To has been continued
Frank sat uncomfortably at the bar taking only occasional sips from his beer. It wasn’t very crowded, being a Wednesday night, and the bartender didn’t seem to mind that Frank had been sitting there for close to an hour and had only ordered one drink. There was a good looking blonde woman a few stools over that he had been taking secretive glances at, but she was with some other guy. Frank could swear, though, that he caught her looking back at him a few times. He didn’t want to approach her; he was still waiting for Mickey to show up. Frank looked at his watch again.
“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” a familiar voice said. Frank turned to look, and Mickey was standing behind him looking not at all apologetic for being an hour late.
“Where the hell have you been?” Frank asked.
“Sorry about that, I had a few things I needed to take care of first. I’ve got something important to tell you, though. The bar isn’t very private - mind if we grab a table?” He stated it more than asked, and had picked up Frank’s half-full beer and started walking to a table before he could object. Frank got up and followed.
“You sound like you’re about to dump me or something,” Frank said with a grin. “Don’t get so dramatic.” He sat across from Mickey and took another sip of his beer. It was a little more bitter than he remembered, but he shrugged that off. He just wasn’t used to drinking, that’s all.
“This is going to sound a little strange, but just hear me out, ok? You probably won’t believe me at first, but I can prove everything I’m going to tell you.” Mickey had produced a quarter from somewhere and was rolling it casually over his knuckles as he was talking.
“Mmmhmm, whatever,” Frank said with a roll of his eyes. “Out with it, whatever it is. Let me be the judge.” Mickey suddenly stopped rolling the quarter and held it firmly in his hand. Frank took another sip of his beer. No, this is definitely more bitter than usual, he thought.
“If I flip this quarter, what are the odds it’ll land on heads?” Mickey asked as he flipped the quarter high into the air.
“About fifty percent,” Frank responded with a roll of his eyes while the quarter was still in the air. It made a surprisingly loud *clank* on the wooden table as it landed, heads side up.
“Fifty-fifty, the odds aren’t too bad there,” Mickey said, picking up the quarter. “If I flip it again, it’s still fifty-fifty, right? Might land on heads again, but it’s just as likely to land on tails. Right?” Frank nodded at him. “But what are the odds of it landing on heads ten times in a row? Pretty low?” He flipped the quarter high into the air again.
“Yeah, I’d say pretty low.” Frank started trying to calculate the odds in his head. Another extremely loud *clank* as the quarter landed, heads side up again. Frank looked around to see if the sound had drawn anyone’s attention. The blonde woman was looking in their direction, but she looked away once she saw Frank looking back.
“Twice in a row. Not that big of a deal. Any schmuck can get lucky. But the point is, Frank, sometimes it’s not about luck.” Mickey flipped the quarter into the air again, even higher this time. Frank caught it before it landed and smacked it down on the back of his other hand, looking at Mickey. Mickey only grinned at him and nodded. He pulled his hand away and saw Washington’s face.
“You see, Frank, what you don’t know - what a lot of people don’t know - is that luck isn’t about just being lucky.” He took the quarter off of Frank’s hand and flipped it into the air again, not quite so high this time. Frank let it land on the table. It bounced a little bit before coming up heads again. Mickey let Frank stare at it for a few seconds before picking it back up. Frank took another sip of beer.
“It’s 1 in 1024,” Frank said just before Mickey could flip the quarter again. Mickey stopped and looked at him with a confused squint. “The odds of getting heads ten times in a row, I mean. It’s 1 in 1024.”
“Ahh, so it may be,” Mickey said, and tossed the quarter in the air again. He let it show heads again and left it lying on the table as he continued. “So what does that mean, exactly? What do odds and chances and probabilities mean? That if I flipped a quarter ten times, and wrote down what I got each time, I’d have to do that 1024 times before I got heads all ten times?”
“Not quite,” Frank responded, “but close. It actually means that if you flipped it 1024 times-”
“Don’t bother trying to explain it to me, Frankie; I’ve never been good with numbers.” Mickey picked up the quarter. “Then again, that’s never really mattered. Some people are good with numbers; some of us… have other talents.” He flipped the quarter again and let Frank watch in silence as, once again, it landed heads side up. This time Frank picked up the quarter before Mickey could and started examining it. It certainly felt like a normal quarter. He turned it over and looked at both sides. There was a heads and a tails. He tossed it back to Mickey who caught it and slammed it down on the back of his other hand. “I mean, you don’t actually have to be good at calculating what numbers are supposed to mean… when you can just change what they mean.” He pulled his hand away and, without checking to see for himself, showed Frank the heads side of the quarter resting on the back of his hand.
“How are you doing that?” Frank asked.
“Ahh, you’re making progress already, your mind is opening up to new possibilities,” Mickey said. “You’re already willing to admit that I’m doing it.” He flipped the quarter into the air again. “You just don’t know how,” he said as the quarter landed face up again.
“It’s something with the way you’re flipping it,” Frank said, feeling a bit light-headed. “I saw a special on street magic, and there’s a trick to flipping it, right? So it lands on the side you want?”
“What you saw was a special on illusionists,” Mickey said, picking up the quarter and holding it up to Frank with his left hand. He suddenly grabbed it with his right hand and pulled it away. When he opened his right hand, the quarter wasn’t there. With a silly grin, Mickey reached behind Frank’s ear with his left hand and pulled the quarter out. “Simple sleight-of-hand, trickery, cunning, prestidigitation, legerdemain. Call it what you will; some people call it magic. It’s a lot of things, but it’s not magic.” He bounced the quarter off the table this time and let it clank off of Frank’s beer glass and land on heads. “Magic tends to be a bit more… subtle than that. But it can also be more powerful.”
“You’re trying to tell me that magic is real?” Frank asked indignantly. His mind was racing with what he was seeing, but nothing made sense; it felt like he was trying to think his way through a room full of cotton. No, magic can’t be real; this is just another kind of trick. What’s he trying to pull on me?
“I’m not trying to tell you anything, buddy, I’m showing you.” He prepared to flip the quarter again, but paused before doing so. “I said ten, right? How many heads have we gotten so far? Nine?” Frank had lost count, but nodded anyway. “Well, I guess this will settle it, then.” Mickey flipped the quarter into the air again, higher than any of his previous flips. It hit what looked like a grease stain on the ceiling of the bar before coming back down and landing perfectly on its edge. “Well, would you look at that? What are the odds?”
Frank stared at the quarter in disbelief. He tried to think of some way, some trick that Mickey could have used to do that, but he could hardly think at all. “How come nobody knows about this, then? If magic is real… how come you don’t see people all over the place using it?” He was still staring at the quarter resting on its edge.
“Have more sense than that, Frankie. Do you think I want people knowing I can do what I can do? Do you think any casino in the world would let me in the door if they knew I could do what I can do?” Frank looked up at him, suddenly realizing the implication of what he could do. “No, Frankie, I haven’t gone around making a fortune off of this. I - and the few other people who have access to this power - we like to keep things secretive. It’s better for everyone if no one outside of our small circle finds out.”
“Why are you telling me, then?”
“I see the potential in you. And that’s not some cheesy, motivational mumbo-jumbo about how special you are. I can literally sense the ability within you; you just need to learn to use it. Not everyone has this gift, Frankie; it’s incredibly rare. The last person I saw with it was two years ago, and that guy wasn’t the type of guy you want to give this sort of power. That’s the thing with learning this magic: it’s very rare to find someone with the potential, but even someone with the potential will never learn it unless someone shows it to them. That’s why I was glad I saw the potential in you. You’re a genuine nice guy, Frankie. You don’t see too many of those anymore.”
“I… you’re going to teach me how to use magic?” Frank still didn’t completely believe the conversation, but going along with it felt like the right thing to do. And his head was still feeling cloudy, so he took another sip of his beer. “What if I don’t want to learn? What if I go to the police, or the government, or whatever, and tell them about this?”
“Well, Frank,” Mickey said, taking on a very somber tone suddenly, “there’s the problem. I took a risk by telling you this. The only people who know about this magic are the people that can use it. That’s it. No friends, no family, no loved ones, no one else is allowed to know. Not unless they can use it, too. It’s sort of a rule we have; one of many. It’s strict, but it keeps us safe. And unfortunately, there’s no way I could have asked you if you wanted in without letting you know, so… I took a risk on you Frankie. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it’s on you now. You want to learn: great, I can teach you. If not… well, I can’t let you live to let the secret out.”
“You’d kill me?” Frank asked, possibly too loudly. He looked around again, but no one was looking at him, not even the blonde woman this time. “You’d kill me?” he asked again, more quietly this time. “Just because I know about this magic?”
Mickey suddenly broke out in a grin and then a barely stifled chuckle. “I’m just messing with you, Frankie. No, I wouldn’t kill you. Hell, you could probably go tell anyone you want and they’d just think you were crazy; you have no proof of anything I’ve told you. But I wouldn’t even take that risk; I could make you think this whole thing was a dream if I wanted to.” Frank’s eyes widened in surprise at that comment. “Don’t worry, I haven’t messed with your mind. And I’d rather not, if I don’t have to. It’s not something I particularly enjoy doing.”
“I want to learn this magic stuff,” Frank said. “What else can you do with it? How strong is the magic? Is it… how hard is it to learn? How soon will I be able to-“
“Not tonight, Frankie,” Mickey cut him off. “You’ve had a big day; this is a lot to take in. Finish your beer and I’ll drive you home. Spend some time thinking about it; don’t just say yes. We’ll talk at work tomorrow.”
Frank finished off the last of his beer and got up to leave. He stumbled a bit, surprised at how heavy he felt. He almost tripped walking to the door, but no one in the bar noticed. It almost seemed to Frank as if people were intentionally ignoring him, but that didn’t make any sense. He got in Mickey’s car and went the entire ride without any more conversation. Frank was surprised at how soon they got to his apartment building; he had spent the entire ride lost in thought. He waved to Mickey, went up to his apartment on the fourth floor and collapsed straight onto the couch, not bothering to fold the bed out from it. He didn’t fall asleep for another three hours, but he didn’t move from his spot on the couch; he spent the time thinking about what Mickey had shown him, and what it meant if it was true. Tomorrow would be an interesting day at work.
“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” a familiar voice said. Frank turned to look, and Mickey was standing behind him looking not at all apologetic for being an hour late.
“Where the hell have you been?” Frank asked.
“Sorry about that, I had a few things I needed to take care of first. I’ve got something important to tell you, though. The bar isn’t very private - mind if we grab a table?” He stated it more than asked, and had picked up Frank’s half-full beer and started walking to a table before he could object. Frank got up and followed.
“You sound like you’re about to dump me or something,” Frank said with a grin. “Don’t get so dramatic.” He sat across from Mickey and took another sip of his beer. It was a little more bitter than he remembered, but he shrugged that off. He just wasn’t used to drinking, that’s all.
“This is going to sound a little strange, but just hear me out, ok? You probably won’t believe me at first, but I can prove everything I’m going to tell you.” Mickey had produced a quarter from somewhere and was rolling it casually over his knuckles as he was talking.
“Mmmhmm, whatever,” Frank said with a roll of his eyes. “Out with it, whatever it is. Let me be the judge.” Mickey suddenly stopped rolling the quarter and held it firmly in his hand. Frank took another sip of his beer. No, this is definitely more bitter than usual, he thought.
“If I flip this quarter, what are the odds it’ll land on heads?” Mickey asked as he flipped the quarter high into the air.
“About fifty percent,” Frank responded with a roll of his eyes while the quarter was still in the air. It made a surprisingly loud *clank* on the wooden table as it landed, heads side up.
“Fifty-fifty, the odds aren’t too bad there,” Mickey said, picking up the quarter. “If I flip it again, it’s still fifty-fifty, right? Might land on heads again, but it’s just as likely to land on tails. Right?” Frank nodded at him. “But what are the odds of it landing on heads ten times in a row? Pretty low?” He flipped the quarter high into the air again.
“Yeah, I’d say pretty low.” Frank started trying to calculate the odds in his head. Another extremely loud *clank* as the quarter landed, heads side up again. Frank looked around to see if the sound had drawn anyone’s attention. The blonde woman was looking in their direction, but she looked away once she saw Frank looking back.
“Twice in a row. Not that big of a deal. Any schmuck can get lucky. But the point is, Frank, sometimes it’s not about luck.” Mickey flipped the quarter into the air again, even higher this time. Frank caught it before it landed and smacked it down on the back of his other hand, looking at Mickey. Mickey only grinned at him and nodded. He pulled his hand away and saw Washington’s face.
“You see, Frank, what you don’t know - what a lot of people don’t know - is that luck isn’t about just being lucky.” He took the quarter off of Frank’s hand and flipped it into the air again, not quite so high this time. Frank let it land on the table. It bounced a little bit before coming up heads again. Mickey let Frank stare at it for a few seconds before picking it back up. Frank took another sip of beer.
“It’s 1 in 1024,” Frank said just before Mickey could flip the quarter again. Mickey stopped and looked at him with a confused squint. “The odds of getting heads ten times in a row, I mean. It’s 1 in 1024.”
“Ahh, so it may be,” Mickey said, and tossed the quarter in the air again. He let it show heads again and left it lying on the table as he continued. “So what does that mean, exactly? What do odds and chances and probabilities mean? That if I flipped a quarter ten times, and wrote down what I got each time, I’d have to do that 1024 times before I got heads all ten times?”
“Not quite,” Frank responded, “but close. It actually means that if you flipped it 1024 times-”
“Don’t bother trying to explain it to me, Frankie; I’ve never been good with numbers.” Mickey picked up the quarter. “Then again, that’s never really mattered. Some people are good with numbers; some of us… have other talents.” He flipped the quarter again and let Frank watch in silence as, once again, it landed heads side up. This time Frank picked up the quarter before Mickey could and started examining it. It certainly felt like a normal quarter. He turned it over and looked at both sides. There was a heads and a tails. He tossed it back to Mickey who caught it and slammed it down on the back of his other hand. “I mean, you don’t actually have to be good at calculating what numbers are supposed to mean… when you can just change what they mean.” He pulled his hand away and, without checking to see for himself, showed Frank the heads side of the quarter resting on the back of his hand.
“How are you doing that?” Frank asked.
“Ahh, you’re making progress already, your mind is opening up to new possibilities,” Mickey said. “You’re already willing to admit that I’m doing it.” He flipped the quarter into the air again. “You just don’t know how,” he said as the quarter landed face up again.
“It’s something with the way you’re flipping it,” Frank said, feeling a bit light-headed. “I saw a special on street magic, and there’s a trick to flipping it, right? So it lands on the side you want?”
“What you saw was a special on illusionists,” Mickey said, picking up the quarter and holding it up to Frank with his left hand. He suddenly grabbed it with his right hand and pulled it away. When he opened his right hand, the quarter wasn’t there. With a silly grin, Mickey reached behind Frank’s ear with his left hand and pulled the quarter out. “Simple sleight-of-hand, trickery, cunning, prestidigitation, legerdemain. Call it what you will; some people call it magic. It’s a lot of things, but it’s not magic.” He bounced the quarter off the table this time and let it clank off of Frank’s beer glass and land on heads. “Magic tends to be a bit more… subtle than that. But it can also be more powerful.”
“You’re trying to tell me that magic is real?” Frank asked indignantly. His mind was racing with what he was seeing, but nothing made sense; it felt like he was trying to think his way through a room full of cotton. No, magic can’t be real; this is just another kind of trick. What’s he trying to pull on me?
“I’m not trying to tell you anything, buddy, I’m showing you.” He prepared to flip the quarter again, but paused before doing so. “I said ten, right? How many heads have we gotten so far? Nine?” Frank had lost count, but nodded anyway. “Well, I guess this will settle it, then.” Mickey flipped the quarter into the air again, higher than any of his previous flips. It hit what looked like a grease stain on the ceiling of the bar before coming back down and landing perfectly on its edge. “Well, would you look at that? What are the odds?”
Frank stared at the quarter in disbelief. He tried to think of some way, some trick that Mickey could have used to do that, but he could hardly think at all. “How come nobody knows about this, then? If magic is real… how come you don’t see people all over the place using it?” He was still staring at the quarter resting on its edge.
“Have more sense than that, Frankie. Do you think I want people knowing I can do what I can do? Do you think any casino in the world would let me in the door if they knew I could do what I can do?” Frank looked up at him, suddenly realizing the implication of what he could do. “No, Frankie, I haven’t gone around making a fortune off of this. I - and the few other people who have access to this power - we like to keep things secretive. It’s better for everyone if no one outside of our small circle finds out.”
“Why are you telling me, then?”
“I see the potential in you. And that’s not some cheesy, motivational mumbo-jumbo about how special you are. I can literally sense the ability within you; you just need to learn to use it. Not everyone has this gift, Frankie; it’s incredibly rare. The last person I saw with it was two years ago, and that guy wasn’t the type of guy you want to give this sort of power. That’s the thing with learning this magic: it’s very rare to find someone with the potential, but even someone with the potential will never learn it unless someone shows it to them. That’s why I was glad I saw the potential in you. You’re a genuine nice guy, Frankie. You don’t see too many of those anymore.”
“I… you’re going to teach me how to use magic?” Frank still didn’t completely believe the conversation, but going along with it felt like the right thing to do. And his head was still feeling cloudy, so he took another sip of his beer. “What if I don’t want to learn? What if I go to the police, or the government, or whatever, and tell them about this?”
“Well, Frank,” Mickey said, taking on a very somber tone suddenly, “there’s the problem. I took a risk by telling you this. The only people who know about this magic are the people that can use it. That’s it. No friends, no family, no loved ones, no one else is allowed to know. Not unless they can use it, too. It’s sort of a rule we have; one of many. It’s strict, but it keeps us safe. And unfortunately, there’s no way I could have asked you if you wanted in without letting you know, so… I took a risk on you Frankie. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it’s on you now. You want to learn: great, I can teach you. If not… well, I can’t let you live to let the secret out.”
“You’d kill me?” Frank asked, possibly too loudly. He looked around again, but no one was looking at him, not even the blonde woman this time. “You’d kill me?” he asked again, more quietly this time. “Just because I know about this magic?”
Mickey suddenly broke out in a grin and then a barely stifled chuckle. “I’m just messing with you, Frankie. No, I wouldn’t kill you. Hell, you could probably go tell anyone you want and they’d just think you were crazy; you have no proof of anything I’ve told you. But I wouldn’t even take that risk; I could make you think this whole thing was a dream if I wanted to.” Frank’s eyes widened in surprise at that comment. “Don’t worry, I haven’t messed with your mind. And I’d rather not, if I don’t have to. It’s not something I particularly enjoy doing.”
“I want to learn this magic stuff,” Frank said. “What else can you do with it? How strong is the magic? Is it… how hard is it to learn? How soon will I be able to-“
“Not tonight, Frankie,” Mickey cut him off. “You’ve had a big day; this is a lot to take in. Finish your beer and I’ll drive you home. Spend some time thinking about it; don’t just say yes. We’ll talk at work tomorrow.”
Frank finished off the last of his beer and got up to leave. He stumbled a bit, surprised at how heavy he felt. He almost tripped walking to the door, but no one in the bar noticed. It almost seemed to Frank as if people were intentionally ignoring him, but that didn’t make any sense. He got in Mickey’s car and went the entire ride without any more conversation. Frank was surprised at how soon they got to his apartment building; he had spent the entire ride lost in thought. He waved to Mickey, went up to his apartment on the fourth floor and collapsed straight onto the couch, not bothering to fold the bed out from it. He didn’t fall asleep for another three hours, but he didn’t move from his spot on the couch; he spent the time thinking about what Mickey had shown him, and what it meant if it was true. Tomorrow would be an interesting day at work.