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The Magician

Allan Onik

    James pulled into the motel bar. His suit pants were damp with sweat—the desert sand had blocked up his AC vents. An attractive brunette tapped on his window in the dusk light. He put it down and turned off the engine.
    “Never seen you here before,” the woman said, “mostly I just see truckers on their routes into the mountain towns. I’m Sofia, the groundskeeper.”
    “You’re my new best friend,” James said, “I’ll be headed to the bar if you don’t mind. I need a drink so bad my head feels like its being squeezed through a fruit juicer.”
    “Most of the regulars need their toxins as well,” Sofia laughed, “its nice to meet you. On a business trip?”
    “I’m into real estate,” James said, “headed into the nearest town for site research.”
    “Well you’ll find some good rest here. We’re the only rest stop in miles. And the bar is a great place to refresh. Let me show you to your room.”

    James loosened his tie. He shut the window shades and checked the closets. He checked the shower stall and looked under the beds. He locked all three locks on his motel door and put his briefcase on the neatly made bed. He opened it. The glitter of the diamonds in the case reflected from the light of the room’s overhead light bulb. He put his 9mm Glock 26 on the bed next to it. He picked up one of the diamonds and looked at it through the light. They’re real, he thought. A drop of sweat dripped down the side of his face.

    James squeezed the briefcase between his feet as he sipped a Jack and Coke. The bar was mostly empty except for a few bearded, plaid decked, and overweight truckers and was cheap and dingy, like the rooms. The Phoenix Suns were playing in the third quarter of a game on the bar TV. The room was quiet.
    “Hey there stranger,” Sofia slipped into a seat next to James. He hadn’t noticed her come in the door.
    “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” James said. Sofia laughed.
    “Give this one a free refill, of whatever he was having. He’s new here.”
    The bartender poured some Jack Daniels into the cup, and poured a new can of Coke in.
    “You have a family back where you’re from?” Sofia asked. She had brown eyes, and wore only a little makeup.
    “I’m divorced,” James said, “and I’m currently moving.”
    Sofia looked down at the case. “People like you don’t come here too often, so I like to ask them all the same questions. Is there anything you want to ask from me? Anything at all? Can I help you?”
    “You can’t help me,” James said, “but that’s sweet of you.”
    “Well, perhaps I know someone that can. I want you to talk to her. She has a wagon in the corner of the lot. I don’t charge her any rent because she adds to the mystique of the grounds, and brings in occasional customers. She’s a psychic, and she’s not a fake—I assure you. If you’re in any kind of trouble, she can help.”
    “First of all, I don’t believe in that shit. And secondly, what makes you think I’m in trouble?”
    “Working at a place like this for 20 years you can tell whose hiding something and whose here just to get shit faced. I won’t ask because I know you won’t tell me. Just go to the wagon tomorrow, will you?”
    “Don’t count on it,” James said.

    James put the briefcase on the car seat next to him. He put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine tried to turn over, but didn’t rev. He tried turning the key a few more times. “God damn it,” James said.
    Sofia exited one of the motel rooms. “Its probably an over heated radiator,” she said, walking up to the car. “Happens all the time in this part of the desert.”
    “Any mechanics near by?”
    “You don’t need one for this. Just open the hood of your car. Give it a few hours. Did you get that reading I suggested?”
    “I told you, I don’t believe in psychics.”
    “This ones real, I swear! I’ve gotten my reading countless times from her. She really is a great addition to this property.”
    James looked at the briefcase. Then he eyed the corner of the lot where the wagon stood. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt.” James felt his Glock pressed to his waist as he slid out of the car.

    “James. I knew you would come. I can see everyone that coming years before they come in. That’s how it works, you know. For me at least. All of us are different. And some of us are fakes. Though I can assure you I’m not.”
    “You’re creeping me out already, lady.” James looked at the psychic. She had white hair, dark eyes, and wore a blue tunic. James stepped closer to her and was hit by a soft blue glow emanating from the seer’s body.
    “I deal with a card based tool called Tarot. The cards can give you a sense of your cosmic place at any one point in time. You see we are all affected by the planets at different points in time. However, we can reduce the effect of negative influences of the planets if we play our cards right. Tarot is a way to see where we are in the eyes of the gods, based on the plan set out for each and every one of us in the singularity we perceive as our lives. I deal with the Major Arcana cards—the 22 most important cards in the Tarot deck. My cognitive functioning allows me to tell more about my subjects by using only this portion of the deck—a less specific reading by the cards allows my talents more creativity. Would you like your reading now?”
    “IÉ” James faltered, “Yes.”
    The psychic shuffled the cards and put the deck on a table in front of her. She pulled the top card off and flipped it over, revealing it. “The Magician,” the psychic said.
    “What’s it mean?”
    The oracle countered. “Mastery, talents, capabilities, resources, self discipline, creativity, self confidence, and getting things done. It represents these meanings among others. Think to yourself, James. How does this card relate to my life—right now at this time? What can I learn from it?”
    James thought about the events of his life in the last few days. He paused. “I suppose it fits,” he said.
    “Yes,” the oracle said, “it must, for the gift given to me from the divines is to pick the right card for my subjects, so they can better understand potentialities. I am one of the more powerful nervous systems of my talent in this part of the planet. My nervous system and physiology have a special refined condition—the ability to read The Tarot Major Arcana as well as interact with divine beings invisible to most, while seeing God’s work like a paint stroke on the canvas of the Cosmos. Let me help you with something. As for those men that are following you, and those stolen goodsÉ” James flinched, “I want to help you. Because you’ll need it,” the seer said.

    Sofia looked at the entrance to the lot from a spot where she hid behind the wagon. She held a Remington shotgun.
    The sign outside the bar was turned to “closed.” James pressed the barrel top of his Glock to his chest and looked through the window shades. He looked down at his watch and noted that it read 1:34. When it changed to 1:36 he squatted down a little more and waited. An Escalade pulled into the lot and stopped in the lot’s center. Following this, four men got out of the passenger seats. Three were dressed in black military clothes and held Colt XM 177 assault rifles. One was dressed in an Italian suit and held a Taurus Raging revolver. The man in the suit spoke: “Split up. Find him.” Two of the three dispersed and one stayed with him.
    They look professional, James thought, like ex-special forces. James waited a few minutes. He heard the back door of the bar blast open. He crawled behind the serving counter and tried not to shake. He listened. Calculated footsteps neared the bar. He took a bottle of Bacardi 151 off a bottom shelf and stuffed a rag in it. He lit the rag with a lighter from the bar, jumped up, and threw it at the intruder. The assassin’s assault rifle went off at the ground and he burst into flames, screaming. One down, James thought, three to go. A shotgun blast rang out in the distance. Make that two.

    Hit man number two coughed up blood and gripped his stomach behind the wagon. Sofia cocked the Remington and kicked the assault rifle out of his reach.
    She looked at the man in the suit and his bodyguard as they entered the bar. From a distance, heat waves from the ground seemed to twist and blur their figures like spawns in fire.

    James hid in a stall in the women’s bathroom. The man in the suit sat at a table and poured himself some cognac, while the other stood behind him gripping his weapon. “I know you’re in here somewhere James. You aren’t meant to win, and we both know how this is going to end,” the man in the suit yelled. “Just give us the case. We’ll kill you and your girlfriend quickly.”
    “It’s not in the cards,” James screamed. He crawled out the bathroom window and ran to the wagon. He lit the line of gasoline that led to the bar. The explosion of the grounds sent a mushroom cloud four stories into the air. The lone driver in the Escalade skidded out of the lot.

    Sofia walked beside James and handed him the case.
    “Will you miss this place?” he asked.
    “This dump? No. But my friend here’s gonna have to find a new venue.” She tapped the wagon with her shotgun.
    The two walked to James’s car and got in. James put down the windows.
    “I can remember I spent some time in the army, right after high school,” James said. He pulled onto the dirt road. Sofia’s hair tattered in the wind. “I had to kill a man in Iraq. He wasn’t a soldier or anything, but he had connections to Saddam’s security force. If I let him go, I would’ve been dead in a week.” The sun burned James’s eyes. “I felt bad killing a man without a gun. It made me feel like a coward. There were some roses in his apartment, and a young boy gave them to me. I never understood why.”

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