Case #38: The Confidence Game

The city was dark, cold and wet.  Like an out of work private eye dumped in a garbage bin in the alleyway below his office window after being jumped by two punk kids with more blackjacks than decency.  I'm just saying.

I was, as always, flat broke.  So I guess I got the last laugh when the punks ran off with my empty wallet.  Or, I would have got it, except that the pounding my head took had eliminated my sense of irony.  And my sense of smell, oddly enough.

I climbed out of the bin, wiped the slime off my face, and emptied the bottle of scotch I kept hidden in the crack in the wall behind the bin for situations like this.  Yeah, it's happened before.  It's just another night in the big city for this lone wolf.  Oregon Deadwood, Private Eye. 

 

I turned to spit out a tooth, and that's when I spotted her.  Her statuesque figure was back lit by the lights of her Buick, her high heels clicking rhythmically on the asphalt like a well oiled clock.  Not that she wore clocks on her feet.  She wore heels.  Remember?

Anyway, she sauntered toward me on legs that wouldn't quit.  I don't know what that means, but we say that a lot in the big city.  Why would legs quit?  I mean, okay, FDR, his legs quit.  But most legs work okay, so it doesn't seem unusual enough to bother mentioning.  Not that I'm ungrateful for being ambulatory.  It's just, you know.

Where was I?

Oh, yes.  Suddenly, I recognized those gams.

She was back.

"Hello, Deadwood.  It's been awhile."

I was a mess from my rendezvous with the garbage bin, so I brushed my sleeves and straightened my tie.  I needed to regroup.  Regain my dignity.

"I don't think a straight tie is going to help you, Deadwood."

"Yeah?  What makes you say that, Dollface?"

"Because you still have a banana peel in your collar, and a clump of mashed potatoes stuck to your forehead."

"Forget it, see?  We have more important things to discuss.  Seems to me you still owe me 20 clams."

"For what?  Your shoddy work as an accountant?"

"You know I'm a dick."

"You can say th..."
 

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes growing wide at the sight of three gorillas approaching us from the other end of the alley.

"Say, lady, what kind of mess did you drag me into?"

She never heard my question.  She was gone faster than a Twinkie at a fat farm, and if you don't think we had Twinkies in 1943, go look it up.

The ape in the middle led the two on the ends in standard V-formation.  He was the biggest of the three, not to mention the ugliest.  He was also the boss.  He did all the talking in a voice that sounded like sand paper on a five o'clock shadow.  Only rougher.

"You Deadwood?"

"Who wants to know?"

"I asked the question, so I guess that would be me."

"Yes, but who's me?"

"That's what I want to know."

"Say, you don't know who you are?"

"You don't know who you are."

"Of course, I do.  Why would you say that?"

"Because you just asked me to, see?"

"I didn't just ask you to see.  See what?"

"Sea watt?  Say, what's a sea watt?"

"What's a sea watt."

"I'm asking you!"

"Asking me watt?  I mean, what?" 

"What's a sea watt, see?  Answer me.  Or you're dead, see?"

"Or I'm the Dead Sea?  Say, what's the big idea?"

"What's the big idea."

We stood there talking for another twenty minutes.  But we finally got it straight.  I was some goon named Rocco from the waterfront district.  He was a private eye named Deadwood.

Just then, a fourth hood, smaller and more nervous than the others, turned the corner.  He had Dollface by the arm and was dragging her back.

"Hey, boss, look at what I found hiding in the bar down the street."

"Nice job, Mugsy.  Bring her to me."

There was no love loss between me and Glamour - she had left me high and dry to face these goons alone.  But I didn't take to anyone roughing her up.

"She don't know nothing.  Let her go, Deadwood."

"Rocco."

"Rocco."

"I'm afraid I can't do that.  She's got my money, Rocco."

"Deadwood."

"Deadwood.  We're all going for a ride."

These apes were all muscle.  But I knew my way around a ring from my younger days and I was no stranger to brawls in the mean streets of the big city.  So I went on the attack.  I came at them with the speed of a P-38 and the firepower of a Howitzer.  But suddenly, it was lights out.

---

When I awoke, I was tied fast to a chair in the middle of a large warehouse.  From the sound of the foghorn and seagulls, along with the putrid smell of salt water and decaying fish, I guessed I was somewhere downtown.  Probably in the heart of the financial district.

"No, you imbecile, we're on the waterfront."

Glamour was tied up, too.  In a chair right next to mine.

"What happened, see?  Did those goons finally overpower me with their vastly superior numbers, but not until I showcased my fighting prowess and taught them a healthy respect for my daring and grit?"

"Not exactly.  You closed your eyes when you flailed at Mugsy like a girl, slipped on the banana peel that fell out of your collar, lost your balance and stumbled like a drunk down the alleyway.  You knocked your knee on the fender of my Buick, hopped around in pain until you twisted your ankle in a pothole, then banged your head on the garbage bin as you fell.  When you got back up, you mistook the ketchup on your sleeve for blood, fainted like a Southern belle, and slumped into a heap on Rocco's shoes.  You've been out for three hours."

"Okay, then.  Let's just agree to disagree."

Just then, the big apes entered the warehouse.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't Sleepin' Beauty, awake from her nap."

"What's this all about, Deadwood, I mean, Rocco?  Why am I here?"

"Cut the crap, Rocco, I mean Deadwood.  We both know you know, see?"

"I'm not nosy.  Your business is your business, see?"

"Not nosy.  Know, see, see?"

"Say what?"

"What."

"What what?"

"Surely, you know why you're here."

"I don't know nothing.  And my name's not Shir..."

"Okay, if Abbot and Costello here are done with their routine, I can explain the whole thing."

Dollface went into a long monologue about how Rocco was a friend of a friend of a friend who gave her some money to launder and invest according to his instructions.  But something went awry and Rocco accused her of embezzling his hard extorted cash and he wanted it back.  I had a few questions.

"What makes you think you're being cheated, Rocco?"

"Because each of my investments were sure things.  I did a lot of research and I was positive they would each give me returns far in excess of the market average.  Instead, my investments are barely keeping pace with long term bonds.  She took my money and I want it back!"

"Okay.  But what does any of this have to do with me?"

"She said you're her financial accountant."

"I'm not a financial accountant.  I'm a dick."

"You want to respond or should I?"

"Please.  Do the honors."

"Forget it.  You know I'm a snoop."

"No, I don't.  Who's Ima Snoop?"

"Okay, I'll bite.  Who's Ima Snoop?"

"Why would you bite someone named Ima Snoop?"

"I wouldn't.  Say, why would you ask such a thing?"

"Why would you.."

"Stop it!  I can't take your inane banter, anymore.  I can't take it, I tell you!  Untie me and let me go!"

Rocco untied Dollface, but not until I promised to explain what happened to his money.

"Okay.  First, I need a chalkboard."

"A chalkboard?  Why do you need a chalkboard?"

"That's how I work."

"We're in the middle of an abandoned warehouse, Deadwood.  You think we got chalkboards, here?"

"Hey, boss.  We actually do have chalkboards here.  This is an old school supply warehouse.  See?  Look!"

Mugsy disappeared down a dark corner of the warehouse.  When he came back, he was pulling a chalkboard and carrying a box of chalk.  Rocco and I were both satisfied.  Rocco untied me.  I rubbed my wrists but good, gave a little sneer, and picked up the box of chalk that Mugsy tossed at me after it hit me in the nose and dropped to the floor.

I started writing my questions on the board.  Rocco took out a pencil and pad of paper and got ready to write.  In fact, everyone did, because this was an important exercise to make my point, see?  See?  Get what I'm saying here, everyone out there?

I finished my ten questions.

"Rocco, I want you and everyone else to answer these questions, see?  Don't write down one number.  Write a range of numbers in which you are 80% certain the answer rests.  Got it?"

"Come again?"

"Let's say I ask you what year Clark Gable starred in 'It Happened One Night.'  And let's say you think the answer is 1932.  But you aren't positive.  Then write down a range of years for which you are 80% certain that the answer is included.  Say, 1927 - 1935.  You want to give as small a range as possible while still being 80% confident it contains the answer.  Capisce?

"Yeah, Sure.  I can do that."

 

While they were working, I wrote the answers on the back of the chalkboard.  I waited.  For everyone.  Get it?  Everyone.  Everyone out there.  See?

"Okay, you goons ready?"

"Yeah, we're ready."

"Gorgeous?"
 
"I said, yes."

"Not you, Rocco."

"Oh."

"Yes, I'm ready as well, Deadwood."

I flipped the board over and unveiled the answers.  Their expressions were priceless.

"My cunning insight tells me that you're all surprised.  Shocked, even."

"Does your cunning insight also tell you that your answers are upside down?"

   
I flipped the board back over.  And then I spun it around, instead.

"All right, so check your answers and tell me how many you got right."

"Four."

"Three."

"Two and a half."

"None."

"Five."

"Okay, you made my point."

"Which is?"

"We're typically overconfident of what we know, see?  I asked you to write down an 80% confidence range.  If you really did that, you would get eight of the ten questions right.  But most people get three to four at best.  That's way off.  And it's because we think we know more than we actually do, see?"

"So what?"

"So, when it comes to investing, our behavior is the same.  We are certain of our knowledge, we become overconfident of our choices, and we take foolish chances.  Glamour didn't embezzle your money, Rocco.  You just thought you knew more than you did."

Rocco was a big ape, but smart enough to realize I was right.  He sat holding his head with his arms propped upon his knees.  A broken man.
 

I went in for the kill.

"It was your own fault, Rocco!  Your hubris cost you a fortune, see?!"

"All right, all right.  I can see that.  Just wipe that smile off your mug, see?"

"He's not my Mugsy.  He's your Mugsy."

"Mugsy?  Say, why drag him into this?"

"Okay, why drag him in.."

"Okay, stop it right now, or shoot me."

We had talked enough.  Rocco and his henchmen knew the truth.  Because Rocco was good at making money, he assumed he was also good at investing money.  His overconfidence in his own ability proved fatal.  Rocco's gang packed up their gear and exited the warehouse.  I lit a Camel and dangled it from my mouth as I flipped up the collar of my overcoat, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and headed for the door.

"Say, that's not very gallant, Deadwood.  You're  just going to leave me here?"

"I travel light."

I had enough of her for a lifetime.  Besides, company makes me claustrophobic.  I am, and always will be, a lone wolf in the big city.  Oregon Rocco, Private Eye.