Wild Card

The old magician said sure, and Valentine removed a deck of cards from pile, took them out of their box, and spread them faceup on the counter. “This deck was sealed in a box. When I unwrapped the box and took the cards out, I discovered they weren’t in new deck order. They were all mixed up.”

“This the order you found them in?”

“Yes.”

Uncle Al looked through the cards. “Were there advertising cards and jokers in the box?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“It’s called a cold deck,” Uncle Al said. “The cheater takes a brand new deck and slits the plastic with a knife. The plastic is removed, and then the seal is steamed off the box. The deck is removed and stacked for a game of poker. The cheater picks a game where there’s a lot of betting, like seven card stud. The cheater puts the cards back in the box along with the advertising cards and jokers. He glues the seal, slips on the plastic wrap, and tapes the tear. Viola! A cold deck.”

“How is it brought into play?”

“That’s the clever part. It’s used when the players aren’t paying attention. The cheater’s partner spills a drink, and ruins the cards. That’s when the cheater brings in the cold deck. He false-shuffles them, then let’s his partner false cut them.”

“Isn’t that risky?”

“If it’s late in the game, it’s not such a big deal.”

“These are pretty sophisticated kids, huh?” Valentine asked.

“Pros.”

Uncle Al picked up his pastrami sandwich and bit into it. Valentine dropped the marked cards and crooked dice into the bag, and realized what the old magician had just told him. These kids were real criminals, just like the bookies his son was hanging around with. The kids were being influenced by all the gambling at the casino. He needed to sit down with Gerry, and get his son straightened out, or risk real problems later on. Looking around the store, he said, “Do you have any new tricks? I need something to show my son.”

Uncle Al put down his sandwich. It was held together with toothpicks and looked like it weighed a pound. “Did I ever show you the vanishing cigarette?”

“No.”

“Greatest trick ever invented.”

“Is it hard to learn?”

“A five year old can do it, with ten years of practice.” Uncle Al took a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket, removed one, and fired it up. He handed the cigarette to Valentine.

“Look normal?”

Valentine examined the burning cigarette. “Yes.”

Reaching above his head, Uncle Al plucked a beautiful red scarf out of thin air. He held it by the corners, and displayed both sides. “Watch the professor,” he said. Draping the scarf over his left fist, he made a well in the material with his right thumb. Taking the lit cigarette, he placed it into the well, lit end first. Smoke poured out of the scarf.

“You’ll ruin it,” Valentine said.

“A common misconception,” Uncle Al said. “Sim… Sala… Bim!”

Grasping a corner, Uncle Al shook the scarf out with a flourish. The material was undamaged, the cigarette gone. He smiled triumphantly.

“How did you do that?” Valentine asked.

“Ten bucks and the secret is yours.”

Valentine pulled out his wallet and discovered he had nine bucks to his name. Going outside, he found a dollar in change in the glove compartment of his car, and returned to the store and paid up. Uncle Al rang up the sale, then made Valentine stick out his hands. He examined his thumbs and said, “You’re right-handed, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” Valentine said.

“Good. Now watch.”

Uncle Al grasped his own right thumb with his left fingers, and pulled it clean off. Then he dropped his thumb onto the counter. Valentine stared in disbelief. The thumb lying on the counter was hollow and made from flesh-colored plastic. It looked so real that it first glance, it was a little scary. Stuck inside of it was the vanished cigarette. Uncle Al removed the vanished cigarette, then stuck the device onto Valentine’s thumb. It fit perfectly.

“Get it?” he said.

Chapter 54

It was called a thumb tip, and had been used by magicians for centuries. The key to wearing one, Uncle Al said, was for the magician to forget he had it on.

Valentine sat behind the wheel of his car and played with the thumb tip he’d just bought, wondering if this was what Sissy had seen in the glove compartment of the Dresser’s car. It was not far-fetched to think that the Dresser might have used magic tricks to get his victims to drop their guard. He had read in the newspaper about a serial killer named John Wayne Gacy who was a magician. Gacy liked to pick up runaway boys, and show them how he could escape from a pair of handcuffs. When the boy would try the cuff on, Gacy would strangle him. He had killed thirty kids that way.

But maybe Sissy had seen something else in the Dresser’s glove compartment. Now that she’d left town, there was no way of knowing, and in frustration he backed out of his parking space. Driving away, it suddenly occurred to him that he was wrong. There was a way of finding out, and it was a phone call away.