'You little thief! I didn't raise you like this!' Dad was on me in a heartbeat, shaking me by the shoulders. I rolled my eyes and unzipped my hoodie, revealing a can of BBQ Pringles and a package of Reese's peanut butter pumpkins. 'Forgive my daughter,' he said, putting a hand on Linebacker's shoulder. 'Purcilla! What are you doing?'Įvery time we pulled this bit, he gave me a fresh pseudonym, each more ridiculous than the last. 'Go ahead.' I glared, trying again to yank my arm from his grasp. 'Give it up,' Linebacker said, 'or I'm calling the cops.' Over the clerk's shoulder, I saw that Dad had already completed his part of the grift the old man was fast. 'Nothing,' I replied, basting my tone with indignation. I was halfway out the door when he grabbed my arm and yanked me back inside. On the way, I knocked a few cans of Hormel chili off the shelf.

The clerk turned away to scan the cigarette display, and I made a beeline for the front door. It was all part of the trick-and it worked. Also, Chesterfield didn't make mediums Marlboro did. 'Two packs of Chesterfield mediums, please.'ĭad had quit smoking when he got his cardiomyopathy diagnosis. To judge by the mass of his neck muscles, he had probably played linebacker on his high school football team. A wry smile turned up the corner of my mouth even at a backroad gas station in the middle of nowhere, he couldn't help being the Uncanny Dante. 'Good afternoon, young man,' Dad said to the clerk in his stage baritone. Other than the two twenties in Dad's money clip, it was all we had left. I hoped fifteen bucks would buy us enough time. Outside, our rickety RV with its attached ten-foot trailer sat at the farthest pump, where it would suck diesel until the prepaid Visa ran dry. That's what magic is, after all: a lie that's more satisfying than the truth. There was nothing flashy about the setup, no pyrotechnics or vanishing objects, just a story to obscure what was really happening. I prowled the chip aisle, fingering noisy snacks, and then, just as the clerk started to get suspicious, Dad would walk in. THE TRICK WORKED LIKE THIS: I entered the gas station first, playing the part of the suspect teenager, the apparent shoplifter-misdirection incarnate.

The Lightness of Hands by Jeff Garvin