Magic Dude

by Lee Hayton

  “You picked a weird lot of friends to keep your company, son. Given half the world wants the object embedded in your hand, I’m disappointed you didn’t choose more wisely.”

  “Half the world, eh?” Tyler shifted in his chair. The icepack he was alternating on his eyelids had lost the original magic, but it still felt damn good. “Does half the world even know that magic exists? ‘Cause I sure as hell didn’t.”

  His dad sighed, wriggling his butt down further into the chair. “That’s your mom’s decision, not mine. I wanted to tell you what was up, but she wasn’t having any of it.”

  “Mom knew?”

  Tyler stared at his father, mouth agape. Of all the people that he’d thought would be involved in this wretched conspiracy, his dear departed ma hadn’t made the list.

  “With all this fandangled rubbish going on around it, of course, she knew. There’s nobody lives in close contact with one of our clan for very long without having the stone or the pursuit of it shoved in their face.”

  “I managed twenty-seven years.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Tyler’s dad leaned forward, peering at his son with a concerned frown on his face. “I don’t know where your memory’s gone, but you knew a hell of a lot more back when you were young.”

  The room shifted, jolting Tyler into bright awareness. The colors on show from the dim bulb overhead, suddenly became saturated, stained beyond endurance. He closed his eyes. Now, colors pulsed through his lids instead—a swirl of gold, blue, and brilliant red.

  “I don’t remember,” Tyler said in a weak voice. It would have been strong except that a memory was chinking at the edge of his brain. Images pushing to overthrow his current senses and show themselves, desperate to once again be seen.

  “Well, whatever.” His dad leaned back in his chair again, poking at the remote to turn the television back on. Sound blared out from the tinny speakers for a moment until Tyler reached across his father and turned it off.

  “You don’t get away that easy,” he said. “Withholding information at this stage could get my friends and me killed.”

  “Telling you anything won’t work out well for me.”

  “Who threw the canisters into the car?” Tyler asked, ignoring his father’s words. He could only concentrate on the danger to him at this time, expanding it out to encompass everyone was too big a challenge.

  When his father insisted on keeping his mouth shut, Tyler waved his hand in front of the man’s face.

  “I can make you talk if that’s the way you want to play it.”

  “Thought it was broken?”

  “Only with regards to these two.” Tyler jerked his head at Wilma and the hallway leading to the bathroom. “For everything else, it works just fine. How do you think I got information out of Julius?”

  “That weasel. If Julius comes near the stone again, shoot him dead. Better that than letting the slimeball get his hands on it again.”

  “What did he do with it?” Wilma asked. “And who took it from him?”

  “I lose track. I don’t want anything to do with it, so I try not to know about it at all.” Tyler’s dad offered them both a wide grin. “I figured that way, no one would ever turn up on my doorstep, bothering me for information.”

  “But you know something of the stone and its history.” When his father began to shake his head, Tyler leaned forward, insistent. “You do. Outside, you said that the attack was something like Alejandro would try. If you hadn’t seen this kind of thing before, you wouldn’t know that.”

  “And you ran straight out of the house with a shotgun, ready to scare them off.” Tyler turned to Wilma with his eyebrows raised. This was the portion of the action he’d missed. “You came screaming out of the house, threatening them. Nobody does that when something takes them by surprise. You were at the car almost by the time we got the doors open.”

  He hesitated, looking from Tyler to Wilma, then clearing his throat rather than speaking.

  “Come on, Dad. We’re stuck here for the time being. I can’t drive until I can see and Gary’s in an even worse state. Tell us what you know.”

  Tyler’s dad sighed. He opened his mouth, then the shower cut off. Wilma went to investigate then returned with a hand clapped to her eyes.

  “Some things you just can’t unsee,” she muttered, stretching out her other arm to feel for a chair. “Can you go help Gary instead?”

  Tyler rose, but his father beat him to it. “You’re all right there, son. I’ll make sure your friend’s okay.”

  Five minutes or more passed before the two of them re-entered the room, Gary looking so bedraggled that even Tyler could see the misery on his face.

  “I’ll order in some takeout,” his dad said, wandering through into the kitchen to grab the phone. “If you really want me to go through everything, this will take a while.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tyler’s dad sat back in his chair, crossing hands over his full belly. “The first time I heard about the stone, I was skipping school. When I didn’t feel like learning, I used to get off the bus and just walk back home. It would take two hours, then I’d sneak under the back porch and play there. It became enough of a habit that I’d leave a stock of snacks and comic books down there for entertainment.” He snorted. “They’re probably still down there. When I was kicked out of home, I left in quite a hurry.”

  “You were kicked out? Why was that?” Tyler asked.

  “How about you let me tell the story, boy, and you save your questions till the end?”

  Wilma poked Tyler in the side of his knee and handed over the Kung-Pow chicken. He gave her a grateful smile in return. At least, he thought he gave it to her, with the world still a blur it was hard to be sure.

  “Anyway, I was under there playing, and my father started to yell at somebody. Real yelling, too, not the kind he used on us kids. He was screeching so loudly I thought he’d just about lost his mind.”

  Tyler opened his mouth to ask a question, then snapped it shut again. It would be good to record everything, make notes for querying further, but he couldn’t read it back at the moment, so there wasn’t much point.

  “The man paying him a visit didn’t leave. I could hear Daddy getting the rifle down off the wall; he kept it nearby in case of trouble. The locks had a peculiar snappy sound when they released. To this day, if I hear anything similar my butt tightens up to a pinhole.”

  He laughed, but the sound emerged without a lot of joy.

  “The fellow didn’t move an inch, even with a rifle shoved in his face. Just stood there, hands on hips.” Tyler’s dad nodded toward Wilma. “With as much attitude as this little lady.”

  ‘This little lady,’ immediately had an increase in her attitude. Tyler could sense it without seeing, and held out his hand to squeeze her shoulder in solidarity.

  “While I’m under the porch, wondering if there’s about to be a killing, a pink light exploded out. The glow lasted for a second, then faded away, but the imprint of it hung in my eyes.”

  Tyler nodded. His eyes had a few imprints of their own at the moment.

  “So, I stuck my face up to the wooden slats and peeked through a gap where they didn’t lie flush together. The rifle my daddy must’ve been holding onto a second before was floating in mid-air. I never saw anything like it before, though I’ve witnessed plenty worse than that since. My mind struggled with what the vision—I rubbed my eyes a few times before I could believe it.”

  “What happened then?”

  Tyler’s dad turned a sour look at Wilma, who stared back as good as she got.

  “Well?”

  “Well, nothing. That was about all there was. The man had come for money and took it. My father didn’t have any way to stop him.”

  “Why…?” Tyler began, then chewed his bottom lip to stop himself speaking further.

  His dad filled in the gap. “Why would he want money or why’d he come to our farm to get it rather than the bank? Your guess is as good as min
e. Seems those who have the stone in their power like to use it to make other’s lives a misery. Why go to a hole in the wall for cash when you can steal it out of someone’s pocket under the guise of them handing it over to you voluntarily?”

  Tyler’s dad stopped, his hand clenching on the armrest. He began to cough, a sound emanating up from deep inside, fleshy, rough, and wet.

  “Damn smokes,” he said when his breathing came back under control. “I hope you didn’t pick up that dirty habit.”

  “Only so long as I could afford them,” Tyler said. “It’s been a long time since I had to give them up.”

  “Just as well. Cigarettes will kill you, and not nice and quickly neither.” He pounded on his chest, to loosen up his phlegm judging by the gob he soon spat into a tissue.

  “How the hell did a family who like inflicting misery end up the caretakers of the stone?”

  Wilma’s question was a good one, even if against the rules. It was so pointed that it seemed her query would go unanswered. Finally, Tyler’s dad sighed.

  “Our lot wasn't always like this. There’re stories about the olden times when the first woman given the care of the stone was practically a goddess compared to those she lived among. The original knight picked well. Pity they didn’t foresee she and all her daughters after her would have a strong penchant for bad-boys.”

  Tyler’s father turned a wide smile on Wilma, managing to make his eyes twinkle despite their rheumy appearance. When he winked, he could have been Cary Grant in his prime. If Wilma hadn’t been a few years shy of sex appeal, he could have gotten lucky.

  “Guess whose genes were stronger.”

  Tyler pressed the melting ice pack to his eyes again. Just as it seemed relief was attainable, the skin flared up in agony once more. “Julius thought there was a lady in Las Vegas who’s the rightful owner of the stone.”

  “That old chestnut.” Tyler’s dad sucked his lip in, chewing it thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t know if she’s the ‘rightful owner’”—he did some air quotes—“but there’s a lady in Vegas who has better command of it than most. I heard she stays at the Almighty Hotel, though whether she’s a performer or owner, I don’t know.”

  A chill ran up Tyler’s spine, matching the cold compress against his face for temperature. He shivered.

  “What?” Wilma asked. “You know that place?”

  Tyler’s dad excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Tyler lowered his voice to a whisper, leaving Gary and Wilma to lean forward to catch his words.

  “It was one of the trials. The last one.” He shivered again, jerking his head toward the corner when he thought he heard a hiss. Nothing but wallpaper, carpet, and cobwebs.

  “I couldn’t do it,” he admitted. “I failed the trial. Even though I knew what I had to do, I couldn’t force myself to do it.”

  “That was a dream.” Gary leaned forward and briefly laid his hand on Tyler’s knee. “You said so yourself. You were in a strange place and your mind just filled in the gaps with all the dreadful rubbish it could find.”

  “I hope so.”

  Tyler’s dad came back in the room. His face was flushed, as though the effort of taking a piss was akin to running around the block. As he sat down, his hands shook.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Where was I?”

  Wilma came to the rescue while Tyler frowned at his father. The man was up to something, it was written all over his scheming face.

  “You were telling us about the woman in Vegas.”

  “Right, right. Well, I don’t know the gal’s name or anything, but I’m sure the stone will let you know when you’re growing near. It does this thing”—he snapped his fingers in the air, searching for the word—“glows and hums when it’s near the place it wants to be.”

  “How can a stone want anything?” Gary sounded as put out as if someone had insulted him to his face. “That stupid rock is just an inanimate object with a few party tricks. It can’t even fix the mess it made of Wilma and me, how can it know where it’s meant to be?”

  Tyler’s dad just shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. My advice is, the less you know about these things, the better.”

  He nodded at Tyler. “If you genuinely shut out all the bad memories of when we had that stone in our possession, then more power to you. Better than waking up every morning wondering if the damn thing is going to bring you to an end. Or have you carved up, like your cousin Warren. That poor bugger.”

  “What happened to Warren?”

  Tyler’s voice was full of worry. His conscious mind didn’t recognize the name, but something pressed in the back of his brain, insisting on hearing more.

  “Some cop pulled him over a few years back. Hacked off his arm to get the stone.”

  Tyler and Wilma stared at each other in horror while Gary gasped.

  “What? Knew him, did you?”

  A knock came on the door, and Tyler’s dad relaxed. His body stopped shaking, and his face lost the gleam of sweat. “About time you were on your way.”

  “What? Did you call us a taxi?”

  His dad burst into laughter, slapping the arm of his chair in hilarity. “No. You got your own wheels, I suggest you make use of them. I don’t want that stone here, I told you. Nothing but trouble.”

  “I can’t see well enough to drive!”

  His dad stared Tyler straight in his red-rimmed eyes, jerking his head toward the door. “That there is Child Protective Services. I don’t know what’s been going on with you son, but running around with a young lass isn’t any way to be.”

  Tyler opened his mouth to retort, explain, scream in frustration but his dad pressed a finger up to his mouth.

  “No. You don’t need to talk, you need to listen. Sneak out the back and drive as best you can, doesn’t need to be far. I’ll keep Wilma here and hand her over.”

  He leaned forward and grabbed Tyler in a vice-like grip on the arm. “It’s best this way, believe me. You don’t want to take advantage of the stone then look back ten years from now to see the disgusting mess you made of your life. Get to Vegas and get rid of it if you must, but don’t continue to defile this little girl.”

  “He’s not defiling anyone, you dirty old man!”

  “I’m not the one who’s dirty. He is.” Tyler’s dad poked a finger straight into his son’s face.

  “Come on.” Wilma tugged on Tyler’s arm as the knocking came again. “We need to get out the back. I’ve still got the keys.”

  “Can we get back into the car?” Tyler looked at Gary, in a much worse state. “What if it just makes everything worse again? I can barely see as it is.”

  “So, you operate the pedals, and I’ll steer. There’s nothing wrong with my vision. Well,” Wilma corrected, “not much.”

  “No, you don’t.” Tyler’s father reached over and gripped Wilma on the shoulder, near her neck.

  Even with his hazy vision, Tyler could see the look of pain on her face as his dad’s fingers twisted harder than they needed to. He knew that feeling—had experienced that exact same grip growing up. With a yell, he karate chopped his father on the wrist, hard as he could. His father still held firm. Tyler stuck his hand out, stone glowing, ready and waiting for his command.

  “Let her go!”

  “You fucking useless kid.” Still holding Wilma, his father leaned in close, his breath hot and putrid on Tyler’s face. “No wonder I left you and your mom when I had the chance. Thick as two planks, the lot of you.”

  He pointed down at the stone in Tyler’s hand. “I used to be in command of that thing when you were young, you moron. First thing I did was protect myself in case it fell into the wrong hands. The stone won’t work against me.”

  “Open the door!” The knocking came again, so hard this time that the door rattled in its frame. “This is Child Protective Services, and I can hear you fighting. I’m authorized to break down this door if I believe that a child is in danger, and I won’t hesitate to do that. Now
, open up!”

  The voice. Tyler recognized the voice. As he pulled Wilma close, he backed up a step, wondering if she’d still have a fake badge in a leather holder.

  “We’re going, and you’re not going to stop us. Wilma is no more a child than Gary is really a warthog.” Tyler pointed at the door. “You call them off, or I’ll spend the rest of my life making you sorry.”

  Instead, Tyler’s dad strode over to the door, grabbed the handle, and threw it open.

  “He’s there,” he shouted, pointing to Tyler. “My son, the pervert!”

  The CPS woman from the second trial stepped into the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The CPS woman cast a dirty glance at Tyler, raised an eyebrow at Wilma, then turned to his dad. “There’s no need to shout. I’m not deaf.”

  The man looked shamefaced—Tyler wondered how long it had been since a woman dressed him down. Too long, by the looks of things.

  “Sir,” the CPS lady addressed Tyler’s father, “is this the girl in danger that you spoke about?”

  At her appearance, like she’d stepped straight out of one of his worst nightmares, Tyler's head had started humming. Now he shook it clear. There wasn’t time for fear or confusion. If this woman hauled him away and placed Wilma in a home, then it might take years to sort out the damage.

  “I called,” Tyler said. He spoke with a firm voice, so much calmer than his dad that it commanded the woman’s immediate attention. “I would have tried the police, but I was scared he would take my little girl and thought you’d respond quicker.”

  She stepped inside the house, looking at the walls, the furniture, the water-stained ceiling. “This is your house?”

  “No. I guess it’s his”—Tyler jerked his head at his dad—“but I don’t know for sure. He attacked us in the car. Me and my mate Gary were pepper sprayed or something. This fellow is a crazy man. He dragged my daughter, Wilma”—Tyler patted her shoulder and could have kissed her when she put her hand atop his—“inside this place, and we followed them inside. I thought he was going to kill us! Or worse,” he muttered darkly.