The men looked at each other, before excusing themselves one by one. Peter watched them walk away.
“I don’t understand. Usually people are crying and throwing money at me by now.” He shook his head disdainfully.
“Peter.” said Morea. “Your story lacks… conviction. Sure it’s great for small village folk, but not the ‘man about town’. Pay attention to details.” I can’t believe this! He thought. A fifteen year old telling me how to be a better liar! I’ve been doing this for years! How dare she? Peter was about to say something to Morea, but he stopped as he saw her approaching the men.
“Excuse me.” She was saying. “Have you seen my little sister? She has black hair like me. About this tall… I told her to stay put! We’re supposed to be visiting my grandmother. She’s terminally ill… Would you let me know if you see her? My sister, not my grandma—she’s in the hospital.” Morea walked away yelling for “April”, when one man ran after her. In his hand was 20 pounds.
“For your grandmother.” He said.