He was small of built, thin to a point of near emaciation, long bony-faced and with long fragile arms. His hands with long tapering fingers ideal for playing piano were too big for his small delicate frame. His coarse tousled hair, burnt complexion, bulging eye, thin aquiline nose, lobed ears, and bushy eyebrows with two ogling eyes underneath characterized this man’s facial features. When he would walk, he seemed to drag his thin legs as if they were artificial.
This was “Inggong kahon”, or Inggo, the box”. His real name was Domingo, and no one knew for sure his family name, or nobody in the barrio bothered to know about it. No one in the community could tell how he got the nickname “kahon” or box. Some conjectured that his man was fond of keeping his small properties in a box. Others joked than this built and body would easily fit in a pine box, which was a casket. To al and sundry, to include children, he was called and known as “Inggong kahon”, a cognomen that would remain with him.
The popularity of this fragile looking man was not his unusual physique, nor his name, but because of his unacceptable if not disliked profession; he was a notorious pickpocket. On the sides, he was also a swindler, a racketeer, a card sharp, and a cheat all rolled into one. Although no one in the barrio had been victimized after he decided to reside there, the mere mention of his name would evoke disgust and disdain.
As a professional pickpocket or “finger artist”, Inggo had to move from place to place always eyeing for opportunities that is only acceptable to him. If he could not make a go in his trade, he would be using his alternate “dick-a-do’s” like cheating, swindling, racketeering or being a card sharp. In any of these, there would always be a fall guy, a victim. Once in a while, he would return to the barrio for a needed rest, or probably to hide from the authorities or people he victimized in a crooked game or deal, to let the hot trail on him cool off.
“Thank you for the gift, Inggo” acknowledge Mang Andres, a neighbour. Similar sentiments were expressed by the others in his neighbourhood who received gift from this man with a Samaritan heart.
“I remember years back that Inggo came with a group of sharpies during the town fiestas”, recalled Mang Tonio, the barrio leader. “You could never catch them cheating you in cards, seed-and-thimble game, black jack and other games. They were too slick like the eel”, continued the barrio head.
“Why did Inggo settler here?” asked Mang Matias who once lost all his money to buy a ploughshare to the sharpies.
“A young boy placed a bet and he saw the cheat placing the seed under his long nail in the table game and he shouted for help. Then the people chased these racketeer5s out of town except Inggo who was left behind, either he could not run or he remained on his own”, continued Mang Tonio. “Later, Inggo returned to me what he pick pocketed during that time, and I returned them to the owners without mentioning him. He then told me that he would disassociate with the group and would remain in the barrio”, ended Mang Tonio.
So, Inggo came to reside in the small barrio. He had a small shack built and he paid handsomely to the men to do the job in record time. As observed, Inggo would be home for a day or two, and then leave. When in the barrio, he would be a good customer in the local stores, always paying cash, which he seemed not to run out. Women sellers had always in reserve for him a wide smile or a warm greeting as a good customer.
In the barrio when he would be there, he did not socialize much preferring to be alone in his shack. He was never a talker but more of an introverted listener. When buying any item in the small stores, he would hardly talk but merely pointing what he wanted. He would give bills in payment and he would never even count the change, observed the vendors. In the barrio, payments were centavo coins, nickels or dimes. Half peso coins were seldom seen, just like Inggo’s one, two or five peso bills.
One early evening, Rody, a young barrio lad, was on his way home with his two work animals when he saw the flicker light in Inggo’s shack. Curiosity took the best of him, and through the cogon sidings, he silently peeped. On a small wooden table, Inggo was sorting and examining assorted items from jewellery items to billfolds, from trinkets to cash. Scared out of his wit on what he saw, Rody ran to the house of Mang Tonio, the barrio leader, who was his uncle, and told him what he saw.
The day following, Mang Tonio went to see Inggo in his shack for confrontation.
“Tell me, Inggo what do you really do for a living?” asked the leader in a serious tone.
“When I elected to settle down here after that chase, you, more or less, knew my trade. I am a professional pickpocket or finger artist, living on the fortune or misfortune of others. I am also a card sharp and a swindler.
“Many people are just gullible fools. Most often, they show such greed for money, and so we capitalize on such an obsession. Their desire for quick money would end up in their being the losers. They could never beat the pro’s like us”, derided Inggo as the two drank their hot coffee.
“How about the authorities, don’t they ever track you down?” quizzed the perplexed barrio leader upon hearing the “con games” performed by finger artists like Inggo.
“Well, there must be first a complaint. Some or most, for fear of being called a damn fool in losing would not complaint to the authorities”, elucidated Inggo as he smoked his black cigarette.
“One time, we were dead broke and we became instant photographers”, started Inggo as he got up to refill they empty coffee mugs.
“You mean, you went to a business you never knew?” asked the puzzle barrio man.
Who cares about the knowledge”, explained Inggo. “With an old non-working camera, we went from house to house offering to take pictures. The fools gave down payments and we gave them fake receipts. Others had their old photos enlarged and they also gave down payments. After accumulating a sizeable amount, we high-tailed for the city and had a good time”, ended Inggo as he explained the anatomy of “con games”.
After the long heart to heart talked, Mang Tonio left Inggo’s place with a problematic situation in hand. What would he do to a man whose means of livelihood was victimizing others and let this man reside in a place within his jurisdiction.
Much more, he knew through Inggo’s confession all about his nefarious trade. If he would tell the residents about Inggo’s calling, they would feel insecure in their homes and person, although this man assured him that he would ply his trade outside the town and barrio. But could he trust the word of a man in this type of profession?
For the first time in his life as a barrio leader, he was faced with this dilemma and he did not have the right answer. Throughout the night, he could not sleep as he continued to smoke his strong native-rolled cigar.
“Tonio, wake up, it’s quite late. You have two visitors outside and they are constables”, strained Aling Pina, Mang Tonio’s wife who had already prepared his native coffee.
“Good morning, Teniente. We arrested two members of a syndicate composed of slick artists, swindlers, conmen, cardsharps, etc. From the confessions of the two we have now in detention, one of them is hiding here. He is called Inggong kahon and he is a small frail guy but he is the slickest of all”, pointed out by one of the constables.
“The description you made seemed to fit a certain resident here whose house is not so far from here. Since you carry with you a warrant of arrest, let us check and see him”, retorted the barrio leader after seeing the court order.
As the two lawmen and the barrio leader were walking towards the place where Inggo resided, suddenly they heard shouting and saw billowing smoke coming from one of the many houses in the area.
“Inggo’s house is on fire”, shouted Mang Ambo, as people were running in the direction of the burning house. The fire was at its fiercest when Mang Tonio and the two constables reached place with so many people trying to put out the fire. In matter of minutes, nothing was left but ashes and smoking embers.
“ I hope on one was burned or seared”, expressed Mang Tonio. “This is the house of the man you are looking for”, emitted the barrio leader.
One of the constables got a long bamboo pole and poked the pile of smoking pieces of wood, ashes and embers. It appeared that the house was either empty when it burned, or the occupant was able to get out on time.
After a few more questions, the PC soldiers left with a word that if the man who fitted the description would show up, anyone in the community could inform the local police or the PC detachment, as there was an order of arrest of him.
“We’ll do that Cabo”, replied Mang Tonio as the two uniformed men left. As he stared the smouldering embers of the fire gutted house of Inggo, he could not forget that the day before, this man confessed to him his being a professional pickpocket or finger artist. Inggo, for sure, would never return to the barrio again but his memory would linger for sometime to come, unlike the volatile smoke of his burning hut, which he must have set on fire to make good his escape from the long arms of the law.