Plight of Hand
Pick a card
Chris flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the curb as he piled into his 2011 Toyota Camry. He’d have to go a few miles over the speed limit if he wanted to make it to Colin’s ninth birthday on time. Fortunately, he wasn’t paid by the minute, and besides, the parents were typically so preoccupied at these things they wouldn’t notice the difference between him showing up on time or forty-five minutes late.
He popped a breath mint into his mouth and rolled down the windows in hopes it would dissipate the cigarette smell he carried around almost like cologne. His mother would be mortified if she knew the volume of smoke he was pumping into his lungs. Then again, as far as she knew, he was the hottest new magician Los Angeles had seen since Penn & Teller.
Chris’s agent, Timmy, got him this gig. Apparently, he’d been fraternity brothers with Colin’s dad in college.
“It’s all about networking, Chris. You meet the right person at one of these things and your career could skyrocket.”
Chris couldn’t fault Timmy’s optimism. He said he saw something “special” in Chris after watching him successfully hypnotize an entire bachelorette party at the Santa Monica Magician’s Showcase. That was three years ago, and now his primary clientele consisted mostly of children’s birthday parties, mid-level company retreats, and the occasional Carnival cruise session.
Chris heard his phone begin to ring. Glancing down, he saw it was Timmy. Surely it was the usual spiel.
My main magical client! Feeling good? Remember—magic is only half the gig here. The real trick is finding someone who’ll get you a spot at the Magic Castle. You call yourself the magician, yet I’m the only one pulling invisible gigs out of my Rolodex!
Timmy was uniquely gifted at making Chris feel just short of his abilities, as if he believed in him right up until the moment he had to vouch for him.
“What’s up, Timmy? I’m on my way to Colin’s right now. Like fifteen minutes out.”
“Dude! Chris. You gotta step on it, brother. One of the kids’ dads—or uncles or something—is an entertainment producer for the MGM Grand in Vegas. Apparently some of the magician residencies are going sideways and they need to fill a few openings. He said he’d watch your act, but he’s gotta run in like twenty minutes. Where the hell are you?!”
“Wow. Oh my God. Okay, I just turned onto Santa Monica and will be there as soon as I can. Please just stall as long as you can.”
“Chris, this might be as good a chance as you’re gonna get, buddy. The kind of thing that could change your career. I’ll let him know you’re on your way.”
Chris was met with the disconnect tone.
This could be his chance.
Chris knew he was a good magician. Not just oh wow, that’s cute good. Like, legitimately good. At this point, his pursuit was about timing. Not the kind of timing that makes a joke funny, but the kind where a relationship finally works out with your crush. The kind of timing you’ve been waiting your whole life for. It was about taking advantage of the moment—albeit brief—when the stars align just right and everything you’ve ever wanted sits at your fingertips.
How many dreams lie forgotten in the past because timing went unrecognized?
His heart was racing. Almost as fast as his 2011 Toyota Camry—which hadn’t seen this level of acceleration since Barack Obama’s second term in office.
Chris’s excitement turned to near hysteria when his eyes caught the rearview mirror.
Police lights.
Right behind him.
Almost as quickly as the Camry had climbed to sixty-five miles per hour, it precipitously fell back to zero. In a flashbulb moment, Chris knew what he had to do.
“License and registration, pl—”
“Pick a card, any card, officer.”
Deadpan, Chris held out the deck of cards he kept on him at all times. Magician’s code.
The officer paused, looking at Chris with bewilderment.
“Listen, sir. You were going thirty over the limit. I gotta give you a ticket. Now please, license and regis—”
“How about this, officer? You pick a card from this deck and slide it back anywhere you’d like. I’ll shuffle the deck, and if I can guess your card on the first try, then you have to let me go.”
“Son, I really don’t have time for this. Now you can either give me your license and registration or—”
Cutting him off, Chris reached behind the officer’s ear and pulled out his license and registration.
The officer paused again and grabbed the materials. Not that he’d ever say it, but he admired Chris’s aplomb.
Chris, still holding the deck of cards out, made one last plea.
“You gotta understand, officer. I’m on my way to perform at this birthday party, and my agent just called saying there’s this Vegas production executive there who’s gonna watch me, and I mean, it could be the big break I finally need. I’ve been out here so long and keep hitting dead ends, and I’m starting to wonder if I made the right choice, and I miss my parents, and—”
Chris’s plea had turned into lamenting long enough for him to realize the officer had taken a card from the deck and slid it back in.
Chris looked up.
The officer looked back at him and flashed an almost imperceptible smile.
“Go on then,” he said.
Chris quickly shuffled the deck with poise. After a few snaps of the cards, he drew out the seven of hearts. With every ounce of confidence in his body, he turned to the officer.
“This your card?”
The officer’s expression dropped.
“I’m sorry, son. That’s not my card.”
Chris wasn’t fazed.
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry. Got ahead of myself. Could you do me a favor and check in there?” Chris said, gesturing toward his license and registration. “Now, if memory serves, there should be a four of diamonds in there. The same one you just grabbed. How about that one?”
The officer’s expression turned stunned.
“That is my card! That’s gotta be one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen!”
It was like he was twelve years old again.
He handed Chris back his materials and nodded, signaling for him to be on his way.
“Thanks! You’ve been a great crowd!” Chris yelled as he sped off.
Chris shifted his Camry into park as he arrived at Colin’s house. Thanks to his roadside heroics, he figured he had somewhere between five and ten minutes to wow the prospective MGM producer.
He quickly glanced at the license and registration he’d tossed onto the passenger seat while getting out.
Should probably put that away.
Picking it up, the card centerpiece of his trick for the officer slipped from the stack and revealed itself.
Chris looked down.
Nine of clubs.
Nine of clubs? How is that possible?
His heart sank.
If he’d done the trick correctly, the officer should’ve pulled the four of diamonds.
He got the trick wrong.
Chris slowly stepped out of the car, having lost any hope of impressing the producer. He lit a cigarette, as if metaphorically splashing water on his face.
A gentleman on his way out of Colin’s house saw Chris smoking and couldn’t resist.
“Any chance you’d lend a smoke?” he asked warmly.
Without much acknowledgment, Chris pulled out his Marlboro Golds and handed him one.
“It’s funny—in my line of work, these things are everywhere,” the man said, striking up a conversation. “You’d think I’d have an aversion to them at this point.”
“What do you do for work?” Chris asked halfheartedly.
“I help manage some of the programming for the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. Cigarette culture is still alive and well in that city.”
Chris’s posture immediately shifted.
This had to be the guy Timmy was talking about.
Without missing a beat, he opened the door to his Camry, shuffled together his deck of cards, and quickly turned back to the now-important stranger.
He held the deck out.
“Pick a card. Any card.”