THE LIFE & DEATH OF A CON ARTIST.

Byline: Beth Barrett Daily News Staff Writer

Chris Rawlings was a boyish-looking 30-year-old with a lot of flash, but oh, how he could sell the adult dream of fast, hard, cold cash.

At the height of what federal investigators are calling a $19 million ``fraudulent telemarketing boiler room'' operation run from Calabasas to West Los Angeles, Rawlings and a small circle of associates took in up to $50,000 a day in checks from the elderly, retirees and others across the country to support a glamorous lifestyle built around leased or purchased upscale homes, foreign cars, expensive jewelry and fancy clothes.

Rawlings wasn't always the one in charge as the cadre moved from offshore Florida gambling ventures to Hollywood movies and even into cosmetic sales, though he's named as an equal partner in four firms in federal indictments.

But Rawlings was the one who could make them all believe - in him and in the companies' promises, those who knew him told the Daily News.

On the night of Feb. 8, coming home from a run to the market for diapers, words apparently failed the ``super salesman'' in a confrontation with two men in the garage of his Woodland Hills house.

Whether it was the fancy Bentley and expensive Rolex watch that caught two robbers' attention and led them to his home, or a premeditated attack for business reasons, Rawlings was beaten, stuffed into the car's trunk and critically injured when he was thrown from the vehicle when it crashed following a high-speed police pursuit.

He died two days later.

The assailants remain at large, but LAPD detectives and federal authorities have begun to unravel Rawlings' complex business dealings in the days since the salesman's death.

In numerous interviews and company documents obtained by the Daily News, a picture of those dealings has emerged - dealings federal authorities now say were built on criminal activity.

To those who knew Rawlings and did business with him, the revelations have come as a shock.

``He was just such a super salesman,'' said David Hackman, a Vail, Colo., condo complex manager who invested more than $50,000 in several deals solely on the force of Rawlings' personality.

``He always seemed to know what he was doing, that he was the kind of person who could get things done. He'd present a project and say, You're going to make some serious money, and so am I.''

Likable personality

Even after an offshore Florida casino deal offered by Woodland Hills-based Coastal Gaming shut down in June 1997 and Hackman lost most of his investment, he remained so confident in Rawlings that he invested about $25,000 in Calabasas-based Hollywood Films Inc. to finance a movie on the salesman's advice. He never got the promised return on that deal either.

Hackman said he just couldn't bring himself to believe the young man who had spent so much time on the phone with him and had seemed so sincere reminiscing about boyhood ski trips to Vail could steer him wrong.

He invested another $25,000 in West Los Angeles-based Skyline Entertainment Financing IV, ostensibly to fund several more movies. That firm is among those listed in federal documents as part of the alleged telemarketing scam.

``I just liked him,'' Hackman said. ``Whether or not he was doing something I didn't know about, I still liked him. We talked about everything and anything. It was a guy talking type of thing.''

Investors often said they came away from a deal feeling that way - like they'd just written a check to a friend of the family.

Pure desire

Rawlings was a legend among the telemarketers.

His pep rallies could have come straight out of his days at Crespi High School in Encino where he starred in football and teammates remember him as the smallest player at 5 feet 7 inches with the greatest desire.

``Everyone towered over him, but what was quintessential about Chris was the size of his heart,'' said former Crespi running back J.J. Lasley, 29, who now lives in San Francisco.

``What made up for his size or lack of ability was his will to be there on the field. He got knocked down a lot, but he got up every time and earned respect. He had this gumption to get up and get things done.

``Nothing was going to stop Chris from being successful.''

At the office, Rawling would get his team of a half-dozen or so telemarketers so energized that they'd ``smile and dial'' with an upbeat gusto that hooked investors. Some of the telemarketers were paid $4,000 or more a week, according to company records.

The sales force would even joke about their frequent investors, calling them ``mooches,'' and even crafted scripts, called the ``moochy close,'' aimed specifically at them.

If customers bit at all, Rawlings was among the star executives who jumped on the phone to reel them in. Some sent $70,000 or more, even dipping into their IRAs or other retirement funds on the promise they could double their money - or better, records show.

Last May, Rawlings told salespeople he would be closing all the deals at their new start-up cosmetic company, International Cosmetics, because they lacked the experience, federal documents state.

He would tell the salespeople, ``Get straight to the money.''

Big talk

But Rawlings, a former Marine, also had a hard streak and when pushed could take a tough-guy stance.

Rawlings' attorney, Gary Fidler of Woodland Hills, said he saw that side when Rawlings filed a lawsuit against his Malibu landlord, claiming the oceanfront home he was leasing at the time was unsafe, among other allegations.

``When he filed the lawsuit, he said he didn't care what it took, that he'd get the guy, he'd make him pay for what he did to his wife and kids,'' Fidler said.

Yet, when the matter went to court, Rawlings backed down. The case he'd vowed to fight on principle was settled instead in a ``very gentlemanly'' manner as a misunderstanding, Fidler said. The men shook hands in a hallway with no exchange of money, he said.

``I guess what that told me was that Chris talked big, and didn't really follow through.''

Rawlings was cocky but also naive, Fidler said.

``I got the feeling he might have had some early business success, and that he felt he was good at what he did and that he'd always make money,'' he said. ``He felt very good about himself, like he had the world at his feet. Yet, in a lot of ways, I thought he was immature. There was something that bothered me about him, like he was someone who would make a lot of money, then lose it, then make it all over again.''

Money, and what it could buy, was always central to Rawlings, friends and former employees said.

Eric Keiling, 29, was Rawling's best friend in high school, after the two had grown up together in Westlake Village and attended St. Jude's Catholic Church.

``He attracted lots of friends because he was so outgoing, and he always had rich tastes. He liked to play around in the Valley and drive nice cars,'' Keiling said.

Added Lasley: ``Chris was very charismatic. He had the gift of gab and women loved him.''

Crespi classmates remember his panache.

As a freshman, for instance, he wore a white tuxedo to a formal dance to upstage the juniors and seniors.

He loved the best cars, the finest clothes and the money to lavish gifts on family and friends.

Last fall he convinced his favorite fashion consultant to leave his job at Bachrachs for a share in a new store, Gentleman's Quarters in Woodland Hills. Rawlings decked out the place with stylish furniture, a wine and cappuccino bar, and a pedicurist.

The racks were stocked with $1,000 Italian and domestic suits, and equally expensive shirts, sweaters and accessories.

For himself, Rawlings preferred Andrew Fezza virgin wool suits in distinguished, understated blues, grays and blacks.

``He loved the way they felt and draped on him,'' said Rodney Leonard, his partner.

He gave the same attention to his leased white Bentley. The car had to be spotless and gleaming, which meant a top-to-bottom cleaning two or three times a week.

``I remember when he first got the Bentley. He drove that car every day. Everybody used to say wow,'' said Stan Wueshcher, an employee at Distinctive Detailing in Woodland Hills.

Rawlings was intent on upgrading the car with a $15,000 navigational and security system, talking about it just days before his death.

He liked jewelry, too.

Former acquaintances remember the delight he took in going to Tiffany's to buy diamonds for his wife, Barbie.

Deep in mourning, Rawlings' relatives declined to comment for this story on the advice of their attorney.

Rawlings' tastes weren't all rarefied. He liked his Coca-Cola during the day, a 40-ounce Old English malt liquor at night, Leonard said.

He could be ``really down to earth and would just hang out with the guys'' while he waited for his Bentley to be polished, Wueshcher recalled.

Mostly, the reaction to his death was, ``How could this happen to such a nice guy?''

A darker side

Shortly after his death, details of Rawlings' business dealings emerged in a federal affidavit linking Rawlings and three business associates, John Charles Watson, Peter Aro and Scott Courtney, to a series of alleged telemarketing scams.

The first sign of trouble came in November, when, following an eight-month FBI investigation, Aro and Courtney were indicted on mail fraud, in connection with a gaming scam that began in April 1996. The Woodland Hills company, Coastal Gaming Inc., mostly targeted the elderly offering shares in a Florida offshore casino, the Dixie Duck, federal documents show.

``Investors lost approximately $5 million as a result of fraudulent misrepresentations made to investors concerning the profitability of the investment in casino boats,'' the documents state.

Courtney was arrested and is free on bail pending trial. He could not be reached for comment. An arrest warrant has been issued for Aro, who is missing.

Hackman, one of the investors, said Rawlings talked up the Florida deal and convinced him to join the 280-investor group that financed the 100-foot floating casino, which operated briefly off the Key West coast. Rawlings was not named in the Coastal Gaming indictment.

Investors and former employees said Rawlings was intrigued with gambling, taking frequent trips to Las Vegas. After the Dixie Duck was forced into dry dock, investors said he often would talk about getting back into gaming.

The Coastal Gaming investigation, however, led to companies involving Rawlings that were each set up to raise between $3 million and $6 million, records show.

WRI Holdings was promoting investment in unreleased recordings by Marvin Gaye and the Beatles; UST&T was pushing a public utilities company; International Cosmetics Corp. was pitching makeup; and Skyline Entertainment Financing was pushing motion picture production investments, federal records show.

``Each of the telemarketing operations was conducted by Christopher Rawlings, Scott Courtney and Peter Aro,'' records filed in the Watson indictment say.

John Charles Watson, the owner of record for WRI Holdings, was arrested at Rawlings' funeral and charged with money laundering and fraud in connection with the telemarketing operation. Watson was released Thursday on $50,000 bail.

On Friday, federal agents arrested two other men suspected of being involved in telemarketing fraud with Rawlings. Timothy Carinell Griffieth, 32, and John Darris Dickens, 33, were charged with mail fraud, sale of unregistered securities and money laundering, said FBI spokeswoman Laura Bosley. Griffieth and Dickens were employed at WRI Holdings Inc.

Rawlings, Courtney and Aro disguised their involvement in WRI Holdings, as well as in a series of other businesses, by setting up an elaborate corporate structure using fronts, federal investigators concluded.

``As a part of the scheme, corporate documents, bank accounts, office leases and other public documents were used which identified one of their several employees as the owner of the company. In the case of WRIH, the employee who was designated to serve as the record owner was John Watson,'' the federal case concludes.

Besides getting checks for tens of thousands of dollars each month from their companies' accounts, Rawlings, Courtney and Aro laundered WRI Holdings back into their own pockets by getting Watson to write checks to other people who cashed them and funneled the money to the three officers, federal records say.

Former employees and acquaintances said the relationship between Rawlings, Courtney and Aro was very close. Aro and Rawlings, in particular, worked hand-in-glove, writing the sales scripts together.

The subterfuge ran much deeper inside the telemarketing boiler rooms, which moved around the San Fernando Valley as angry investors closed in on them, court and company records show.

An elaborate system built on aliases and fake business cards was set up, such that investors often did not really know who they were speaking with.

Court documents, for example, show that Aro used the name Leo Getz with customers.

Sometimes receptionists would have to scramble to match up the phony name with the right salesperson, federal records show.

The pitch

Each investor was given a high-pressure pitch:

``Now, just to let you know, most of this stock has already been purchased by existing clients from previous films and new clients like yourself. . . .

``Now, the average position for our investors is between $50,000 and $100,000.

``Now, I don't have a crystal ball, but if past performance is any indicator of future success, you could be looking at a 3-to-1 return in the next 12 months.''

Investors were told there would be a $20,000 minimum, then were enticed to keep pumping checks into each company after receiving a quick dividend - though never nearly as much as the original investment, investors said.

``I got one small dividend, actually it was a pretty substantial dividend, but not nearly what I put into it,'' Hackman said. ``If they'd kept coming like that, the return would have been real substantial. As it is, I'll be hurt.''

Determined investors were pacified with elaborate cover stories, including never-realized promises that big-name stars like Faye Dunaway and Keanu Reeves would be appearing in movies they were financing.

Finally, as the heat from disgruntled investors grew, Rawlings and the others stopped taking messages, phones were disconnected and the boiler room moved elsewhere. They would leave behind post office boxes so that investors would not be disconcerted by mailing checks to new addresses.

``At the moment, there's no address or phone number,'' Hackman said. ``It's very disconcerting when you can't talk to anyone.''

By the time Rawlings' circle moved into its last-known business address in the spring of 1997, Skyline Entertainment Financing IV's suite at 9645 Wilshire Blvd., the operation was in high gear, federal and company records show.

Skyline Entertainment Financing IV began to claim ties to Skyline Entertainment, an independent production company owned by Jason Goldberg and Elan Sassoon located in the same building. Its telemarketers stressed the name of Vidal Sassoon, Elan's father and ``hair care mogul,'' according to scripts contained in company records.

Goldberg is listed on Skyline Entertainment Financing IV's California incorporation papers. But Century City attorney Matthew Tambor said Goldberg's name may have been added to the records without his consent or knowledge.

Sassoon and Goldberg could not be reached for comment. Tambor said he was unaware of a business connection between his clients and Rawlings.

At Skyline Entertainment Inc., Goldberg and Sassoon once were sued by an investor claiming they made misleading claims about the movie, ``Love Lies Bleeding,'' - the film Rawlings and his associates were pushing investors to finance.

Tambor said the lawsuit was dismissed, but that the terms were confidential. He added ``Love Lies Bleeding,'' a story of Jack the Ripper, was made, but that he could not discuss what he characterized as complicated finances.

``These guys were just trying to make movies,'' he said.

Down the hall at Skyline Entertainment Financing IV, Federal Express packages would arrive daily at the door containing checks worth tens of thousands of dollars, supposedly to finance ``Love Lies Bleeding'' among other movies. Investors said they never saw the promised returns.

Periodically, messengers would be dispatched from the West Los Angeles office to Calabasas where investors were still sending tens of thousands of dollars each day to Hollywood Films Inc.'s mailing address.

Company records show that Chris Rawlings was paid more than $30,000 in some months by Hollywood Films. That company alone took in over $170,000 some months, but wrote out more in checks - upwards of $200,000.

Debts soar

It now seems those kind of expenditures had begun take a toll on Rawlings and his friends.

While they continued to flash wads of hundred-dollar bills and lived high, their debts had started to soar. Vendors began to complain, and even the person delivering the much-coveted phone lists refused to leave the building until payment was made in cash.

Aro still owes Fidler, Rawlings' lawyer, for four hours of legal work on a commercial lease. ``He'd call and say, I'm writing the check out right now, but I never saw it,'' Fidler said.

Watson claimed to be so broke at his recent court appearance that he couldn't afford an attorney.

In retrospect, those may have been signals that the meteoric rise of Rawlings, the boy who had always played larger than he ever really was, was on the wane. Still, no one expected it to end so horribly, in a crush of metal on Tampa Avenue after the hijacking and police chase.

The lingering tragedy of Chris Rawlings' life and death, say those who knew him, is that he never slowed down long enough to learn that money couldn't buy him peace or happiness.

``He was just going so fast,'' Hackman said.

``He had so many irons in the fire.''

This story was written by Beth Barrett and reported by Barrett, Lisa Van Proyen, Phillip W. Browne, Peter Hartlaub, Michael Coit and Greg Gittrich.

CAPTION(S):

6 photos

PHOTO (1) Chris Rawlings was abducted by two men Feb. 8 from his home on Woodland Hills' Quedo Drive.

David Sprague/Daily News

(2 -- color) Chris Rawlings died as the result of a fiery crash during a robbery.

Gene Blevins/Special to the Daily News

(3) Chris Rawlings

(4) Chris Rawlings (high school photo)

(5) no caption (Daily News front page from February 10, 1999)

(6) Chris Rawlings