Magic Dude

by Lee Hayton

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  MAGIC DUDE

  LEE HAYTON

  Copyright © 2017 Lee Hayton

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten - The Trials: Honor

  Chapter Eleven - The Trials: Loyalty

  Chapter Twelve - The Trials: Sacrifice

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  About the Author - Lee

  Chapter One

  The strange man ran up the drive of the trailer park and hurled a rock straight at Tyler Moby’s face.

  “Catch!”

  The movement caught Tyler’s attention rather than the command. His hand flicked up in reflex, nimbly catching the stone projectile before it hit his face. Luckily, he’d already put his beer down on the ground—he would have fumbled trying to grab it with his left.

  The man stared with an intensity that didn’t seem warranted, given their short acquaintance. “Tyler Moby?”

  When Tyler nodded, the man threw his head back, clapping his hands together. “It’s yours now! It’s all yours.”

  The stranger turned and ran back toward the trailer park entrance. Tyler leaned forward to watch the quick exit, the legs of his canvas director’s chair sinking further into the swampy ground. “What the hell was that about?”

  Wilma—the trailer park’s landlady—emerged from her office and leaned against the door as the man hightailed it past her. She had one eye closed against smoke from a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth.

  Tyler looked at the object in his hand. The stone flashed with a bright light. He supposed it was a reflection of the string of fairy lights that an ex-girlfriend made him hang up by the barbecue for ‘atmosphere.’ Other than that, it was dull gray. Worthless, probably, but Tyler liked the way it sat in his hand. Warm.

  “Friend of yours?” Gary asked and sniffed. His voice held notes of passive-aggressiveness, tinged with a hint of hops. Tyler thought Gary could count all his friends on one hand while leaving three fingers and a thumb free for other duties. The man was sullen and abrasive on his best day.

  If Tyler had stumped up the additional five bucks per week that it took to get a trailer in the “VIP” row, then he wouldn’t have befriended Gary, either. Instead, a scarcity of funds meant their homes sat side by side like fat bugs soaking up the sun. It would take more effort to avoid Gary than it was to be friends with him, so that was how it was.

  “Don’t know him,” Tyler replied, tucking the stone into his front pocket. It didn’t want to go in, slipping past the gap in the denim on the first two tries. When it was in place, his hand missed the contact, yearned to hold its glassy smoothness again.

  “What’ve you been up to that men are handing out presents?”

  “Nothing. Not that I know of.”

  “I don’t want you to invite people round just to throw stuff,” Wilma called out. “It’s bad for business. You get a chip on a trailer siding, and I have to discount it on the spot.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Gary waved and shouted out, “It won’t happen again.” Gary held onto the firm belief that if a man got kicked out of Wilma’s trailer park, he had nowhere left to go but the street.

  “Maybe he mistook me for someone else.” Tyler stretched out his legs to catch more of the sun. “I got one of those faces.”

  “Dangerous business, throwing stones. Like them kids who drop bricks off the overpass.”

  Tyler gave a grunt to let Gary know that he was listening, and promptly stopped. He’d heard the lecture about the overpass before. Given neither of them had kids nor cars, the matter shouldn’t have been so important.

  The stone pulsed. Tyler laughed out loud in surprise, then stopped when Gary cast a suspicious look his way. He shook his head until his friend turned back to the grill, rotating the meat with a metal spatula.

  “How’re those steaks doing?”

  “They’d do better with a fresh beer,” Gary replied, tipping the bottle in his hand up to catch the dregs in his mouth. He thrust it out toward Tyler, who stood to grab it. His own still had a mouthful or two left, but he poured it out onto the ground. It had sat too long in the sun. “Grab the salad while you’re at it.”

  The salad was potato. Wilma had made it for him special, or so she said. Tyler had seen the empty bulk containers from the supermarket in her trash, but his momma had raised him better than to point them out. He took the salad with the same grin he accepted beer, sex, and weed.

  No gift horses were getting their mouths examined. Not when Tyler was around.

  “What’s that ruckus?” Gary asked, pointing a knife at a cloud of dust barreling toward them down the main street of the trailer park. “Motorcycles, you reckon?”

  If they were, then Wilma would soon stick a giant fork into their wheels. For a woman running a trailer park, she didn’t half object to noise. Tyler had taken to tiptoeing past her office, just in case. He didn’t need a penalty slapped on his rent. Buying and selling spare parts wasn’t as lucrative as it had once been. Once the state legalized the baggies of weed he tucked inside, his custom dropped away overnight.

  A bullet whistled past Tyler’s ear, striking the siding of the trailer and forming a neat, black hole.

  “Hey,” Tyler said, turning. Another bullet whizzed by him, striking the door on his other side.

  “Get the fuck down,” Gary called out, diving behind the shelter of the grill. “Get out of sight.”

  Another bullet hole appeared in Tyler’s eye line while a clump of dirt exploded at his feet.

  “Get down!”

  Tyler turned and held his hand up as he saw the man with the gun. The barrel was aimed straight at his head. The world tipped into slow motion. Tyler’s terrified eyes observed each detail.

  The bullet carved a path through the air, spinning on a slight axis. It struck Tyler’s hand and passed through, wedging in the metal of the trailer. The quick pain burned up his wrist, pulsing along his arm. His feet tangled, making him stagger to the side. A lucky escape. Another bullet landed just where his head had been.

  “Get down!” Gary yelled again.

  Tyler dropped to his knees. He wasn’t following instructions, his legs just collapsed.

  “Give it to me!” the gunman yelled out. Tyler didn’t need to be told twice nor have it explained what ‘it’ was.
He reached awkwardly into his jean’s pocket with his uninjured hand and fumbled the stone out, almost dropping it into the dirt.

  “Throw it across,” the gunman continued. Tyler noticed that others were joining him, shoring up his flanks on either side. Five in total. Another gunshot rang out.

  Gary threw the spatula he’d been holding into the air. One of the flanking men shot at it. The bullet ricocheted off the metal slide, hit the corner of the trailer and ricocheted again, ending up embedded in the shooter’s shoulder. Blood pulsed out in a neat red circle.

  In the time it took the gunman to open his mouth and scream, Tyler transferred the stone to his injured hand—his pitching hand. Instantly, the pain faded. Light glowed out, a bright and shining pink. It spiked into the wound and lit Tyler up like a neon sign.

  “Throw it here, now!” the leader demanded. Tyler obeyed him, chucking the stone as hard as he could. It stayed stuck in his palm, affixed to his wound with its bright, pink rays.

  “I’ll shoot you!” The barrel moved, leveling with Tyler’s gaze.

  Sick dread filled his body as Tyler tried again to throw the stone. It stayed in place. A pink ray of light loosened from his glowing hand. It struck the ground and seared it black. A shot rang out, the chief gunman firing straight at Tyler’s bright palm. The bullet hit the stone dead-center. It split apart into tiny shards of metal that went streaking back the way they’d come.

  Crimson blood oozed out of fresh cuts on the gunman’s face. He advanced, his air of menace increased by the dripping injuries.

  Tyler yelled in frustration, flapping his hand about, trying to shake the stone loose. It clung harder, strapping rays of light around his wrist for added grip. He batted it with his good hand, but couldn’t wedge it free.

  As the gunman advanced, Tyler tried once more to fling the stone at him, throwing only pink glows of light. They bounced off the ground and spun up into the man’s face, separating into two streams to hit the companions still lined up to either side.

  The leader raised the gun again, pointing at Tyler’s stomach this time.

  “Stop!” Tyler yelled out in terror. “Just stop!”

  The men froze in place. The bullet that had exited the gun an instant before hung briefly in the air then dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  Chapter Two

  Tyler jumped to his feet and ran to the shelter of the concrete grill beside Gary. After a few deep breaths with no bullets fired, he stuck his head around the corner to peek.

  The men were in precisely the same place they had been. Like statues, except these were men no sculptor worth their merit would ever take the time to carve from stone.

  “What happened?” Gary said from beside him. His face turned up to Tyler, white except where the glow from the stone turned him orange and pink. “Did they go away?”

  Tyler shrugged and duck-walked around the edge of the grill, his eyes firmly fixed on the motionless group. He grabbed the barbecue fork off the side plate and advanced toward them slowly, prongs in front.

  The men stared fixedly at where Tyler had been a minute before. The light breeze that ruffled through his tangled hair didn’t touch them. Their hair didn’t wave, their clothes didn’t flap.

  Having his fill of staring at them, Tyler poked at the leader with the fork. The tines dug into the man’s flesh, but he didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Feeling on surer ground, Tyler used the instrument to batter the gun out of the man’s hand. It fell safely to the ground, and he bent, eyes still fixed on the man, to pick it up.

  With a proper weapon in his hand, Tyler felt a bit more chill. He poked the fork into the man’s face, just below the eye. Even though the prongs were pushed into the skin far enough to draw blood, there was no reaction.

  “It’s okay to come out now, Gary. They’re not going to hurt anyone.”

  When his friend reached his side, Tyler handed him the gun. He then went to each man, in turn, plucking the weapons from their hands and feeling their bodies for any other hidden treasures. Two had flick-knives in their boots. One had an ankle holster with a spare revolver.

  He turned to see Gary on his knees, tying their shoelaces together. He shrugged, shamefaced. “In case they come back to life.”

  Wilma walked over and leaned against the grill. She finished up the cigarette she had on the go, crushing its lit end beneath her boot, then lit another.

  “Can’t have this sort of bother going on,” she said, blowing smoke in Tyler’s face. He narrowed his eyes and breathed it in. He’d quit a few years back out of necessity when funds got too tight, and there wasn’t an hour went by when he didn’t miss it.

  Wilma turned from the group of men to examine the side of the trailer.

  “Bad for business, having shoot-ups in the park.” She pointed her cigarette toward the pock-marked siding. “I count two hundred dollars’ worth of malicious damage, right there.”

  Tyler walked over to the trailer, pressing the stone up against the injured metal. Nothing happened except he felt a bit ridiculous.

  The stone had healed his hand. Tyler felt the last bits of his flesh knitting together in what had been a gaping wound. The bones were once again uncracked, the tendons flexing like nothing had happened. Didn’t work the same on metal, though. Obviously.

  “Dude, what the hell are you up to?” Wilma called out. “You want them fixed, I’ll give you the number of a repairman you can call. You’ll have to pay him up front—he’s used to this crowd.”

  “Give me a minute.” Tyler flicked his long blond fringe out of his eyes as he turned to face her. “I’m still recovering from being shot at, if you don’t mind. The trailer can wait.”

  The wound in his hand was now a dull tingle. As Tyler’s heart rate settled down to an approximation of normal, he leaned back against the trailer wall. When the light became too bright, he closed his eyes, grateful to still be alive to feel the sun on his face.

  “What the hell is this that you’re burning?” Tyler opened his eyes as Wilma poked a derisive finger at the pieces of prime rib that were now fit for nobody’s dinner. “Even my dog wouldn’t eat that.”

  “You don’t have a dog,” Gary said, looking forlornly down at the ruination of his gorgeous chunks of meat. “We still have the potato salad, I suppose.”

  “My potato salad,” Wilma said with a glare straight at Tyler. “That I freely gave up, even though it didn’t even earn me an invite to your party.”

  “Oh, shit, Wilma. Sorry, I didn’t think. When you said you didn’t need it…” Tyler trailed off, pushing his fingers through his hair and looking around. His frown deepened. “What the hell just happened?”

  Wilma walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. “What happened is you just wracked yourself up a repair bill and a warning. I can’t have my tenants inviting hooligans around and spoiling the atmosphere of the park.”

  “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “He knew your name,” Gary said. His willingness to blame Tyler highlighting another reason why he didn’t have any friends. “It was hardly coincidence that he came looking for you. What’s the deal with the rock, anyway?”

  “What rock?” Wilma’s eyes lit up briefly before Tyler waved his hand in front of her face and extinguished the flame back into smoke.

  “This.” He flexed his fingers and tapped at the stone lodged in his palm. “I can’t get it off me.”

  Wilma stretched out one finger, flinching in anticipation of a reaction. She made contact with the stone, but nothing happened.

  “Whatever.” Wilma sniffed and withdrew her hand. “Repairs are due with your rent at the end of the week, if you don’t organize them before.”

  She pushed herself away from the trailer and stamped her second cigarette to death under her heel. “You owe me for a carton of potato salad, as well.”

  “I need a drink,” Tyler said, wrenching open the trailer door. He stared in horror at the fridge inside, amber liquid leaking from a hole in its side all over the floo
r.

  “That fridge is another hundred and fifty,” Wilma said, leaning over his shoulder to peek. “Bad luck.” She clapped him on the back.

  “I could shout you one down at the tavern if you can score us a lift,” Gary said. “I could demolish one of their prime ribs right now.”

  “What do you say, Wilma?” Tyler asked, batting his lashes. The park manager was the only person he knew with wheels. “Gary’ll shout you a meal to make up for your missing potato salad.”

  “And I’m driving, am I?”

  “You’re the only one with a license,” Tyler pointed out. “But you’re still good for two drinks before you hit the limit.” He eyed up Wilma’s ample frame. “Maybe three.”

  She coughed a few times then spat something unmentionable near Tyler’s feet. “Fine.” Wilma headed back for the office. “Get a move on,” she called over her shoulder. “If you’re not in the car when I start her up, you’re not coming.”

  Pausing for one second to poke the frozen men with his finger, Tyler hurried after her, Gary in tow. After recent events, neither of them wanted to stay as sober as they were.

  # # #

  “You said you were paying.”

  The three of them, Wilma, Tyler, and Gary, stood beside an ATM on the main drag of town. Although Gary had done his best to curl his shoulder over to hide the screen, it was evident that his account was running on empty.

  “What about you, Tyler?” Wilma turned to him with an arched eyebrow. “Flush at the moment, are you?”

  Tyler leaned on the side of the ATM. “I wish I could get cash out of this thing,” he began. But my balance is less than zero would have been his next words except that a blinding light shot out of the stone, hitting the money machine, and whipped the remainder of that thought away.

  “What the fuck?” Gary had stepped back as the light flash enveloped him, but now he edged forward again. Where the balance had shown a moment before as zero dollars and zero cents, it now displayed ten thousand. Gary hit the quick cash button and then one hundred. The machine thought for a second, then spat out his card and the money in rapid succession.