For the Win by Cory Doctorow (cheapest way to read ebooks TXT) 📖

not a moron. He will eventually figure out that something is going wrong. Or his masters will. And then --"

"And then we'll have to placate him, or misdirect him. General, this is a confidence game, a scam, running on four virtual worlds and twenty real nations, with hundreds of confederates. Confidence games require planning and cunning. It's not enough to go in, guns blazing --"

"You think we don't understand planning? You think we don't understand cunning? Ashok, you have never fought. You should fight. It would help you understand this business you've gotten into. You think that we're thugs, idiot muscle. Running a battle requires as much skill as anything you do -- I don't have a fine education, I am just a girl from the village, I am just a Dharavi rat, but I am smart Ashok, and don't you ever forget it."

The worst part was, she was right. He did often think of her as a thug. "Mala, I want to play, but playing would take me away from planning."

"You can't plan if you don't play. I'm the general, and I'm ordering it. You'll join the junior platoon on maneuvers tomorrow at 10AM. There's skirmishing, then theory, then a couple of battles overseen by the senior platoon when they arrive. It will be good for you. They will rag you some, because you are new, but that will be good for you, too."

That look in her eyes, the fiery one, told him that he didn't dare disagree. "Yes, General," he said.

"And you will explain this business to me, now. You will learn my world, I will learn yours."

"Mala --"

"I know, I know. I came in and shouted at you because you were taking too long and now I insist that you take longer." She gave him that smile. She wasn't pretty -- her features were too sharp for pretty -- but she was beautiful when she smiled. She was going to be a heart-breaker when she grew up. If she grew up.

"Yes, General."

"Chai!" she called to Mrs Dibyendu, who brought it round quickly, averting her eyes from Mala.

"All right, let's start with the basic theory of the scam. Who is easiest to trick?"

"A fool," she said at once.

"Wrong," he said. "Fools are often suspicious, because they've been taken advantage of. The easiest person to trick is a successful person, the more successful the better. Why is that?"

Mala thought. "They have more money, so it's worth tricking them?"

Ashok waggled his chin. "No, sorry -- by that reasoning, they should be more suspicious, not less."

Mala scraped a chair over the floor and sat down and made a face at him. "I give up, tell me."

"It's because if a man is successful at doing one thing, he's apt to assume that he'll be successful at anything. He believes he's a Brahmin, divinely gifted with the wisdom and strength of character to succeed. He can't bear the thought that he just got lucky, or that his parents just got lucky and left him a pile of Rupees. He can't stand the thought that understanding physics or computers or cameras doesn't make him an expert on economics or beekeeping or cookery.

"And his intelligence and his pride work together to make him easier to trick. His pride, naturally, but his intelligence, too: he's smart enough to understand that there are lots of ways to get rich. If you tell him a complex tale about how some market works and can be tricked, he can follow along over rough territory that would lose a dumber man.

"And there's a third reason that successful men are easier to trick than fools: they dread being shown up as a fool. When you trick them, you can trick them again, make them believe that the scheme fell through. They don't want to go to the police or tell their friends, because if word gets out that some mighty and powerful man was tricked, he stands to lose his reputation, without which he cannot recover his fortune."

Mala waggled her chin. "It all makes sense, I suppose."

"It does," Ashok said.

"I am a successful and powerful person," she said. Her eyes were cat-slits.

"You are," Ashok said, more cautiously.

"So I would be easier to fool than any of the fools in my army?"

Ashok laughed. "You are so sharp, General, it's a wonder you don't cut yourself. Yes, it's possible that all of this is a giant triple-twist bluff, aimed at fooling you. But what would I want to fool you for? As rich as your Army has made you, you must know that I could be just as rich by working as a junior lecturer in economics at IIT. But General, at the end of the day, you either trust me or you don't. I can't prove to you that you're inside the scheme rather than its target. If you want out, that's fine. It will hurt the plan, but it won't be its death. There's a lot of people involved here."

Mala smiled her sunny smile. "You are a clever man," she said. "And for now, I will trust you. Go on."

"Let's step back a little. Do you want to learn some history?"

"Will it help me understand why you're taking so long?"

"I think so," he said. "I think it's a bloody good story, in any case."

She made a go-on gesture and sipped her chai, her back very erect, her bearing regal.

"Back in the 1930s, the biggest confidence jobs were called 'The Big Store.' They were little stage plays in which there was only one audience-member, the 'mark' or victim. Everyone else was in the play. The mark would meet a 'roper' on a train, who would feel him out to see if he had any money. He'd sometimes give him a little taste of the money to be made -- maybe they'd share some mysterious 'found' money that he'd planted. That sort of thing makes the mark trust you more, and also puts him in your power, because now you know that he's willing to cheat a little.

"Once the train pulled into the strange city and the mark got off, every single person he met or talked with would be part of the trick. If the mark was good at finance, the roper would hand him off to a partner, the 'inside man' who would tell him about a scam he had for winning horse races; if the mark was good at horse races, the scam would be about fixing the stock market -- in other words, whatever the mark knew the least about, that was the center of the game.

"The mark would be shown a betting parlor or a stock-broker's office filled with bustling, active people -- so many people that it was impossible to believe that they could all be part of a scam. Then he'd have the deal explained to him: the brokerage house or betting parlor got its figures from a telegraph office -- this was before computers -- that would phone in the results. The mark would then be shown the 'telegraph office' -- another totally fake business -- and meet a 'friend' of the inside man who was willing to delay the results by a few minutes, giving them to the roper and the market just quick enough to let them get their bets or buys down. They'd know the winners before the office did, so they'd be betting on a sure thing.

"And they'd try it -- and it would work! The mark could put a few dollars down and walk away with a few hundred. It was an eye-popping experience, a real thrill. The mark's imagination would start to work on him. If he could turn a few dollars into hundreds, imagine what he could do if he could put down all his money, along with whatever money he could steal from his business, his family, his friends -- everyone. It wouldn't even be stealing, because he'd be able to pay everyone back once he won big. And he'd go and get all the money he could lay hands on, and he'd lay his bet and he'd lose!

"And it would be his fault. The inside man wouldn't be able to believe it, he'd said, 'Bet on this horse in the first race,' not 'Bet on this horse for first place' or some similar misunderstanding. The mark's bad hearing had cost them everything, all of them. There is a giant scene, and before you know it, the police are there, ready to arrest everyone. Someone shoots the policeman, there's blood and screaming, the place empties out, and the mark counts himself lucky to have escaped with his life. Of course, all the blood and shooting are fakes, too -- so is the policeman. He's got a little blood in a bag in his mouth; they called it a 'cackle-bladder': a fine word, no?

"Now, at this stage, it may be that the mark is completely, totally broke, not one paisa to his name. If that's the case, he gets away and never hears from the roper or the inside man again. He spends the rest of his life broke and broken, hating himself for having misheard the instruction at the critical moment. And he never, ever tells anyone, because if he did, it would expose this great man for a fool.

"But if there's any chance he can get more money -- a friend he hasn't cleaned out, a company bank account he can access -- they may contact him again and offer him the chance to 'get even'. You can bet he will -- after all, he's a king among men, destined to rule, who made his fortune because he's better than everyone else. Why wouldn't he play again, since the only reason he lost last time was that he misheard an instruction. Surely that won't happen again!"

"But it does," she said. Her eyes were shining.

"Oh yes, indeed. And again, and again --"

"And again. until he's been bled dry."

"You've learned the first lesson," Ashok said. "Now, onto advanced subjects. You know how a pyramid scheme works, yes?"

She waved dismissively. "Of course."

"Now, the pyramid scheme is just a kind of skeleton, and like a skeleton, you can hang a lot of different bodies off of it. It can look like a plan to sell soap, or a plan to sell vitamins, or something else altogether. But the important thing is, whatever it's selling, it has to seem like a good deal. Think back on the big store -- how do you make something seem like a good deal?"

Mala thought carefully. Ashok could practically see the gears spinning in her head. Wah! She was smart, this Dharavi girl!

"OK," she said. "OK -- it should be something the mark doesn't know much about."

"Got it in one!" Ashok said. "If the mark is smart and accomplished, she'll assume that she knows everything about everything. Dangle some bait for her that she doesn't really understand and she'll come along. But there's a way to make even familiar subjects unfamiliar. Here, look at this." He typed at the disused computer on a corner of his desk, googled an image of a craps table at a casino.

"This is a gambling game, craps. They play it with dice."

"I've seen men playing it in the street," Mala said.

"This is the casino version. See all the lines and markings?"

She nodded.

"These marks represent different bets -- double if it comes up this way, triple if it comes up that way. The bets can get very, very complicated.

"Now, dice aren't that complicated. There are only 36 ways that a roll can come up: one-one, one-two, one-three, and