$6 mil could buy a lot of swampland

In a world beset by war, terrorism, violent religious differences, corporate greed and the SARS

scare, it’s good to know that there is always a con game going on. And I am pleased to announce that it is aimed

at me.

Just a few days ago, I received an e-mail from Mr. Steve Jones of the island republic of Mauritius offering me 30% of $21.8 million for simply allowing him to use my bank account. Jones explained that he’s a government official who has the full amount in his possession but, for reasons not made clear, he needs to store it for a while.

His message was sandwiched between online ads for the sale of Viagra and hot, lonely Russian women, neither of which interested me at the moment. But money did.

Thirty percent of $21.8 million is $6.54 million, and boy, could we use that. We’ve been spending a lot lately paying electricians, plumbers and appliance repairmen to help keep our household functioning for at least a few more years. Even the driveway is rotting away. The $6.54 million would just about cover those expenses and allow a little left over for our annual trip to Oakland.

When I told Cinelli of the offer, she said, “If they put it in your account, it will be gone in a week. Better have them put it in mine. That’ll give it another week.”

I guess $21.8 million isn’t all that much when you consider that certain movie actors make $20 million doing a single film, and some sports figures knock that down in a couple of seasons. Not to mention the $650 million in cash Saddam Hussein had stashed away for incidentals.

I was thinking how great it would be to have the $6.54 million when I suddenly received another e-mail. This one was from Mr. Jones Peter, a banking executive in Liberia. He offered me 40% of $14.2 million for saying I was the next of kin of one Ron Williams who died and left no heirs. All I had to do, again, was to allow Mr. Peter to use my bank account.

Doing this, he assured me, would guarantee that “the fruits of this old man’s labour will not get into the hands of some corrupt government official.” We sure wouldn’t want that.

While 40% of $14.2 million is less than 30% of $21.8 million, I was leaning toward accepting Mr. Peter’s offer because I didn’t want to see the old man’s money squandered. Then I began receiving a flood of similar offers, all from Africa. Mr. Samuel Savimbi of Angola had $25.5 million to store with me. Mr. David Benago of Sierra Leone had $28 million. Dr. Collins Ike of Nigeria had $28.6 million. The Congo was heard from, and so were Zaire, Niger and Zimbabwe.

I was becoming a little suspicious.

Research proved my suspicions were valid. It is a scam of grand proportions that the Secret Service is calling the “Nigerian advance-fee fraud,” which is bilking people across the U.S. out of millions of dollars a year. Its mechanism is simple: You say OK to the deal, and they ask for upfront money for various taxes, attorney fees, transaction costs and bribes.

You send the money, and when they get as much out of you as they can, you’re left standing on the corner like a little old lady waiting for the return of the friendly stranger to whom she has given her life savings on his promise of doubling it. The old pigeon drop with a new twist.

My dreams of wealth vanished like smoke in the wind after talking to a Secret Service guy in Washington. But then I had this great idea. I would ask Mr. Samuel Savimbi of Angola for upfront money to show his good faith in order to obtain my good faith. I sent him a message asking for a $1-million bank check, assuring him that I would then allow storage of his $25.5 million in my savings account. Unfortunately, Mr. Savimbi never responded to my generous proposal.

It’s just as well. I’m not the kind of person who should be in possession of a lot of money. Just-getting-by has been such a part of my life that I wouldn’t know what to do with, say, the $6.54 million that Mr. Steve Jones of Mauritius promised. After rewiring the house, paving the driveway, replacing the sewer pipes and buying drinks all around at the Mirabelle bar on Sunset, I’d wander the streets like a lost soul with a couple of hundred grand in my pocket wondering what to buy other than Viagra and Russian women.

I finally decided that even if I could scam the African scammers, it wouldn’t be patriotic to be robbed and cheated by foreigners. So I’m willing to accept our current national tradition of being taken advantage of by our home-grown oil companies, pharmaceutical companies, power companies and the government in general. I’m used to that. It’s the American way.

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Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He’s at al.martinez@latimes.com.