Short Story: Five-finger Magic Trick

It was just an ordinary looking black, leather jacket. It looked and felt like real leather, but not embellished. Anne had walked out of the store empty handed and spotted a black leather jacket lying in the adjacent alley. Score. Real leather? Did she care? She picked it up and rubbed her fingers on its soft material. No one was around to claim it and whomever left it there certainly didn’t care about it. She didn’t want that kind of craftsmanship going to waste and threw it on. She dusted the sleeves as they had a little bit of alley on them. Anne then spotted two small red dots on the end of the right sleeve. They looked like paint. She tried rubbing it off to no avail and thought about smelling it to decipher what it was before thinking better on it. How was she to know it was blood.  She’d clean it when she got home. She should’ve left it in the street.

Anne couldn’t recall when she got the adrenaline bug. Since she was five or six, she loved feeling excited and being surprised. Her father had been a magician and when he wasn’t at his full-time job, running his interior design business, he would teach Anne his tricks. Every night, he sat Anne down with his arms spread apart. His hands, gigantic and smooth were still, apart from his long fingers which were dancing and wiggling. She pictured the crisscrossing lines on each of his hands. She felt his hand brush past her ear and it was back in front of her eyes before she could blink. But this time, a shiny silver coin, usually a quarter, was entrancing her. She couldn’t believe how nimble his fingers were, striking that quickly. To have the power to make things appear and disappear before people knew what hit them. Magic was beautiful. She tried mastering the same tricks her father showed her. He was good enough to get invited to tryouts at The Magic Castle in Hollywood. She helped him pick out the outfit for his interview. He wore a black suit, black shoes and slicked back his hair. He looked so mysterious and powerful. Anne was disappointed he wouldn’t wear a cape.

“All great magicians have capes” she told him.

He gave her a mischievous grin, knelt beside her on the bed and said,

“The best magicians only need the basics, what’s right in front of them.”

He winked, waved his left hand in front of her face, wiggling those fingers. In a flash, a rose was in front of her. He got the job, but only did a few shows before his work got too busy for him to have a hobby of any sort.

When he was too busy to help her, Anne sat alone in her room for hours trying to move a quarter between her fingers. Pinky to thumb, thumb to pinky and pinky back to thumb. They had to be magnets, always touching. The tricks were never dangerous, just pure excitement. Seventeen years later, she still carried around a quarter in her pocket, fiddling with it whenever bored or anxious. Anne carried the same quarter with her for a year. It was the same one she had been practicing with in her dorm room senior year when she got the news that her father had passed away. It had felt like a magic trick, but one done to her, not for her. One day he was there and then he was gone. Stealing was easy. She could make anything disappear. Like father like daughter. She only felt excitement and thrill, the way she’d felt watching him perform magic, when stealing. Now every time before entering a store, Anne moved the quarter between her fingers. She saw her dad’s winking eye and wiggling fingers. She smiled and entered.

***

It was Sunday, August 6th and Anne got the sudden urge to rush out of a store, sporting a new coat. She groaned and put the pillow over her face. Why didn’t she want to do normal things that twenty-three-year-old’s fresh out of college wanted to do? Work for a non-profit, go on terrible first dates with “entrepreneurs,” aka, aspiring actors. She could go for a jog, get brunch with her stepsisters. Right. She eventually crawled out of bed, throwing on jeans and a shirt.

With six to ten people in a store, Anne easily got away with a new dress, top or coat in about twenty minutes. She timed her exit of the store with the oncoming of bustling feet, disguising any alarms sounding. Most store entrance doors chimed with the emergence of a new customer. If Anne blurred into the crowd of entering shoppers while exiting, she was safe. She quickly removed her large, baggy coat with the stolen item and rounded the corner of the next street. On that fateful Sunday, she wouldn’t be stealing anything. Apparently, that Sunday was not the day for large crowds shopping. She was nifty, but didn’t want to risk it, even though her stepmom, Jane and stepsisters Jackie and Jill were oblivious to her extracurricular activities.

“Jackie and Jill, seriously?”

Anne asked her dad after first hearing about them. She remembered the way his face lit up when he said Jane’s name. The three of them were the trio and Anne moved in with them after graduating. They were nice enough and made her feel instantly welcomed into their home. Well, it was the home her dad bought them and she could feel him everywhere. The dark, but not ominously dark furniture and warm brown wood floors made Anne feel safe. Jane was another designer at her dad’s company and they fell in love over their fondness of the modern farmhouse. Anne decided to work at the company for at least a year, until she decided on a responsible career path. It was boring file organization and getting coffee for clients, but it left her plenty of free time for her real passion in life. Jackie and Jill kept to themselves, binge watching reality TV while Anne came and went as she pleased. Jane never questioned her coming home in the dead of summer with a giant coat on.

“Aren’t you burning up in that thing?” Jane asked bewilderedly.

“Oh, yeah, I just didn’t feel like putting on sunscreen…I already showered today,” Anne replied.

Jane stood still for half a second before shrugging and going back to doing house chores. Anne wasn’t sure if the trio would understand her hobby and it wasn’t like she was stealing diamond rings or priceless artifacts.

***

It was 3:30pm on Wednesday, the 9th and it had still been an abnormally hot day for August. Anne entered the house, followed by the trio, going straight to the kitchen to drop off their groceries. They were smooshed in the kitchen, grocery bags being unpacked and the fridge being stacked when three hard knocks hit the front door, followed by “LAPD!” They jumped with terror and Anne almost smacked her face on an open cabinet as she turned around to face the front door. Jackie squeaked “did he just say LAPD?” Jane went to the front door and peered through the eye hole. Dark suits and badges stood on the front steps. Jane cautiously opened the door to two male cops and one female cop standing in a triangular formation. The cop in front sported a thick brown mustache, balding head and slightly formed gut. He was middle-aged with a potent aftershave and nametag that read Anderson. He stared intensely at Jane. What a cliché. Bring any donuts? She almost giggled at the sight of him and immediately bit her tongue.

“Mam, we’re here about a missing person. A young woman has disappeared and we’re looking into her whereabouts. Is there an Anne, Anne Frazier who lives here?”

Anne’s face went slack and she didn’t feel like giggling anymore. Jane stepped aside to let the cops in and everyone glared at Anne. Anne stared at Anderson, tongue-tied. Words. Speak.

“I-I’m Anne” she murmured.

She wished there was magic powder to throw to create a diversion for herself. Or actual magic powers to disappear. What the hell was this? Anderson started talking to her.

“Were you at Molly’s this past Sunday?

“Mol-ly’s?” Anne hesitated as she spoke.

“It’s a thrift store not too far from here.”

“Um…right, yes…” Anne said.

“What’s this about officer?” Jane jumped in.

“Mam, the store’s security cameras place your daughter outside of the store, in the adjacent alley.”

His eyes shifted back to Anne with a simultaneous head nod.

“You were seen picking up a black leather jacket and putting it on. Was it your jacket?”

OMG. SHIT.

“Um, no. I found it on the ground. Guess someone lost it or dropped it. No harm, no foul, right?”

The cops looked at each other and back at Anne.

“Well, no, bu-”

“Am I seriously being arrested for steal-picking up that jacket?”

One of the other cops, Dawson, chimed in with a raised hand to stop any oncoming hysterics.

“No one’s getting arrested. We think that jacket belonged to the missing young woman. We’re just trying to figure out what happened to her.”

Anne’s body felt heavy and she couldn’t run for it even if she wanted to.

“Do you still have the jacket in question?”

Answer the clichéd mustache cop!

“It’s in my bedroom,” she said, managing to point upstairs.

The mustache on Anderson’s face continued to move and more words spat out of it.

“We also found a small blood trail where you picked up the jacket. The jacket might also have blood on it and is now evidence.”

 “We’re here to help, officers, this is just terrible news. Anything you need,” piped up Jane.

“Miss?” Anderson looked back at Anne.

“Yes, cliché-sir?”

“We may need you to come down to the station at some point to give a statement on finding the jacket. For now, we’ll take the jacket with us.”

Anne pointed up the stairs and then cocked her index finger. “End of the hall on the left.”

“Stay here until we say otherwise, OK?”

“Ookaay,” said Anne with an unplanned two fingered soldier salute.

Anderson gave her a half smile that read ‘kids these days.’ Anderson and another male cop, Bingham, headed upstairs to Anne’s bedroom. Anne, Jane and her stepsisters were left downstairs with Dawson, a young female cop. She watched her partners disappear behind the upstairs wall and then glued her eyes to Anne after a full scan of the trio.

The trio stared intently at Anne, their eyes burning a hole in Anne’s chest. She sat down on the stair’s first step before her legs gave out. Anne tried cracking a small smile in Dawson’s direction, a sad attempt to show her as a harmless young woman caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dawson remained unmoved. Her dark eyes stared at Anne for so long, Anne immediately looked to the floor as if something interesting were appearing in the wood. So, the universe wasn’t rewarding her at all, but sending her some ironic bullshit. She hadn’t stolen anything the other day, but found a jacket totally up for grabs only to discover it had belonged to a missing woman who could potentially be dead. Well, abrakafuckingdabra.

Ten grueling minutes passed by. Anderson and Bingham came back down the stairs. Anne realized she had chewed the skin on her right thumb so violently that it had started bleeding. Bingham held Anne’s beloved jacket while Anderson waddled his way down, holding onto the banister. Don’t you need to be in good shape to be a cop? Anne snapped back to reality just in time to move out the way. She got up and shuffled past Dawson. Anderson scratched his mustache and said,

“We’ll need to take this down to the station for processing and we’ll be in touch about your statement.”

“We can do that here, though, can’t we?” interjected Jane.

“What we have currently, is enough. We may need you to come down to the station at some point to answer any further questions, so don’t leave town.”

“Wasn’t planning on it…,” blurted out Anne.

She instantly looked up at Anderson whose mustache seemed to go stiff like his posture. He kept his spiel going.

            “We also did find blood stains on the right sleeve.”

OK, so that was blood, not paint. Great.

            “And this blood belonged to your missing woman?”

No shit Jane.

            “Most likely, but if it belonged to her attacker, we could get lucky and ID him or her based off their DNA.”

Oh, that’s true. Sorry Jane. Anderson asked,

“Out of curiosity, why did you take that jacket? Didn’t you see the blood trail nearby?”

Anne started turning white.

“Well, it didn’t have a name on the tag or anything and it had obviously been abandoned or forgotten. It was just lying in the middle of the alley way.”

The three cops shared a swift glance between them.

“Didn’t you at least see the blood on the sleeve?” chimed in Bingham.

Anne barked back,

“I thought it was paint. It looked like dried red paint and I didn’t smell it. I’m not a Blood Hound.”

Damn. That was only supposed to be inside voice. INSIDE VOICE.

“Anne,” said Jane. You’re not in any trouble. Right officers?”

“Right,” reassured Anderson along with Dawson and Bingham nodding.

Anne sighed and glanced quickly at Jackie and Jill. They looked at her with pity. Anne started breathing rapidly. What self-respecting thief would steal something linked to a crime?

“Officers, I think Anne has told you all there is to tell on this subject.”

Thank you, Jane. Anderson clicked his pen and shoved his notebook into his back pants pocket.

“If you think of anything else or have any information to give on this matter, here’s my number. Call at any time.”

Anderson pulled out a small, white rectangular card so quickly, Anne almost didn’t notice until he waved it directly at her. Her dad’s face flashed before her. She felt for the quarter in her pocket. A warm smile took over her. She quickly retracted it after the card was still staring her in the face.  She took the business card from Anderson’s chubby hand. He smiled back, his mustache yielding with this mouth. The cops were almost entirely out the door, with Bingham leading the way outside when Anderson retorted,

“Oh, and next time you see a stranded piece of clothing in the middle of an alley way, better to just leave it be. Especially, if there are red stains on it.”

He gave Anne a tiny wink with his left eye, nodded and turned around to follow the others. She could see small smirks appearing on Bingham’s and Dawson’s faces.

“Will do,” she said through a gritted smile.

Jackass.

Anne looked down at the business card which read ‘Lieutenant Walter Anderson’ in the middle followed by a string of words underneath reading ‘LAPD Detectives Unit: Missing Persons and Homicide.’ Anne suddenly thought of Lt. Anderson’s balding head and gut protruding past his belt. How was that overweight, mustached cliché a lead detective? How could that be tied to any sort of intelligence.

The trio still stared at her and Anne wished for a trap door to fall through. Jane put her hand on Anne’s arm, her eyes wide.

“So, is taking clothing off the street a usual occurrence for you?” Jane finally asked.

            “How could I have known this would happen?! It was just lying there.”

Anne wasn’t escaping the conversation she knew was coming.

            “I think there are some things we need to discuss. You don’t think I know what you do in your spare time?”

Anne peered into Jane’s eyes and saw, not disappointment, but sadness. A shared sadness. Anne looked down at the wood floors and felt her dad. Her right hand still grasped the quarter in her pocket. It felt heavier, her fingers feeling its weight and coldness. She brought it out in front of her. They all watched her twirl it between her fingers before it suddenly disappeared into thin air.

            “Magic is beautiful, isn’t it?”