Sleight

by Tom Twitchel

  “Seriously, how did you expect me to react when we all thought you were...that you wouldn’t be coming back and then you just show up? Like everything should come to a stop just because you decide it’s time?”

  She stepped up closer to me, tilted her head up and pulled her sunglasses down from her eyes. They were practically glowing. Her lips pulled back as she got ready to say something snippy, and then a weird thing happened, something I’d felt before: my knees got weak as the edges of my vision wavered. Her flashing eyes seemed to float suspended in front of me as I started to fall.

  EIGHT: YOU WOULDN’T LIKE ME ANGRY

  “BENNY? BENNY! OH my God! Are you okay?”

  Justine’s face hovered over me as I tried to sit up. I was lying on my back on the sidewalk. Several passersby looked in our direction but no one felt compelled to stop and offer help. Isn’t society wonderful that way? Not that I wanted a scene with me as the focal point.

  Justine placed a hand on my chest. “Take it easy. Give yourself a minute. What happened?” she asked, worry lines crinkling her brow.

  What happened? I knew exactly what had happened. The same talent-sucking knack Sonja had used on me had just been used on me by Justine, apparently without her knowing what she was doing.

  The eye-color change, regardless of what she thought it was, was obviously an indicator of her latent knack becoming active. What had happened to her while she’d been away might have caused the change or it could have been something that had been coming on for a while. According to Mr. Goodturn that particular knack worked like an addiction to the person who possessed and used it. So now, in addition to being more than a little freaked out by Justine’s stalking me, she also posed a serious threat to anyone who had a knack. The only positive was her seeming ignorance of what she possessed.

  I got shakily to my feet and steadied myself by putting a hand on the building, waving off her attempt to help me.

  “I don’t know, guess I waited too long to eat or something. I’m fine now,” I said.

  “Are you sure? You just went kind of limp and your eyes glazed over like you’d been hit over the head,” she gasped, obviously worried.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  She stepped toward me and I instinctively flinched. “What?” she asked. “I’m just worried about you.”

  I was having a difficult time remaining calm. I didn’t know how her knack was working. The two times Sonja had tried to use hers on me it seemed like it took a conscious effort, but that didn’t square with what had just taken place.

  “I just need to get back to my place. Maybe lay down, besides I need to check in with a friend who’s getting over some stuff.”

  I brushed off the seat of my pants and began walking, forcing Justine to hurry to keep pace with me. She put her arm around me again and I decided to let it slide. The walk back was mostly uphill and easier on my bad leg than trudging downhill so we made good time. By mutual silent agreement we didn’t talk much on the way, we knew that most conversations would lead back to subjects neither of us wanted to discuss.

  When we got back to my apartment building Justine was still holding onto me. I didn’t want her in the building. In fact, I wanted to get away from her until I could figure out what to do.

  She pulled the door open and walked right in which totally blew my plan for keeping her out of the building. I walked in after her and immediately smelled fresh floor wax with a strong lemon scent, Breno’s favorite. The floors gleamed like glass. Breno had been busy while I was out. I marveled at how much he had done in such a short time. While I was admiring his handiwork Justine nudged my elbow.

  “I want to make sure you get upstairs okay. If you pass out on the stairs you could really hurt yourself,” she said.

  True, I thought, although I wouldn’t pass out unless I got some help with that. From her.

  “I need to check in on my friend. He’s on the first floor here, so I’ll be fine,” I said, hoping she’d take the hint. I didn’t want to risk pissing her off again if that was the trigger for what had happened.

  “Fine, so check him out and then we’ll get you upstairs.”

  So much for wishful thinking. “My friend, he’s not...he’s challenged in a couple of different ways. He might not react well to someone he hasn’t met before. So—”

  “So, why don’t I wait here,” she pointed at the stairs, “Until you’re done?”

  It was hard to argue with that. “It might take me a while, Justine. I don’t want to keep you waiting forever.”

  She jutted her chin out, and her lip lifted in a half snarl. “Look, I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re home in one piece. So either you check on your friend while I wait, or I’m coming with you. Your choice.”

  “Fine. Come with me then.”

  “Fine.”

  I could feel her irritation as we walked down the hall to Breno’s apartment. Great, I’d need to be careful so as not to turn that into full-fledged anger.

  Breno answered at the second knock. He was obviously still wearing what he’d had on while he’d been waxing the floors because he smelled like a giant lemon. It was a nice change from the day before, when he’d smelled like B.O., rotting garbage and smoke. He was still wearing rubber gloves too. The big grin on his face faltered when he saw Justine standing behind me. He ducked his head, and looked at the floor.

  “Did you see the floor, Benny? I shined it real good huh?” he said with a little quaver in his voice.

  “It looks great Breno. Did you have some lunch?” I asked.

  He nodded his head, still checking out the tops of his shoes. Justine’s impatience practically radiated off of her, so I decided to cut it short.

  “Okay, well I’m going up to my apartment if you need anything. Okay?”

  “I’m ‘kay,” he said, finally looking up.

  Smiling in spite of the awkwardness of the situation, I said, “Good.”

  “Okay Benny.” He didn’t make eye contact with Justine but said, “Bye Benny’s friend.”

  “Ha. Bye Breno,” she said, smiling at him even though he couldn’t see it.

  Waving goodbye to us with a rubber-gloved hand, Breno slowly closed the door.

  There was an strained moment of silence as I turned to Justine, who was glaring at me with a little pissy-ness in her eyes.

  “Yeah, as sweet as it is that you’re looking out for him, that took like a whole minute,” she said.

  I shook my head and walked past her toward the stairs. She followed close behind and shadowed me all the way up to my floor. When we were standing in front of my door I tried to come up with an idea of how to get rid of her without starting another argument.

  She was one step ahead of me.

  “I’m not going to bother to ask if I can come in, I’m not totally clueless,” she spat.

  “Justine, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and we need to talk but I don’t want to start arguing again. I’ll call you,” I responded.

  “Uh huh, sure.” She was glaring at me, but I sensed more hurt under the surface than true anger. “I’ve been chasing after you for over a year Benny, but that gets old.” She pulled a pen and a piece of paper out of her purse and scribbled on it.

  Shoving the paper into my hand she said, “Kayla told me this was a mistake. I hate it when someone gets to tell me I-told-you-so. That’s my new number. It’s a pay-as-you-go phone and the only other person that has the number is Kayla. Call me, or don’t, it’s up to you.”

  She quickly turned away and headed back down the stairs.

  Yup, I’m a winner with the ladies.

  NINE: CONSULTING AN EXPERT

  I WATCHED HER leave and stood there for a few moments to collect my thoughts. Suddenly, lying down didn’t seem like the best course of action. Breno’s problems and Justine’s newly manifested knack required attention, and I didn’t feel equipped to handle them on my own. Taking my time, so that I wouldn’t run into Justine, I trudged down the stairs and made
my way out to the street. There were very few times that I had initiated a conversation with Kenwoode, but he was the only person I had access to that might be able to help me.

  The pawnshop was closed and I resisted the temptation to let it bother me. At the moment it was more convenient that it wasn’t open for business. I knacked myself in, knacked the lock behind me and headed for the elevator to Mr. Goodturn’s apartment.

  Through an unspoken agreement I didn’t bother knocking and just let myself in. Instead of bawling out his name I immediately made for the library where he typically set up to work. He was sitting at the large ornate desk set close to the leaded-glass windows, a mug of coffee on the desk in front of him. The early afternoon sun streamed through the windows behind, casting him in soft shadows, while fine dust danced in the shafts of light around him.

  Looking up from a large heavy book he had resting on the desk before him, he arched an eyebrow. “Yes, Benjamin?”

  His acknowledging me without my having to speak first was slightly out of character, and it caught me by surprise.

  “Hi. I have something I wanted to talk about with you, actually a couple of things. Do you have time right now or are you busy?” I asked.

  He slowly closed the book, leaving his hand on the thick leather cover. “I have time.”

  There it was; the economic use of words that put most of the burden for conversation on me.

  “Okay, thanks. Is Mr. Goodturn doing any better today?” I said as I sat down in one of the old-school leather wingback chairs that faced the desk.

  “No change, but he continues to open his eyes from time to time.” Pushing the book to one side he sat back in his chair, making a steeple with his fingers, waiting for me to continue.

  “So, I have a couple of problems that I need help with. Usually Mr. Goodturn and I would talk this kind of stuff over, but with him...since he’s sick I don’t have anyone else to go to.” He sat there in silence. Terrific, I thought. I pressed on because honestly, I didn’t have any other options.

  “Mr. Kenwoode, you told me that Mr. Goodturn’s ability to slow things down, including his own body, was probably what saved him from dying when he was attacked. How much do you know about his stuff?”

  “Stuff?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “You know, the fact that he can do that, slow things down. What do you know about that?”

  “Why is that important for you to know, Benjamin?” he raised his chin slightly, his blue eyes boring into me.

  “Well, the things I’m worried about kind of relate. I just needed to know if you knew more about Mr. G and what he does. What he can do.” The conversation was starting to frustrate me. It was like my mom used to say ‘It’s like pulling teeth’.

  He nodded. “I’m aware of Harald’s unusual differences.”

  Why did he make that sound so cryptic? “Do you have any of those...abilities?”

  “Why would you need to know that?” he asked, his expression neutral.

  My sensing knack was also picking up nothing that would indicate how he felt about the question. “I figured that if you had your own knacks, that it would be easier for you to help me with my problems. My friends’ problems.”

  “It would seem that all you truly need to know is whether I possess a working knowledge of Harald’s differences, rather than whether I possess some of my own. I’m very educated on Harald and his specific set of circumstances.”

  Why did he keep using that word, ‘differences’? It seemed important. “Did Mr. Goodturn talk to you about me? About our friendship?” I shifted uncomfortably in the leather chair.

  “Benjamin, I know about your bond with Harald and I know that you share some of the same circumstances and differences,” he said. I thought I saw a softening in his features when he said it.

  “You know about my knacks?” I wasn’t necessarily surprised, but it was the first evidence that I had of Mr. Goodturn sharing my secret with someone.

  He frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing down. “Knack. I don’t like that word. Harald’s word. I prefer ‘differences’ or ‘attributes’. Knack sounds so crude, as though any child could acquire and become skilled in their use. Yes, I know about your attributes, although not all of the specifics and I know that you possess them to a degree that outstrips even some of Harald’s. Besides that Benjamin, don’t you think your means of entering and leaving the premises would reveal something about yourself?”

  Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows, and mentally kick myself. My comings and goings were obviously observed. Dumb. He was also offering me some new insight. I hadn’t known that Mr. G had seen some of my knacks as stronger than his own.

  “So, do you have them too?” I asked again, resigning myself to the fact that at least some of my secrets were out in the open.

  “That doesn’t seem to be the core question here, Benjamin. I am guessing, because you haven’t shared your problems yet, that all you truly require is an assertion that I possess a deep working knowledge of attributes and their challenges. I do.”

  So, no answer again. He was right though. Whether he had any knacks of his own wasn’t necessarily crucial but it would sure help if he had the same ones that Mr. Goodturn did. He was obviously waiting for me to continue, resting easily in his chair, unreadable.

  “I have two friends, one you know, Breno, who have knacks, and they’re having problems because of them. At least Breno is.”

  “Why don’t you start with Mr. Giacomo and then we can discuss your other acquaintance.” He drew his hands back from the desk and placed them in his lap, waiting for me to go on.

  I filled in some background on my first interactions with Breno, and shared the details of Breno’s and my kidnapping, finishing up with my discovering the connection between the ashes and food wrappers in Breno’s apartment and my bringing Breno back from the pier. I shared my suspicions about Breno having started the waterfront fire and having burned possibly two people in the process.

  “So, now I think his knack has come back, or has been re-activated or something and he can’t control it. I’m worried that he’ll hurt himself or someone else. I was hoping you might have an idea of how we could either shut down his knack or help prevent him from manifesting again. That’s why I was hoping that you possessed knacks of your own; that you might be able to do what Mr. Goodturn did when Breno was a kid.”

  He’d listened patiently, hadn’t taken notes, just focused on me and what I was saying. If he didn’t look as much like a military officer it would have been easy to see him as a psychologist.

  Stroking his goatee he stared hard at me, as though trying to determine whether I had left anything out. The only bit of information that I had kept to myself was that Mr. Goodturn had ‘spoken’ to me when we had last been in his room together. I’m not sure why, it just felt right to keep that to myself.

  He leaned forward and locked in with his pale blue eyes. “That is quite the story. I was, of course, familiar with Mr. Giacomo’s history, but not these recent developments. Your decision to track him down and bring him back was the right one. Your deductive skills in that matter were quite impressive. Well done.”

  I felt an involuntary blush spread over my face. In the time we had known each other Kenwoode had never paid me a compliment. It felt good, if unexpected.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He waved off the thank you. “What’s good is good. Now, as to how best to proceed. The possibility that he injured two people is a concern, and not one to be taken lightly, but at present we have no definitive proof. So, we should move forward carefully. The fire, we’ll need to table that discussion as well until we can determine what, if anything, we can do at this point. I agree that his attribute and its unpredictable nature are the primary concern. While I do not have Harald’s attribute for restructuring a subject’s mind or thought processes, I do possess a certain skill with hypnosis. I may be able to introduce a suggestion in his mind to prevent the inadvertent use of his pyr
otechnic difference.”

  That was a veritable speech by Kenwoode’s standards; in fact the whole conversation was entirely new ground in our relationship. “That would be great. I just don’t want him to get hurt. Could you maybe also help him forget a few things? Like the fact that he even rediscovered his knack at all?” It felt a little odd how fast we had moved on from the very strong possibility that Breno was responsible for arson and possibly manslaughter. Yet, having Kenwoode know about it and recommend patience made me feel like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

  Making a wry face he shook his head. “Possibly. But the more complex the suggestions the greater the possibility they will unravel later. I’ll see. Now, you had mentioned another friend? Does this friend possess differences as well?”

  There was that word again. “Why do you call them ‘differences’ Mr. Kenwoode? I mean, I know why you don’t like the word ‘knack’, but why ‘difference’?”

  He leaned back and looked at the ceiling as though searching for an answer there. “Mmm. The answer to that question lies in a complicated debate that Harald and I have been engaged in for many years. Harald believes that these attributes are natural abilities that pop up from time to time with no pattern as to why and who. He also believes that these abilities are the basis for folklore over the centuries that ascribed supernatural powers to individuals. The Salem Witch Trials, stories of demonic possession were all, according to Harald’s theories, a byproduct of these differences, and while there is some merit to their contribution to legends, my belief in their provenance is based soundly in science.”

  When I was super chatty or rambled on about something my mother used to ask ‘Who put a nickel in you and wound you up?’ meaning I guess that I was a wind-up toy that was just spinning along for spinning’s sake. Based on that country philosophy someone must have stuck a whole roll of nickels into Kenwoode.

  “Science? Like how?” I asked.