Tricky Nick

by Nicholas J. Johnson

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  And I sidestepped my way down the corridor like a giant crab while Dad stood in the doorway and shook his head at his ridiculous son.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The trick hits the fan

  Giggles R Us wasn’t really a magic shop.

  It was a joke shop wedged between a post office and a pet shop in a shopping centre on the far side of town. On the outside, the name of the shop was written in bold, red, intentionally crooked letters. In the window were fake cobwebs, inflatable flamingoes, toy bums, mugs shaped like pineapples and clocks that ran backwards. I tried to hide my disappointment when Dad dropped me off outside.

  ‘I’m sorry I can’t come in with you but there’s been an emergency at work,’ he said through the car window. ‘I’ll be back to pick you up in an hour.’

  ‘No problem,’ I said brightly. I wanted to go in by myself anyway.

  I didn’t know what the emergency was but I assumed that something BIG was happening. After all, he was a volcano scientist. Maybe a volcano had gone off in Japan and molten lava was spewing out everywhere. Dad, being the best volcano scientist in the world, probably needed to talk to the King of Japan about the best way to stop it.

  ‘I’m going to need ten thousand litres of milk, a helicopter and a cork the size of a cow,’ I bet he would say, rolling up his sleeves. ‘And somebody get me some fruit salad with yoghurt.’

  But I didn’t have time to worry about Japanese volcanoes, I had magic to find. The inside of Giggles R Us was much the same as the outside. Every square inch of floor was covered with spinning racks stocked with rude birthday cards, funny fridge magnets and lame bumper stickers. Every centimetre of wall space was filled with coloured wigs, practical jokes and rubber movie-star masks.

  There were balloons and party supplies everywhere too. As well as the big colourful displays of balloons and ribbons that were waiting to be picked up, there were loose ones rolling around in the confetti that had been spilt on the floor. You actually had to kick them out of the way to get into the shop.

  The magic tricks were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Psst,’ a voice said from behind a row of rubber noses. I looked behind them to find Batman staring at me.

  Obviously, not the real Batman.

  Firstly, Batman is a fictional character.

  Secondly, even if he was real, why would he be hanging out in a joke shop in a shopping centre on a Saturday afternoon?

  Thirdly, this Batman was my height and wearing purple nail polish and a silver tutu.

  ‘Hi,’ Trixie said, lifting up the mask, her thick blonde hair popping out. ‘Long time, no see.’

  ‘Trixie! Where have you been?’ I asked. ‘It’s been weeks. You said you were going to teach me that trick with the number and the plane. That was a one in a million guess.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you. We made a deal,’ she said. ‘Shook on it and everything. And it was one in sixteen million, really.’

  I swung my bag off my back and pulled out the Encyclopedia of Amateur Magic. All the pages were dog-eared and crumpled now. The cover was bent and worn. Mum always tried to teach me that books should be respected and treated carefully. But I have always loved my favourite books so hard they’ve fallen apart. I love them to death.

  ‘I’ve learned a bunch of tricks,’ I said, ‘but there’s a ton I can’t do at all. Like stealing a watch off someone without them noticing.’

  ‘Yeah, that one is tough,’ she agreed.

  ‘And there are lots I can’t learn without the proper props.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, like here.’ I flipped open the book to page 260. ‘There’s something called a thumb tip.’

  A thumb tip is pretty much the greatest magic prop ever invented. It’s a hollow plastic thumb that fits over your regular thumb like a little hat.

  With this one prop you can perform a thousand different tricks. You can turn a five-dollar note into a fifty-dollar note. You can burn a hole in a napkin and restore it instantly without even a singe. With a thumb tip you can make any card in a deck vanish and then reappear folded up in a lemon or in your pocket or in a shoe. But my favourite trick has always been Vanishing Salt.

  You start by secretly taking the thumb tip and holding it in your fist.

  Pour some salt into the thumb tip. Not too much or you won’t be able to fit your thumb in. Push the salt into your fist with your fingers. Then push your thumb into your fist and into the thumb tip.

  When you pull your thumb out, the thumb tip should be wedged on. Keep the thumb tip behind your fingers but don’t make a big deal about hiding it. No one will see it if you keep looking at your closed fist. Let the hand with the thumb tip on it drop down by your side. Now you can open your other hand and show your audience that the salt is gone.

  And that’s just to begin with. There are hundreds of tricks, tips and techniques for using this one sneaky little device.

  ‘A thumb tip?’ Trixie said, her face lighting up. ‘That I can help with!’

  She turned around and pushed her way past a rack of knock-off Disney princess costumes to the back wall. Tucked in a corner on the floor was a large box stuffed full of magic tricks. I could tell that most of them were plastic toy tricks that no real magician would be caught dead with. Others were covered in dust and looked like they’d been there for years.

  Trixie dropped to her knees and jammed both hands into the box of tricks up to her elbows. She rummaged around, pulling out handfuls of silk handkerchiefs, plastic wands and decks of cards.

  ‘Let’s see what we’ve got,’ she said to herself. ‘Svengali decks, ball and vases, coin drawers. Urgh, this stuff is so cheap and nasty. Here we go!’

  She pulled out a small pink thumb and held it aloft.

  ‘One thumb tip!’

  She stood up and grabbed my left hand, jamming the fake thumb over my mine. It stuck out like, well, a sore thumb.

  ‘It’s a little loose,’ I said. ‘And the colour doesn’t match my skin. Won’t people see it?’

  ‘Nah,’ Trixie replied. ‘You’re supposed to keep it hidden behind your fingers. And it’s good that it isn’t too tight. It should slide off easily. You have to leave space for whatever you’re going to make disappear. Usually these are sold with a silk handkerchief.’

  She jammed her hands back into the box and started rummaging again.

  ‘Is it expensive?’ I asked. I didn’t get my pocket money until Monday and I’d already blown last week’s on marshmallows and playing cards.

  ‘It shouldn’t be more than a few dollars,’ she said, pulling out her empty hands. ‘How much do you have?’

  I checked my wallet. Six dollars and twenty cents.

  ‘More than enough,’ Trixie said. She got to her feet, grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me to the counter. She dinged the bell next to the cash register. When no one appeared, she dinged again and kept on dinging, dinging, dinging. Finally, the shopkeeper appeared behind the counter.

  ‘Dear me,’ he said, placing his hand over Trixie’s, stopping her from dinging. ‘What a cacophony! Your appetite for attention is estimable if not a tad vexatious.’

  I knew those kind of words.

  I looked up into the smiling face of Mr E.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Seriously, yet another reason to be alarmed?

  ‘If it isn’t the adroit young Tricky Nick,’ Mr E said, his face beaming at the sight of me. ‘I’m rather disappointed that you didn’t resolve to join us at the Brotherhood of United Magicians. You would have made a laudable member.’

  I couldn’t look him in the eyes. Why did I feel like I had done something wrong?

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Trixie asked flatly. Mr E turned his attention to her. His hand was still on hers.

  ‘And the headstrong y
oung . . . what was it he just called you? Trixie? An abbreviation of Beatrix, no doubt?’ He was looking at her bare wrist, his face slightly annoyed.

  ‘You know who I am,’ Trixie said, shooting daggers at Mr E who was smiling sweetly back. She yanked her hand out from under his. ‘And I know who you are, too.’

  I hadn’t seen Mr E since I’d attended the meeting of the Brotherhood of United Magicians. I’d thought about calling him to see if he knew who Trixie was but I’d accidentally run his business card through the wash, turning it into a pulpy mess.

  ‘Trixie. Of course,’ Mr E said, still smiling. ‘I must confess, I did not recognise you the last time we met. You have . . . changed.’

  I looked back and forth from Trixie to Mr E and then down at the thumb tip still wedged on my thumb. That feeling in my stomach was back.

  ‘I want to buy this, please,’ I said, taking off the prop and putting it on the counter.

  Mr E picked up the thumb tip with his own thumb and forefinger, examining it critically. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘An excellent selection.’ He placed the prop down on the counter. ‘Do you know how to use it? A thumb tip is not the simplest apparatus to master.’

  ‘It’s okay, I have a book,’ I said. ‘The Encyclopedia of Amateur Magic.’

  Mr E’s grey eyebrows shot up while Trixie flinched next to me. I could have kicked myself. How was I supposed to explain where I’d got the new book from? I jumped back in fright. I could have sworn that the rubber mask of the queen just moved on the shelf behind Mr E.

  ‘I was under the impression the book was rendered unreadable during that unfortunate incident at the library,’ said Mr E.

  ‘I found another one,’ I stuttered, looking at Trixie for help.

  ‘From me,’ she said. ‘I lent him my copy.’

  My eyes flicked to the bag on my shoulder that held the stolen book. Mr E’s eyes followed mine before he returned his attention to Trixie. Behind the counter, one of the balloons floated up in front of Mr E. He batted it out of the way hard without looking. The balloon burst with a loud pop and I jumped. Trixie and Mr E just kept looking at each other.

  ‘We’re taking the thumb tip,’ Trixie said slowly. My stomach churned and turned.

  ‘I have money,’ I said, reaching for my wallet. The balloons at my feet started rolling and bobbing around the floor, disturbing the confetti that had been spilt there. Something was making them move, although there isn’t normally much wind in a shopping centre.

  ‘Of course,’ said Mr E, giving me a broad smile. ‘That will be seven hundred dollars.’

  ‘Seven hundred dollars?’ I gasped. ‘I can’t afford that.’

  ‘It’s a thumb tip,’ Trixie said. ‘You know it only costs a few bucks.’

  ‘You are welcome to patronise another similar establishment instead,’ Mr E replied, carefully removing an imaginary piece of fluff from his jacket.11

  ‘You know there isn’t another one,’ Trixie shot back. ‘We want that thumb tip.’

  ‘Eight hundred dollars,’ Mr E said through a widening smile. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Trixie snapped. ‘Don’t you know what will happen if you do?’

  ‘What will happen?’ Mr E pretended to exclaim in surprise. ‘I will make a tidy profit is what will happen!’

  ‘You can’t do this!’ Trixie was getting angry now. ‘It’s not fair. It’s not . . . safe.’

  Safe? It was a magic trick, not a nuclear bomb. And why was Mr E being so mean? He’d gone from being a nice old man to Mrs Dorbel in a tweed suit.

  ‘Nine hundred,’ Mr E said. His grin spread from ear to ear now.

  A flash of colour caught my eye. The balloons that had been lying on the shop floor were now bobbing up and down in mid-air as if floating on an invisible sea. I thought that maybe they were filled with helium, but helium balloons would have sailed to the ceiling. These balloons were just hanging there at head height.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I put my arm on Trixie’s, not taking my eyes off the eerie balloons. ‘We need to go.’

  ‘NO. IT IS NOT FINE,’ Trixie shouted, pulling her arm away. ‘HE’S MESSING WITH EVERYTHING!’

  As she shouted, the celebrity masks on the shelf behind her wobbled and quivered. Arnold Schwarzenegger fell off the shelf, landing on the floor with a rubbery thud. Neither Trixie nor Mr E seemed to notice what was going on, but I was terrified. Every hair on my body was standing on end.

  Mr E spread out his arms. ‘Unless you’ve got one thousand dollars, I’m afraid it is not yours to buy.’

  Mr E reached out to pick up the thumb tip but Trixie grabbed it off the counter. She looked towards the door as if she was going to run for it.

  ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ said Mr E, reading her mind. He stepped out from behind the counter, pushing floating balloons out of his way as he did so. The racks of fridge magnets and bumper stickers started to shake and rattle. Mr E ignored them and stood in front of the door, his arms crossed. Tom Cruise’s face floated in front of him.

  Why weren’t they doing anything? Couldn’t they see that something very strange was going on?

  Trixie glowered at Mr E as balloons and ribbons and coloured flecks of paper flew around her. My heart pounded hard in my chest and my stomach spun. Suddenly, before I could react, Trixie grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the back of the shop.

  As we ran, pieces of floating confetti whipped at my face like snow in a blizzard. I closed my eyes and let Trixie drag me.

  ‘IN HERE,’ Trixie shouted. I opened my eyes as she charged through a door at the back of the shop, pulling me through behind her. The door was covered in wigs. I hadn’t even realised it was there when I’d walked past it a few minutes before. Trixie quickly reached behind me and closed the door. As it clicked shut I heard the sound of Mr E calling out in genuine surprise. Trixie grabbed a stepladder that was leaning up against the wall and wedged it under the doorhandle.

  We were in some kind of storeroom. Plain cardboard boxes of practical jokes and balloons lined the walls. A kettle sat on a dirty sink in one corner. A small safe rested on the floor. We weren’t supposed to be here. But, at the same time, I didn’t want to face the chaos outside. It was as if the shop was tearing itself apart, as though a windless hurricane had sprung up in the middle of a suburban shopping centre. On the plus side, the feeling in my stomach seemed to be settling.

  ‘Oh, thank heavens!’ a bag of party hats said from the corner. ‘You have to help me!’

  Trixie and I ran over and pulled the large clear plastic bags of hats aside, revealing a plump, elderly woman sitting tied to a chair, her hands and feet bound by metres and metres of coloured ribbon. He hair was dyed bright red, and her face was streaked with tears. She was definitely grandmother material. Trixie grabbed a pair of scissors and sliced through the ribbon, helping the old woman free.

  ‘That horrible man,’ she gasped. ‘He came in before we opened and said he needed some balloons for his granddaughter. He was so lovely and charming I didn’t think anything of it. Then he tied me up in here and . . .’

  The woman burst into fresh tears. I tried to pat her on the shoulder but she just cried louder and louder. There’s nothing worse than being a kid watching an adult cry.

  ‘Is there another way out of here?’ Trixie asked the woman, grabbing her by both shoulders. ‘Other than through the shop?’

  The stepladder shook as Mr E tried to open the secret door in the wall. The sound made the woman wail harder. Her large arms wobbled and she quivered in fear. As she wailed, the stock on the walls start to shake.

  ‘What is going on?’ I gasped. ‘How did he do all that?’

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ Trixie snapped. ‘Well, it was his fault, but he didn’t do it. Look, we don’t have time for this.’ Trixie turned her attention to the woman. ‘Please, this is import
ant.’ Trixie tried again, pointing to the stepladder that blocked the door. ‘He can’t get in here. Is there another way out?’

  The woman waved a shaking hand to a rack of playing cards on the other side of the room. Trixie ran over and pulled it aside. There was a second door behind it.

  ‘Thank you,’ Trixie said and then shouted loud enough for Mr E to hear, ‘YOU SHOULD CALL THE POLICE.’

  The stepladder stopped rattling.

  Trixie grabbed me by the hand again and ran towards the other door. She kicked it open and we found ourselves in a long white twisty corridor that appeared to connect all of the shops in the shopping centre.

  The floor was polished concrete and snaked off in several directions like a maze. We ran past door after identical door, turning left and right. Every turn felt like it was taking us back to where we had started.

  ‘Please,’ I huffed as we ran. ‘You have to tell me what is going on.’

  Trixie didn’t say anything, she just kept on running. Finally, we came across a pair of double doors.

  THIS DOOR IS ALARMED.

  DO NOT OPEN.

  Trixie didn’t even seem to notice the sign. She just shouldered the doors open and pulled me through into the bright light of the outdoors.

  11Removing imaginary fluff is something people do when they’re pretending not to care about something they really care about. They might also pretend to polish their fingernails or whistle a jaunty tune.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The truth about Trixie

  Trixie and I were sitting high above the shopping centre on a nearby hill, looking down at the firefighters gathered around the open fire door. Yet another fire alarm had gone off when we’d rushed out.

  At least this time, there was no smoke or fire. Just a really annoyed-looking group of firefighters and some shopping centre staff. The shopping centre was nestled at the base of a large hill covered in trees and bushes, giving us the perfect hiding place and vantage point to see what was going on below. We were way too high up and too well hidden for anyone to see us. Mr E was nowhere to be seen.