by Jeff Strand
Marcus took a different deck of cards out of his pocket. Ken’s fist quivered with rage. If he launched that thing, it was going to be a nose-breaker for sure.
“All right,” said Marcus. “For my last trick, you need to pay really close attention. Follow the card.” He held up the top card in the deck, a nine of clubs. He put it back on top of the deck and then held the deck in his left hand. “There’s a story to this one. Once upon a time, a card committed a horrible crime against the other cards, so he needed to hide. He’s trying to hide in this very deck. Do you know where he is?”
Ken hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Point to him.”
Using his other hand, the one that was not currently preparing to punch Marcus, Ken pointed to the top card.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m probably wrong since it’s a trick, but that’s where the card went before you did whatever you’re doing.”
“Okay, so very slowly without letting the other cards see, I want you to slide that card out of the deck. Remember, it’s very important that the other cards not see it. I’m counting on you.”
Ken, looking dubious, began to very slowly slide the card out of the deck.
“Slower,” said Marcus.
Ken pulled even slower. Joe and Chris both leaned forward, watching intently.
“A liiiiiiittle bit slower.”
“I can’t move it any slower.”
“Just a bit. You’re doing fine. But don’t let the other cards see it. That part is crucial.”
Ken continued to move the card one molecule at a time.
Then Marcus punched him in the stomach.
Ken doubled over as the cards spilled to the ground.
Marcus was not proud of this. Using magic to distract somebody before you sucker punched him was not part of the magician’s code of ethics. (Presumably.) Magic was supposed to delight and entertain, not cause people to roll around on the sidewalk, groaning in pain.
He could imagine Grandpa Zachary gazing down upon him. “That’s not why I taught you these tricks,” he’d say, shaking his head in disapproval.
“I know,” Marcus would say. “But it’s hard enough for me to speak in front of an audience without letting Ken knock out a few of my teeth.”
“There’s no excuse for what you did,” Grandpa Zachary might say. “And I’m afraid I must strongly condemn your behavior, and I hope the shame of what you’ve done keeps you awake at night, and…are your mom and dad around?”
“No.”
“I guess I should have known that already since I’m floating right above you. I don’t know why I asked that. So okay, here’s the deal. Punching people in the stomach is wrong. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, good. And you know that you should always strive to take the nonviolent approach to work out a disagreement, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. And never waver from that…except maybe when you’ve got three bigger guys planning to beat you up, and you only got involved because you were trying to stop them from hurting another kid. There’s no reason for you to get your face pounded for being a Good Samaritan. Their unfair advantage is that there are three of them, and your unfair advantage is your ability to use misdirection before delivering a mighty blow. So to recap, try not to get into fights, and never do this again. But I’m not going to lie. It was pretty clever. I enjoyed it. Please don’t tell your parents I said that, even though I’m dead.”
“I won’t,” Marcus would promise. “Are you in heaven?”
“It’s a secret. If I told you that, I’d have to kill you too.”
“I understand.”
“Anyway, I’ve got to go. But regarding your idea about making a live shark disappear on stage, what I have to say about that is—”
That’s when, if his great-grandfather were really floating above Marcus, he would have faded away because it would have been the most inconvenient time. That’s how these things worked.
Of course, this imaginary conversation had happened really quickly because there was still running to do.
Marcus sped off.
He quickly realized that he was running in the wrong direction. He should’ve ignored Peter and run toward his own home, but instead he ran after the kid dripping root beer, shouting, “Hurry! Hurry! Run! Run!”
Behind him, Marcus could hear Chris and Joe laughing hysterically. Apparently, they thought it was hilarious that Ken had been punched in the stomach by a skinny freshman. It did not appear that bullies had tight bonds of friendship.
“Hurry! Hurry! Run! Run!” Marcus repeated as he sped past Peter. This street was a dead end, but if he had to, Marcus would cut through somebody’s yard and hope the person didn’t have a murderous dog.
“I’ll get you!” Ken shouted before he had a coughing fit.
“That was a weak threat,” said Chris.
“This isn’t—cough, cough—over, Magic—cough, cough—Boy!”
“My house is the brown one on the left!” shouted Peter.
Marcus saw the small brown home all the way at the end of the block. He picked up his sprinting pace. He figured that he wasn’t really abandoning Peter if he was headed to Peter’s house.
He reached Peter’s front yard and turned back. Peter wasn’t quite running, and he wasn’t quite walking. It was sort of an “I don’t want any more root beer poured on my head by those guys, but I’m not going to exert myself any more than necessary” pace. Peter didn’t seem like he was in bad shape. He wasn’t breathing heavy or anything. He just didn’t seem like running was worth the bother.
“Hurry!” Marcus shouted as if this would help remind Peter that there was danger afoot.
Ken was still on the ground. Again, there was no glory in a sucker punch to the gut, but it felt good to know that there was actually an instance when Marcus was not somebody others should mess with. Chris and Joe stood around, not trying to help Ken up.
Marcus stood in front of Peter’s house and waited. His yard definitely needed mowing. Maybe Marcus could pick up a new customer.
Peter needed to hurry. Why wasn’t he hurrying? Any moment now Chris and Joe could stop giggling at their fallen comrade and seek vengeance.
Finally, Peter walked into his driveway. “Want to come inside?” he asked.
“Yes! Yes, I do!”
Peter, still refusing to move like somebody in peril, dug around in his pants pocket for a few moments.
“Ken is getting up,” Marcus informed him.
Peter continued to fish around in his pocket.
“He looks unhappy,” said Marcus.
Peter took out a key. “Here we go,” he said. He unlocked the front door and pushed it open. Without waiting for a formal invitation, Marcus went inside, and Peter, still in no particular hurry, followed.
9
Peter’s house was gloomy, dusty, and did not have a refreshing smell. It was like his family used to have a housekeeper, but she had died during the course of her duties, and her body hadn’t been discovered yet.
Marcus peeked out the front window.
“Are they coming?” Peter asked.
Marcus wiped the glass with his hand and then peeked again. “Yeah.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Well, they’re jerks, but I don’t think they’re psycho killers,” said Marcus. “It’s not like they’re going to try to break down the door or anything.”
“Glad to hear that.” Peter scratched his head. “Hey, would it be rude if I went and took a quick shower? I’ve got food and soda in my hair.”
“No, sure, go ahead.”
“Cool.”
“Is anyone going to come home while you’re in there? I don’t want your mom or dad to wonder why there’s a strange kid in you
r living room.”
“Nah.”
“Okay. See you after the shower.”
Peter walked down a hallway. Marcus returned his attention to the front window. Ken, Chris, and Joe stood at the foot of Peter’s driveway, staring at the house.
Marcus looked around for something he could use in the unlikely event that this became a siege situation. There were plenty of magazines to choose from if he wanted to inflict paper cuts. There was also something that looked like a dead dog (which would make a lousy weapon) but on second glance turned out to be a discarded jacket.
Marcus didn’t think the seniors were really going to try to break in. But if they did, he could scare them away with the moose head on the wall.
Ken, Chris, and Joe seemed to be discussing their options. Then they started to walk away. Joe said something that made Chris laugh, and then they high-fived, and then Ken shoved Joe to the ground, and then Chris shoved Ken to the ground, and then Joe got back up and said something else that made Chris laugh, and then Ken got up, and then the three boys walked off together.
Whew.
Marcus turned on a light on an end table, which made the room exactly 7 percent less gloomy. Now he could see that the walls were covered with moose pictures in addition to the moose head. There were moose everywhere. He’d never considered the possibility that he might develop a moose phobia one day, but if he did, Peter’s living room was where it would originate.
The living room also had a large brown couch that might be suitable for sitting on if he brushed away the potato chip crumbs, which actually made Marcus hungry.
He considered walking into the kitchen to peek in the refrigerator, but that would be rude. Instead Marcus peeked out the window to see if the bullies had returned with reinforcements. They were nowhere to be seen. Technically, there was no reason for him to stick around now that the danger had passed. He could call out, “Well, I’ll see you at school tomorrow!” and leave.
Nah, that would be impolite…and kind of dumb if it turned out that the Ken/Chris/Joe team was still watching the house. He’d hang out a bit longer.
He took out a deck of cards and practiced shuffling.
The shower stopped. A couple of minutes later, Peter walked into the living room.
“Uh, you missed a piece of meat loaf,” said Marcus.
“Where?”
“Over your right ear.”
Peter swiped his hand over his ear. “Did I get it?”
“No.”
“What about now?”
“Still there.”
“Back in a second.”
“Okay.”
Peter padded down the hallway. He returned a moment later.
“I got it. It was a good-sized chunk too. Surprised I missed it.”
“Yeah,” said Marcus, unable to think of anything else to say.
“You want something to eat? I was going to make myself a sandwich.”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”
“You sure? We’ve got plenty of ham.”
“I’m sure.”
“You wouldn’t be making me go without lunch tomorrow or anything.”
“I’m sure.”
“We’ve got fresh ketchup.”
“I’m sure.”
“Suit yourself.” Peter walked into the kitchen. Marcus followed him.
The kitchen was brighter than the living room. Peter took a loaf of bread from a cabinet, and a package of ham from the refrigerator. He began to silently assemble his sandwich.
“So…you like moose, huh?” Marcus asked.
“My mom does.”
“What does she like about them?” Maybe a disappearing moose trick might be…nah.
“She likes how the word is the same when it’s plural. One moose. Two moose. You can’t do that with geese.”
“Ah.”
Peter opened a drawer and took out a few packets of McDonald’s ketchup. He tore the first packet open and squirted some onto the top piece of bread.
“Thanks,” said Peter.
“For what?”
Peter shrugged. “For not helping them pour soda on me, I guess.”
“Oh, sure, don’t mention it. Can I ask you a question?”
Peter tore open a second ketchup packet. “Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you stand up to them? You’re gigantic. They’re not brave guys. They would’ve left you alone if you didn’t sit there and take it.”
Peter stiffened a bit. “I can’t discuss that.”
“All right. But you don’t have to let them treat you like that. You should have been the one saving me.”
Peter stopped squirting ketchup. “You didn’t save me.”
“All I’m saying is that you could have shut them up and made them stop pretty easily.”
“Okay, but you didn’t save me. You didn’t swoop in and save the day, all right? That wasn’t a rescue.”
“Sure, sure, I know what you’re saying,” said Marcus, suddenly concerned that there was a block of butcher knives within Peter’s reach.
“My reason for not fighting back isn’t something I can talk about right now,” said Peter as he started applying ketchup to his sandwich again. “And I never will, so don’t ask.”
“I won’t.”
“But thank you for punching him.”
“No problem. I mean, it will be a problem because now I’m on their radar. I didn’t even think of that. Great. The rest of the school year is going to be so much fun.”
Peter tore open a third packet. “How long have you been into magic?”
“My entire life.”
“Did you do a trick with your umbilical cord?”
“No.” Marcus mentally filed away magic trick with umbilical cord for future reference, even though it was gross, and he’d probably never use it.
“How’d you learn ’em?”
“Books. Videos. Mostly my great-grandfather though. Have you ever heard of Zachary the Stupendous?”
Peter tore open a fourth packet. “No, I haven’t. I’m sorry. I might have seen him, but I don’t remember names very well.”
“He never really achieved the level of success he deserved. But he taught me lots of stuff.”
“I’ll have to go see him someday.”
“He died a few days ago.”
“Oh.” Peter looked at Marcus for a moment and then looked at the floor. “I guess I won’t then.”
“He didn’t become a star, but he got to do what he loved. That’s what I want out of life.”
“Me too. Although I don’t really love anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Not really.”
“You seem to love ketchup.”
Peter looked at the top piece of bread. “I do enjoy it. Not something I’d devote my life to. I like the taste, but it’s not that interesting to me.”
“I was joking.”
“Oh. I missed that part.”
“Anyway,” said Marcus, “I think the coast is probably clear, so I’m going to head home.”
“Do you make up any of your own tricks?” asked Peter. He picked up the ketchup-laden piece of bread and, moving quickly so that he didn’t spill any, flipped it over onto the other piece. He picked up the sandwich and took a bite.
“Oh, yeah, I love doing that,” said Marcus, perking up a bit.
“It must be hard. I’d think that most of the possible magic tricks have already been invented.”
“It’s a challenge, definitely. I’m going to try to make a shark disappear.”
“A real shark?”
“Yeah.”
“Where do you get one of those?”
“I have no idea.”
“I guess you could steal one from an aquarium.”
“I’m not going to steal one.”
“Do you know any fishermen?”
“No.”
“I’m out of ideas then.” Peter took another bite of his sandwich.
“I’ll figure it out. I’ve got almost two months.”
“Is it for school?”
“Nah,” Marcus said, and then he told Peter all about the bet between Grandpa Zachary and Bernard Pinther. “So you see, it wasn’t my idea at all, but I went along with it. I assumed Grandpa Zachary would help me out. Then he died. So I’m basically emotionally devastated, and I have to figure out how to do this trick. It’s going to be a crazy next few weeks.”
“How much did you bet?” Peter asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Peter swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. Marcus was glad to see it go. He was no fan of ketchup.
“Anyway,” said Marcus. “I should probably get home.”
“How are you going to make the shark disappear?”
“I’m not 100 percent sure yet.”
“How might you make the shark disappear?”
Marcus decided that it couldn’t hurt to reveal his secret, especially since he had no clue if it would actually work or not. “I’d put a mirror in the tank. It would be at a forty-five degree angle. If I set everything up right, it would just reflect the bottom of the tank. But people wouldn’t know they were looking at a reflection, and they’d think they were seeing the whole tank.”
“Oh,” said Peter, clearly not understanding.
“The tank is divided in half diagonally. The audience only sees the front half. If the shark swims behind the divider, the audience can’t see it, even though they think they’re seeing the entire tank.”
Peter nodded. “How do you get the shark to swim to the other side?”
“My hope is that an assistant can drop some meat in there, and the shark will swim over to eat it.”
“Won’t the audience see the assistant?”
“I have to work out how to hide her.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“It is.”
“Do you worry that your assistant could lose a hand?”
“She wouldn’t put her hand in the tank.”
