It’s now the eighth shot, but it was the fifth when it was obvious; she can’t even taste them anymore. We raise the glasses once again to toast, and as she tilts her head back to take it down, I silently dump mine into the potted fern to my left, along with all the others I’ve been served. She’s blonde and almost my height, which I like. Her eyes are bright as fire, and that’s a fitting epithet because once you look at them—just like a fire—you can’t look away. She’s the quintessential all-American girl. None of this matters, of course, but it makes things a lot easier. She breaks a momentary silence. “Where do you live?”

I tell her that I’m only in town for a few days, that I’m staying in a hotel, that it’s very, very close by. She pauses for a second. “Do you want a cigarette?”

She’s a little shaky as we leave the bar. I pull a cigarette out of the pack with my teeth and offer her one. Her face lights up as she flicks the lighter. She stops. “There’s one thing that bothers me.” I ask her what that is. She stays where she’s standing. “You don’t even know my last name, do you?” I stop a few feet ahead of her, a slight smile on my face. “I don’t think I asked.”

She smiles wistfully and starts walking again. I flick my cigarette away even though it’s only half done and start another. She continues,“It makes everything a lot easier, doesn’t it?” I shrug and she cuts in. “I’m not surprised. I’ve done my homework on you. On your type.”

I laugh between breaths. “Oh, you’ve got me all figured out now, do you? You’ve just been leading me on.”

She pulls up closer to me and laughs. “Yes, sir. I’ve been playing you every step of the way.” We walk in silence for a few feet. We’re getting close to my hotel now. She stumbles over nothing. She looks up at me, her eyes slightly unfocused. “What are you thinking about?”

Now would not be the most appropriate time for honesty. If I backed up and explained this a little, I could do it using three simple terms. A scam. People get ripped off. But instead of phone scams, or email hoaxes, or stealing a credit card and gambling on how long it will take them to track it down, I prefer to go to the source. A sale. Trust is the commodity I deal in. It’s a learned, practiced, and rehearsed skill—to meet someone and get them to trust you within a couple days, or, if you’re lucky, a night. I just need access to a laptop and a look at her bank information. Nobody gets hurt, just a hangover for her tomorrow morning and a blow to her finances. A femme fatale. That’s a bit of a stretch most of the time, but taking a look at the pixie to my right, well, she’s earned it. I haven’t been completely dishonest with her, though. I am in town for only a few days.

“Nothing,” I reply as we arrive at the hotel. I flick my half-burnt cigarette away and light another. Watching me light my third cigarette, she slurs, “You know, you should control that addiction.”

I wink at her and take a pull on the cigarette. “If I could control it (pull). It wouldn’t be (pull). An addiction.”

Up in my room, she has to make coffee. She’s in the other room, knocking things over, talking to me. I wish she’d shut up. But it gives me the opportunity I need. My laptop is already turned on and ready. I flip through the purse she left in the open. Credit cards. Bank card. Blank check. One hundred and twelve dollars cash. Between the software on my laptop and my own skills, I’m finished by the time she’s done with the coffee. I’ll let her pass out here, and wake up to find me long gone. All she’ll know is the name I made up for her. She walks over with two mugs. I appease her and take a sip. It’s…different. I look up at her to see her staring at me. I take another sip. “…Is this decaf?”

I don’t remember falling asleep. More disconcerting than that, is the simple fact that falling asleep is not a part of the plan. I roll over, and see that she’s gone. Whatever. I guess I was careless this time. I’m sitting with my legs hanging over the bed, slowly realizing there is something wrong with the room. Everything is perfectly in place. My clothes were hanging out of the drawer, folded. Papers, stacked. Every surface, shiny and clean. That may not mean anything to you, but to someone in my business, it means no fingerprints. Everything is perfect and in its place…except my laptop sitting there, humming and luminescent in the half-dark. There’s a sinking feeling in my chest, one that exacerbates as I walk over to the desk, like a man walking towards the gallows. I pull up my online banking. It’s gone. I pull up my credit cards, and they report unusually large activities. My wallet is empty, the cash I kept under the leg of the desk, missing. I start remembering something the all-American girl told me.

You don’t even know my last name, do you?

I’ve done my homework on you.

I’ve been playing you every step of the way.

I’m on my feet and dressed in a matter of seconds, taking a whiff of the intoxicating cinnamon scent left inside my coffee cup before I hurl it into against the wall, shattering it to a thousand pieces. I don’t know what she drugged me with, but I must have talked like a baby, like some mewling boy spilling his guts about his young crush, except for, me it was my secrets, my stashes, and my secret bank accounts where I’ve hidden all the money I’ve stolen over the years. Oh, she was a professional, this one, just like me, but I’d gotten lazy and sloppy. Hell, those accounts I hacked probably weren’t even hers. These thoughts only take a second, of course, and a second is all it takes me to rip my gun taped under the desk and make for the door. She probably woke me up when she left, and couldn’t have gotten far. What I said before, about no one getting hurt…well, baby, that was yesterday.

I’m out on the street, my gun tucked into my side when I see a glimpse of golden blonde hair a block ahead. She’s there, but when I catch up she’s gone. Maybe she hailed a taxi. Maybe she ducked into one of the hundred shops along the street. Maybe she disappeared into thin air. All I know is the money is gone, and she’s gone.

A scam, a sale, a femme fatale.