black man continued to yell for help: “Stop him! He’s got all my money!”

The blonde man immediately sized up the speed and pace of the thief and aggressively threw the suitcase so that it smashed into the man’s left thigh. He went sprawling into the garbage cans that lined the side of the alley. In another motion, he kicked the dropped wallet across the alley toward Mattola. The thief winced in pain and bent over to grab his injured leg. He pulled a knife and waved it at the blonde man. “Goddamn nigger lover!” he swore. He made an oncoming gesture as if to stab at the intruder, but the blonde man quickly pulled over a garbage can to block the move and also grabbed an empty wooden crate as a shield.

 Mattola bent to pick up the wallet and his hat fell off. His efforts at revenge now thwarted along with his attempted prize, the wounded man grimaced. “I’ll get you for this, sucker egg!” the thief vowed in anger, and then he turned and fled around the corner, empty-handed.

The black man continued to holler, “Don’t let him get away! You gotta go after him! My wallet! He’s got my wallet! He’s got all my money!” He kept yelling as the blonde man and Mattola trailing behind with the wallet, came up to him. The blonde man said as he came to a stop, “We got it. We got your wallet.” The man stayed on one elbow, unable to move without pain or effort. “Give it to me, please!” he begged, and reached out for it. The blonde man bent over his prone form and examined a bad bloody wound on his upper left leg. The fabric on the man’s gray-and-black pinstripe suit was clearly torn by something that had caused a serious injury—likely by the knife that the thief had brandished against the blonde man for interfering in the robbery. The blonde man asked, “What happened? He hit you with the knife?” He continued to check the injury and then replied, “Now you sit tight, old man, you need a doctor. I’ll call a cop!”

The injured black man gestured frantically, “No-no-no, no cops!” The blonde man turned in surprise and stared. The black man opened the wallet and examined its contents: a few bills and a large yellow envelope. The blonde man watched in growing suspicion. “You wanted by the law or somethin’?” The black man shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” He opened the wallet to reveal a large yellow envelope filled with bills and a rubber band wrapped around it.

The blonde man shook his head in disbelief. “Are you nuts carryin’ around a wad like that in a neighborhood like this?—no wonder you got hit!” The black man ignored the comment. “Thanks. I’m obliged to ya, but I gotta get goin’.” He tried to push up off the ground on one hand but fell back in pain and groaned in the effort. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere on that leg.” The black man persisted. “I gotta! I gotta run some slots for a mob down in West Bend for a mob here. I got a little behind on my payoffs so they figure I been holdin’ out on them. They gave me to 4:00 to come up with the cash. They don’t get it, I’m dead!” His words carried the fear of the mob doing just that. The blonde man stared back into his eyes. “It don’t look good, Gramps, it’s almost 4:00 now!”

 The black man’s eyes swung back and forth from the blonde man to Mattola. “I’ll give you and your friend a hundred bucks to deliver it for me. Mattola and the blonde man glanced back and forth in silence. “I dunno,” the blonde stranger hesitated. “That little mug that got ya is mad enough at me already—what if he’s waitin’ around a corner with some friends?” The black man shrugged off his doubts. “He won’t know you’re carryin’ it! Come on, you’ve gotta help me out!”

The blonde stranger was having none of it. “Sorry, pal, I’m gonna maybe help you get fixed up, maybe get to a doctor, but I ain’t gonna walk into no knife for ya!” The black man swung his attention to Mattola in desperation. “How about you? All you gotta do is put it in the nose slot. I’ll give you the whole hundred!” The blonde stranger bristled at this offer. “Hey, what makes you think you can trust him? He didn’t do shit.” Mattola flared up, “Hey, butt out, chicken liver. I gave him back his wallet, didn’t I?” He turned to the black man: “How far is this place?”

The black man urgently replied, “1811 Mason. Put it in Box 3C. You won’t have no trouble. There’s five thousand dollars there and here’s a hundred bucks for you!” Mattola accepted the envelope plus the $100 bill. “All right, old man,” he said in a confident voice.” I’ll make your drop for you. And don’t worry—you can trust me.” He smiled and bit down on the match stick, and the blonde man watched in silence.

 As Mattola stood up and began to stride away, putting the envelope in his jacket’s top inside pocket, the blonde stranger called after him. “Hey, hey! If those goons decide to search ya, you ain’t gonna get far carrying it there.” The black man looked up: “What’ll we do?” The blonde man staggered to his feet and asked, “You got a bag or somethin’? How ‘bout a handkerchief?” The black man fished in the left front pocket of his slacks and pulled one out. “Here’s a handkerchief!” The blonde man reached over and said, “Give it to me.” He walked over to Mattola and said, “Gimme the money. The black man looked up and spoke urgently. “Just hurry, will you?”

The blonde stranger took the money and placed it in the middle of the envelope. Mattola put back the numbers money into his front suit’s inner chest pocket, but the stranger insisted, “You got any more? You better give it all to me if you wanna keep it!” He snapped his fingers insistently, and Mattola slowly pulled it back out and handed it to him. “They think I’m holding out on them,” the black man continued. “My wife got sick and I had to pay the bills.” The blonde stranger wrapped up the handkerchief with all the money into a neat bundle and shoved it down the front of his slacks, demonstrating to Mattola that this was the safe way to conceal it.

The black man continued as he watched them, “I always been good for the money before, but this time, they gave me a deadline.” As he rambled on, the blonde stranger continued to address Mattola: “Stuff it down your pants here, like that, got it?” Mattola nodded, “Yeah, uh-huh.” The blonde stranger added, “Ain’t a tough guy in the world gonna frisk you there.” Mattola grinned in compliance, and the black man urged, “Just hurry, will ya?” The blonde man pulled the bundle back up and handed it to Mattola, who straightened his jacket and mumbled “Thanks.” The blonde stranger muttered “Yeah” and turned back to the injured black man. Both of them turned their attention to Mattola as he hurried down the dirty alley and went out of sight.

Holding the bundle securely with his right hand outside his waist, he scurried out of the alley into the main street and crossed over to a waiting, idling cab. He pulled open the back seat suicide door and jumped inside as the cabbie fired up the engine and asked over his shoulder to his new fare, “Where to?” Mattola leaned forward and placed both hands on the back of the window space dividing the driver from the passenger seat. “Which way is Mason?” he asked urgently. Mattola turned around to look over his left shoulder to see if anyone was following him. “Twenty blocks south,” the cabbie replied. Pleased to see that he was not being watched, he leaned forward and said with excitement, “Go north. Joliet Station! Fast!” The cabbie understood: “Right!” and gunned the cab into gear.

Mattola sat back with a satisfied smirk on his face and cackled with glee. The cabbie, startled at the sound, looked in the rear-view mirror at him. “What’s so funny?” Mattola shook with delight and his voice quivered, “I just made the world’s easiest five grand!” He reached down his waistband and pulled up the bundle and snickered. Now it was time to examine his treasure! He opened the bundle and found a pile of thick tissue paper. He burrowed through it quickly, looking for what he assumed would be a stack of thick money. There was nothing at the end except the back of the handkerchief. He looked up in surprise and shock: he had been taken in a scam by the two men and lost the entire thing.