Spoonbenders

He’d set it on the edge of the table. He’d been absentmindedly stroking the crown as they spoke. “It’s a Borsalino,” he said. “The finest maker of—”

“Oh, I know Borsalino.”

“Of course you do,” he said, with pleasure. “Of course you do.”

“So,” she said. Finally getting to it. “Do something psychic.”

“It’s not something that you can flip on like a switch,” he said. “Some days it comes easily for me, easy as pie. Other days…”

She raised her eyebrow, egging him on again. She could do a lot with an eyebrow.

He pursed his lips, then nodded as if coming to a decision. He plucked a napkin from the dispenser on the table and tore it into three pieces.

“I want you to write three things you want for your family.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just two words, two words on each piece, something like ‘more money.’ Call them wishes.” He doubted she’d wish for money. That was clearly not her problem. She opened her purse to look for a pen and he handed her the one he kept in his jacket pocket. “Take your time, take your time. Write forcefully, in all caps—put some emotion into it. This is important.”

Graciella bit her lip and stared at the first slip. He liked that she was taking it seriously. Taking him seriously. When she began to write, he turned in his seat and looked out across the empty plastic booths. It was afternoon, the dead zone.

“Finished,” Graciella said.

He told her to fold each slip in half, then fold it again. “Make sure there’s no way for me to read what you’ve written.” He turned over the Borsalino and she dropped in the slips.

“The next part’s up to you, Graciella. You need to think hard about what you wrote. Picture each of the things on the paper—all three wishes.”

She gazed up at the ceiling. “All right.”

The front door opened behind him, and she was distracted for a moment. A man in a black coat took a seat at a table kitty-corner from them. He sat just behind Graciella’s left shoulder, facing away from them. Jesus Christ, Teddy thought.

“Concentrate,” he told her—and himself. “Got all three?”

She nodded.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” He shook the three slips onto the table, then arranged them into a row. “Take the nearest one and put it in my hand. Don’t open it. Just cover it up with your hand.”

They were palm to palm, with the paper between them.

“Graciella,” he said. She looked into his eyes. She was excited, yes, but nervous. Scared by what she’d written. By what was going to be said aloud.

“School,” he said. “New school.”

A puff of surprise escaped her.

“I guess that’s about Julian,” he said. “Turns out you’d decided after all, yes?”

“That one’s too easy,” she said. “I told you all about him. You could have guessed that.”

“It’s possible,” he said. “Quite possible. Still—” The man behind Graciella coughed. He was big, with a crew cut like a gray lawn that rolled over the folds in his neck fat. Teddy tried to ignore him. He opened the slip and read it. “ ‘New school.’ It’s a good wish.”

He set the paper aside and told her to pick the next slip. Again she covered his palm. His fingers touched her wrist, and he could feel her pulse.

“Hmm. This one’s more complicated,” he said.

Her hand trembled. What was she so afraid of?

“The first word is ‘no.’ ” He closed his eyes to concentrate. “No…rabbits?”

She laughed. Relieved now. So he hadn’t hit the slip she was worried about.

“You tell me,” she said.

He looked at her. “I’m seeing ‘No rabbits.’ Are you writing in code? Wait.” His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Are you pregnant?”

“What?” She was laughing.

“Maybe you’re worried about the rabbit dying.”

“No! I definitely want them to die. They’ve eaten my entire garden.”

“This is about gardening?” He shook his head. “You need bigger wishes, my dear. Perhaps this last one. Put this one into my hatband. There you go. Don’t let me touch it.”

She tucked it into the front of the band. “How are you doing this?” she asked. “Have you always been able to do this?”

The man behind her snorted. He made a show of studying the plastic menu.

“Let me concentrate,” Teddy said. He put on the Borsalino, but kept his fingers well away from the band. “Yes. This one’s definitely a big one.”

The man laughed.

“Jesus Christ!” Teddy said. “Would you mind?”

The man turned around. Graciella glanced behind her, then said to Teddy, “Do you two know each other?”

“Unfortunately,” Teddy said.

“Destin Smalls,” the man said, offering her his hand.

She refused to take it. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

Ding! Teddy’s heart opened like a cracked safe.

“I work for the government,” Smalls said.

“Is this a setup?” Graciella asked. “Is this about Nick?”

“Who’s Nick?” Smalls asked Teddy.

“My husband,” said Graciella.

“I have no idea why he just showed up,” Teddy said to Graciella. “I haven’t seen this guy in years.”

“Don’t be taken in,” Smalls told her. “It’s called billet reading. An old trick, almost as old as he is.”