The Masters of Twining

Prologue

In the shadowed streets of urban sprawl, deception weaves its intricate web. A cunning scam, known as "Twining" or "Ringing the Changes," thrives in whispers across the country. Its origins are murky, its practitioners elusive—ghosts gliding through time for millennia. With nimble fingers and silver tongues, these con artists dance between truth and lies, from the ancient cities of the East to the gritty streets of wartime London.

From Rags to Riches and Back

Jilly remembers the thrill pulsing through her veins, the electric rush of outsmarting the world. She and her crew lived on the edge, high on adrenaline and flush with cash, jetting across the globe like rockstars. Based in Portsmouth, their headquarters buzzed with plans before they hit the road, modern-day bandits chasing easy money.

Their scam is deceptively simple. They target shop cashiers across Europe and beyond, exploiting trust with a sleight of hand. Jilly buys something cheap—90p or less—with a £20 note. The cashier hands back change: a £10 note, a fiver, four pound coins, and some shrapnel. Then comes the switch.

“Sorry, love, I’ve just found a pound in my pocket,” Jilly says, voice smooth as silk. “Can you give me a tenner, and I’ll give you back the fiver and five pound coins?”

The cashier, often desperate for change mid-shift, complies. Jilly pockets the tenner, then casually asks for another, pointing at the till. As the cashier retrieves it, Jilly counts the money back slowly—five, six, seven, eight, nine—slipping the new tenner into the cashier’s hand alongside the fiver and coins.

“Here’s an idea, love,” she says, all charm. “Just give me the twenty back.”

The cashier, seeing £20 in their hand, hesitates but complies, unaware they’ve been shorted. Jilly walks away with £30, having parted with only £20. Sometimes, she pushes further, doubling or tripling her take with each smooth exchange. The clink of coins, the rustle of notes, the hum of the shop—it all fuels the high.

They hit supermarkets, pubs, and chippies, adapting to currencies from Germany to Thailand, Canada to Sri Lanka. The simplicity of the scam and the obliviousness of their marks let them slip through borders undetected, raking in thousands weekly. But in ’98, Jilly quit. Karma loomed too large, and she craved a new start.

Years later, she wanders Portsmouth’s streets, memories flooding back. The shops they once targeted now stand as relics of her past. At one familiar store, the air thick with the scent of paper money, she hesitates. The cashier’s glance sparks a flicker of recognition. Jilly begins the old ritual but stops short, her conscience heavy. She returns the money, walks out, and feels the weight of her past lift. Redemption, she wonders, might just be possible.

Ringing the Changes

Setting: Outside a bustling shopping centre.

Characters:





Jilly, 28, master conwoman



Dave, 20, driver and lookout



Shop Assistant



Kids



Security Guard



Store Manager



Mia, undercover cop

Jilly and Dave pull up to the shopping centre in their beat-up van.

“Dave, keep your eyes peeled,” Jilly says, her voice sharp. “Watch my back while I work the trick. You’ll get your cut for driving, as always.”

Dave slouches in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, yeah. How much you up today?”

“About £400,” Jilly replies, smirking. “Need a bit more for the hotel.”

“Peanuts for me, though,” Dave grumbles. “£50 a day? I’m behind on rent, Jilly.”

“You’re the lookout, not the brains,” she snaps. “I cover petrol, hotels, everything. You just stuff your face with crisps and watch. Look at you—piling on the pounds.”

“Piss off,” Dave mutters. “You’re loaded. Can’t you spare more?”

“Focus on your job, not my wallet,” Jilly says. “Park over there and shut up.”

They park. Nearby, kids kick a stray dog. Dave shouts, “Oi, bugger off!” The kids scatter, and he pats the dog. “Good boy, go home.”

A beggar shuffles toward them. Jilly shoves him aside. “Get a job, mate.”

Dave frowns. “You’re harsh, Jilly.”

“Save it,” she says. “Shops are closing soon. Let’s move.”

Inside a shop, Jilly buys crisps for 50p, handing over a £20 note. The assistant returns £19.50. Jilly slips the £10 note into her back pocket, then says, “Oh, I’ve found some change. Can you swap it for a tenner?”

The assistant hands over a £10 note. Jilly counts money back into the assistant’s hand—five, six, seven, eight, nine—adding the tenner and coins. “Actually, love, just give me the twenty back.”

Confused but trusting, the assistant complies. Jilly pockets the extra tenner. They repeat the scam across ten shops, Dave watching from a distance, pretending they’re strangers.

“Made a tidy sum today,” Jilly says, grinning. “Love counting the cash.”

“You’re a pro,” Dave says. “Where’d you learn this?”

“My secret,” Jilly replies. “You’ve watched for weeks. Ready to try?”

Dave hesitates. “It looks so natural, but I can’t wrap my head around it. You’re so quick, and they never suspect.”

“It’s all confidence,” Jilly says. “Act like you’re in the right, and they won’t question you. Double-ups, treble-ups—there’s loads of tricks, but we’ll keep it simple for you.”

“What if we get caught?” Dave asks.

“Play dumb,” Jilly says. “They never suspect if you’re cool. Confidence, mate.”

In a crowded store, a security guard eyes Jilly. “What’re you up to?”

“Just getting change,” she says, all innocence.

“I’m not sure what you’re doing, but clear out,” the guard says.

“No harm done,” Jilly says, walking away. Dave follows, heart racing.

“That was too close,” Dave says. “I’m done, Jilly. This stress isn’t for me.”

“You’re too soft,” Jilly says. “It’s just a game. That guard had nothing.”

“It’s not worth jail,” Dave says, walking off. “I’m getting a job.”

Jilly smirks. “You need guts for this. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

As Dave leaves, Mia, an undercover cop, tails Jilly, whispering into her mic, “Suspect’s moving. Continuing surveillance.”

In an alley, Jilly counts her cash, unaware of Mia watching. “Need confirmation on her record,” Mia says. “This could be our break.”

Mia gathers evidence, closing in. “We’ve got enough,” she says, calling for backup. “Apprehend the suspect.”

Mia and the guard approach. “Jilly, you’re under arrest for theft and fraud,” Mia says. “You have the right to remain silent.”

Jilly’s face falls as handcuffs snap on. From a distance, Dave watches, relief washing over him. “I made the right choice,” he whispers. “No amount of money is worth this.”

As Jilly is led away, Mia glances at Dave, nodding slightly. The weight of Jilly’s choices sinks in, while Dave walks free, ready for a new start.


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