Sleight of Hand

by Natasha Deen

  Mom lifts her head, gives us a small smile.

  Dad stays silent.

  As soon as Mom and Dad are finished, I clean the table, then head to my room.

  A few minutes later Sammy comes in. “Ready?”

  I eye his sweats. “No cape?”

  “Still learning the trick. Once it’s perfect, I’ll do a dress rehearsal.”

  Even if he wasn’t my brother, I’d still want to be his friend. He wants to be a magician. Doesn’t care that the kids at school occasionally make fun of him. Doesn’t care that he occasionally messes up the tricks. Sammy has visions of being the next big thing in magic, and he’s not letting anything stop him. I think about this every time I get turned down for a job. To just keep going. But that’s easy to say, really hard to do.

  “Okay.” I sit on the bed. “Give it to me.”

  “Behold!”

  I stifle a laugh. He starts every trick this way.

  “It looks like an ordinary vase—”

  “But it doesn’t look like a vase.” I can’t resist teasing him. “It’s got a lid.”

  He glares at me. “Behold! It looks like an ordinary pickle jar, but legend has it that Ali Baba stole this mystic jar from the sultan.”

  “I don’t think jars can be mystic.”

  He glares at me. “Are you doing this trick?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut up.”

  I shrug and wait.

  “Behold! It looks like an ordinary jar, but legend has it that Ali Baba stole this magic jar from the sultan.”

  I doubt it. The jar is black plastic, and I can see the Made in China sticker. But Sammy has a story for every trick. He says half of magic is the tale you weave. I lean back on my pillows and listen to the story about this daring theft by Ali Baba.

  “And what made this jar so special?” asks Sammy as he moves from the story to the trick. “So valuable that the sultan would send his guards after the thief? It has the ability to transmute solid matter—to change one thing into another!” He pauses, and I make the obligatory sounds of awe and surprise. It’s not all faked either. I love watching his tricks.

  “Watch as I turn this silk scarf into an item revered by men everywhere!”

  “You’re going to turn the silk scarf into a bikini model?”

  He breaks character and laughs. “Shut up. I’m performing. Besides, if Mom heard you say that about girls, she’d kill you!”

  “Don’t tell, okay?”

  He pretends to consider this. “What’s it worth to you?”

  “A visit to the Vanishing Rabbit magic shop. Maybe. If your trick’s cool enough.”

  That knocks him back into character.

  I watch as he opens the jar, pulls out the scarf, gives it a good shake. He shows me that the jar is empty. Then he puts the scarf back in and closes the lid. Sammy makes some grand gesture that I’m sure is going to result in a back injury, then lifts the lid to reveal two balls.

  “Balls?” I ask. “That’s the item revered by men everywhere?” Then I get the joke and laugh. “You better not let Mom hear you say that!” I say.

  He grins, and I give him a high five.

  Mom yells that Sammy has to empty the dishwasher.

  He punches me in the shoulder as he takes off.

  “Ow!” I call after him. “Maybe if magician doesn’t work out, you can go with bouncer!”

  Now that he’s gone and I’m alone, I’m pathetically happy to strip off my interview clothes. I’m sick of the black pants, the dress shirt and tie. Doesn’t matter what I wear. I carry the tattoo of screwup on my forehead. After I pull on my sweats, I ball up the clothes and shove them to the back of my closet.

  There’s nothing to do but stare at the ceiling. Dad took my computer, tv and smartphone. The cell I have is the kind they give kids and seniors. All is does it make phone calls. I’m only allowed to have it when I’m away from home.

  Dad checks my usage and calls when I get home, so there’s no fun there. I imagine myself six months ago, before my crush on a girl turned me into a moron. I close my eyes, imagine myself with a job.

  Almost a week later, and it’s the same story. No job. Black looks from interviewers. At dinner last night, Mom asked Dad if he would go to some of his friends, see if they would hire me. He said nothing, just kept eating his food.

  The next morning, I chain my bike outside the government building and head in to face Mary. The office is empty, and she brings me in right away.

  “Well?” she asks as she closes the door.

  “The same.” I crinkle my nose against the heavy scent of her perfume.

  “I talked to your mother yesterday.”

  The muscles in my neck go tight.

  “She’s worried about you. Your family”—Mary’s mouth closes, then opens—“is having a hard time dealing with this.”

  “Yeah.” It hasn’t exactly been a party for me either. But no one cares about my regret or shame. I’m the idiot who did the crime. So not only do I do the time, but I get the added bonus of not being allowed to be upset.

  “Look.” Her mouth twists to the side. “I’m going to do you a favor.” The desk drawer squeaks as she opens it and pulls out a business card. “This is the name of a contractor I know, Kevin St. James. He got into some trouble as a kid—knows what it’s like to try and reform.” As she says this, her expression reveals both respect and contempt. “You can try talking to him. See if he’ll give you a job.”

  I snatch the card from her hand. “I’ll get on it right away.”

  “Don’t blow this, Javvan. It might be your last chance.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Get out of here.”

  I bolt from the office and grab my phone. I’m anxious to phone Kevin and get my conviction behind me. As I exit the building, it occurs to me that I never said thanks. I’ll owe it to her, along with an apology.

  Chapter Three

  I’m so scared I could puke. Last night after I got home from my check-in, I phoned Kevin, told him Mary had given me his number. Then I blurted out my life story, emphasizing how bad I felt and how hard I was trying to make amends. He agreed to an interview. Which was good. Now I just have to clinch the job.

  Kevin’s working on a new subdivision east of town. There are no buses that go there yet, and it’s too far to bike. Mom drives me and drops me at the trailer that doubles as an office. She gives me a tight smile that’s a combination of hope and restrained worry, and says to phone when I’m ready. I nod and wipe my hands on my pants. Then I’m up the metal stairs, knocking on the thin door and stepping inside. The place is cluttered with papers, a worn couch and chair and a scarred desk.

  Kevin’s a lean man with close-cropped hair, blue eyes. He’s got the look of a guy who spends a lot of time outdoors—weathered skin, lines around his eyes. He looks up as I step in. Smiles and waves me in. “Javvan, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He chuckles. “Buddy, this morning I was knee-deep in sewage. You can keep the sir for when you’re greeting royalty.”

  I breathe out. Then I take another breath and suck in the scent of oil and sawdust.

  “Sit, Javvan.” The chair creaks under Kevin as he shifts in his chair. “Mary phoned. I know most of your story. Got the rest when you and I talked.”

  Thank God. My mouth’s too dry to say anything.

  “I don’t know if Mary told you, but I got myself into a bit of trouble when I was a kid.”

  All I can do is nod.

  “I had someone willing to help me out, knock the chip off my shoulder.” He leans back in his seat. “You and I didn’t grow up the same. From what I hear, you’ve got a good family. One that loves you, is supporting you through this.”

  I brace for impact, for the usual lecture on how I screwed up everyone with one stupid decision.

  “I didn’t, but you and me, we’re the same. We don’t like people telling us what to do, don’t like it when people offend our sense o
f honor.” He lifts his left hand, shows me his palm. “Got a knife scar to prove it.” Kevin gives me a quick smile. “Hopefully, you’ll prove smarter than me. Learn to control that temper before it lands you in hospital.”

  I nod again.

  “I like you, and Mary’s given me the rundown on your probation. You’ve got a curfew—that’s fine. I don’t keep the crew late. No hanging with your old friends.” He points his index finger in my direction. “When you’re on the clock, I expect you to work. No texting or pissing around. Got it?”

  I nod.

  “Good. I like what Mary’s said about you. So…you got the job.”

  I manage to croak, “Thank you, sir.”

  He chuckles. “Again with the sir.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Here.” He tosses a stack of pages at me. “Fill this out, bring it back. You’ll work for me from Monday to Friday through the summer. We’re all about honest work here. So we take big jobs, little jobs, warranty stuff—whatever puts food on the table. You work hard, you don’t mess around, and if you’re good, we’ll keep you long-term. Sound good?”

  “Yes.” I don’t touch the papers. My hands are shaking, and I don’t want him to see. But I can’t believe it. No more begging for a job. No more seeing that look in the eyes of interviewers when they hear about my criminal record. No more of my mom faking happy. I suck in some air, breathe in more oil and sawdust.

  “We do new construction, renovations, homes that are still under warranty. It takes us all over the city—you know your way around?”

  I nod.

  “Got transportation?”

  I nod again. If I can’t take a bus or train, I’m sure Mom will let me use the car.

  “I want you to work under the senior guys. Grab and haul the equipment they need, help with the hammering, that kind of thing.” He gives me a hard look. “You do nothing you’re not licensed or qualified for, you got it? No electrical, no plumbing.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good. Make sure you get the equipment—steel-toed boots, hard hat.” He sits up, and his chair springs upright. “Now get out. I have work to do.” He says it with a grin, and I smile back.

  Finally. Things are working out.

  By the end of the week, I’m getting the hang of it. Sort of. At first I’d come home in a world of hurt and sore. But each day it’s a little better. There’s a bunch of added bonuses to working with Kevin. I’m building muscle, which is awesome. When Tiffany gets back, she’s going to love my new look. I got a postcard from her last week. Since her family’s touring Europe, there’s no way to write back and brag about the job or the money I’m making.

  She tells me about the trip and what her family’s doing. I can read between the lines. I know she’s worried I’ll dump her because of her idiot brother. I know her parents worry I think they taught Dwayne to be a moron. It’s too bad I can’t write them back and let them know the only one I’m pissed at is Dwayne.

  Today I’m working on a house that’s almost done. It’s all minor stuff. Painting. Light fixtures. The guys have the radio on, and I’m letting the latest Top 40 countdown take me into the rhythm of covering the drywall with the pea-green paint the homeowners chose.

  “Hey, Javvan, come here.”

  I set down the roller and head to the electrician. He’s from Poland, and we all call him Alphabet—a good-natured dig at his last name, which is more consonants than vowels. “Yo.”

  “I’m behind on this job,” he says, “and we gotta get the fixtures up.”

  “You want me to paint faster, then get out of the way?”

  “No. I’m going to show you how to hook up one of the lights in the hallway. If you can do the other two and the one in the foyer, it would be a huge help.”

  “Look, I don’t have the training for that—”

  “It’s super easy. I wouldn’t have you do it if it was dangerous.”

  “Yeah, I trust you, but Kevin said—”

  “You see Kevin here?” Alphabet asks. “I won’t say anything if you help, you get it?”

  The implied threat is there. If I don’t help, it’ll cost me. And everything hits in a wave. The conditions of my probation. What it means if I lose this job. What happens if I attach the lighting and the place goes up in flames.

  “Look,” he says, “I’ll double-check the wiring once you’re done.”

  “If you’re going to do that, you may as well do the whole thing.” I turn away and hope I don’t get clocked in the head. “When quitting time comes, Kevin’s going to want to know why I didn’t get my job done. I’m not messing with my timeline for you.”

  He cusses me out, but I ignore him and go back to work.

  The rest of the afternoon passes in a haze of paint fumes and churning stomach acid. When it’s time to quit, I pack up my stuff. I want to avoid Alphabet, but I don’t want to be a coward. I look for him, figuring I’ll make like nothing happened and then we can head out like usual. I find him under the kitchen sink, fiddling with the pipes. He doesn’t see or hear me. And my radar goes off. He’s an electrician. Why’s he messing with the pipes? Instinct makes me back away and keep my mouth shut. I grab my gear and head outside.

  Every Friday, Kevin takes the entire crew out for dinner. I hang with a couple of the guys, waiting for the rest to meet up. Alphabet walks past me and heads to Kevin. They lean into each other, talking low and quickly. Then they both look over at me. Alphabet walks away as Kevin waves me over.

  “How was the afternoon?” he asks.

  “Fine.”

  “And the painting.” He’s watching me. “That went good?”

  “Yeah, I’m all done ’cept for some trim in the kitchen.”

  He’s still giving me the look. “That it?” “Yeah.”

  A long minute goes by, and then he calls Alphabet over. “Alphabet said he asked for your help and you didn’t give it.”

  “I wasn’t sure how long the painting would take,” I tell him. “You gave me a job. I wanted to get it done.”

  Alphabet and Kevin look at each other. Then they look at me.

  I stop breathing.

  Kevin slaps me on the back. “That was a great answer.”

  “You did good, kid,” says Alphabet. “You stood up to me, but you didn’t rat me out.”

  My head is spinning. “It…it was a test?”

  Kevin nods. “Trust but verify. I can’t put customers at risk or screw with my business. I had to make sure you were trustworthy, and you did awesome. We can start giving you more responsibility. Who knows, maybe construction will be more than a high-school thing for you.” Relief rushes through me. “Thanks.” I follow Kevin and Alphabet to the truck and head to dinner. I’m so happy, I think I could fly to the restaurant. No way anything can get me down.

  I’m almost swaggering when I go for my check-in with Mary. She’s busy with another kid, so I wait. The main door opens and the cop from last time comes in. She sees me, smiles.

  “I can tell you’ve got some good news,” she says as she takes a spot next to me.

  It’s weird that she cares, and I don’t know how to handle it. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Got a job and been working.”

  “Oh yeah?” She’s all big smiles. “Where at?”

  So weird. Is she following me? Or following up on me?

  She must see the wariness on my face. “Relax, kid,” she says. “It’s a coincidence I’m here.” She nods at Mary’s closed door. “There are groups of law-enforcement and social-agency workers that meet on a regular basis. Cops, social workers, probation guys.” She leans back in her chair. “Inter-agency cooperation is part group therapy, part making sure we’re doing all we can to help those in the system. Today’s one of the meetings. It’s just down the hallway. One of the guys is retiring, and Mary’s taking up a collection. I figured I’d come in, donate, then head out.” She smiles. “And I saw you, so I thought I’d check in.” Her smile turns to a grin. “And check up on you.”

  “Oh.�
��

  “So, tell me more about the job.”

  “Um, it’s with a construction contractor.”

  “Oh. Who?”

  “Kevin St. James.”

  The frown that crosses her face is fast, but I catch it.

  “That’s good. I hear he’s got a real heart for kids.”

  I stay quiet.

  “So, things are good? Really?”

  She’s making my insides squirm, and not in that awesome way a pretty girl can do. “All good.” Thankfully, Mary comes out of the office.

  She glances at the cop. “Andrea. Great. You’re here.” A quick look my way. “Just give me a sec, okay, sweetie?”

  I nod and ignore the sugar tone.

  A few minutes later they come out.

  “Okay, Javvan. Your turn.”

  I tell her about everything—including my run-in with Alphabet. Figure it’s got to be good for some kind of bonus points or honorable mention.

  She’s actually decent about the whole thing. Congratulates me. “You might actually break the cycle,” she says. “No recidivism.”

  I stand. “I’m not screwing this up.”

  “Good.” And there’s a weird hitch in her voice. “Make sure you don’t.”

  Over the next couple of weeks I get more comfortable with the job, and Kevin starts giving me more responsibility. He’s letting me use the corporate card to pick up supplies, and the truck to grab lunch. A couple of times, people leave their payments in envelopes at their houses, and Kevin lets me collect them. It’s a huge nod to his faith in me, and I appreciate it.

  This morning we’re taking care of a bunch of houses in the northeast. I do a coffee run for the crew and bring it back to the house. The home is finished, but there is some extra work needed, so Kevin sends Alphabet and me. It’s nothing major. Alphabet’s got to do some stuff in the master bathroom, and I’m touching up the nail holes in the baseboard. But I’m not thrilled.

  Something’s up with Alphabet. He’s messing with the houses. Not all of them, but a few. I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I see him doing stuff he’s not supposed to. Taking wrenches to the water pipes. Screwing around with the flooring. Part of me wants to tell Kevin. He’s been good to me, and I want to be good back. Most of me, though, wants to keep my mouth shut.