![\"Print](\"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/wp-content\/plugins\/wp-print\/images\/printer_famfamfam.gif\" "\\"Print")
<\/a> <\/a> Print This Post<\/a>\nYeah, I knew her. I knew her from the moment she pushed aside my cashmere curtains and stepped into my studio. Didn\u2019t know her personally<\/i>, mind. Just knew her type<\/i>. You know? It\u2019s simple: when life throws a lemon party, only a few types come to me<\/i> for their lemonade.<\/p>\n
So there she is, all distracted by my walls of kabbalah posters, tulle drapes, and a painting of a cat with a top hat. She squints, because there\u2019s just the glow of my crystal ball and some black lights. But I\u2019ve been sitting in the dark like a creep, so I see her clear as day. Buys me time for a full rundown.<\/p>\n
Black woman, early thirties. Standing all poised, like she\u2019s knotted herself together. So: stressed out, but afraid to show it. Rugged clothes, cheap earrings. So: hungry for money. Gloves. So: neat freak!<\/p>\n
I totally have her pegged, right? She\u2019s the \u201cdreamer.\u201d Life\u2019s not how she wants, but she\u2019s too much of a stiff to change it. She needs pats on the head. Stories about the bright future. Candyland rainbows melting in the sunset. For a dollar a minute, I\u2019m happy to provide.<\/p>\n
I start my little song-and-dance. Snap my fingers once. Send off cheesy little bursts of flame from my sleeves. We lock eyes, and I go: \u201cWelcome to Ruby\u2019s Readings. I\u2019m Ruby.\u201d With a quick sleight of hand, I slip a tarot deck from my purple cloak. Rider-Waite, latest edition. A fortune girl\u2019s best friend. I flare the cards, which glow in the black light. She rests a gloved hand on the back of the oak guest chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have questions,\u201d I say, my voice dusky. \u201cAnd the tarot has all the answers.\u201d I center the deck on my velvet-covered table. Wave my hands above it. \u201cPlease, cut the deck. Imbue the cards with your spirit.\u201d I motion to the chair. \u201cHave a seat.\u201d<\/p>\n
She does not have a seat. It gets awkward real quick, so I say, \u201cDo not be afraid, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ve met before,\u201d she goes.<\/p>\n
And I think, great, honey, then let\u2019s get down to business<\/i>.<\/p>\n
And I say, \u201cThen your energies are prepared.\u201d I\u2019m racking my brain. When did she come by? What lines did I feed her last time? I got nothing. So I try to bait: \u201cLet us continue that conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n
She leans on the chair\u2019s back. \u201cLast time, your voodoo cards…\u201d she says, waving at my deck, \u201cThey told me I\u2019d come into money. Said that, through family, I\u2019d get what I needed to follow my dreams.\u201d<\/p>\n
Okay, so that sounds like me. But her eyes are wide, with this weird edge. I bet she\u2019s pissed my prophecies haven\u2019t come through yet. I\u2019m prepping my next ready-made lines: Don\u2019t worry, dear, all good things come in time.<\/i><\/p>\n
\u201cAnd then,\u201d she says. \u201cAnd then Uncle Henry died. Left me with enough cash to get my feet under me. Start my next big job.\u201d<\/p>\n
I blink. Hot damn<\/i>. I\u2019m chuffed, but I flash her a cool smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe cards never lie, my dear,\u201d I lie.<\/p>\n
She stares at me for an uncomfortable second. \u201cGood,\u201d she says. \u201cI\u2019m gonna need \u2019em.\u201d<\/p>\n
I clear my throat. \u201cWell, if you\u2019ll have a seat\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUncle Henry also left me his prized possession,\u201d she says, flipping the chair round and taking a seat. A flash of silver in the crystal-ball light, and there, in her hand, is a gun.<\/p>\n
I lock up. She rests her cheek against the gun barrel, pointed up, but her eyes aim for me.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s time for that next big job. And you\u2019re coming with,\u201d she says, all business.<\/p>\n
I mutter vague excuses but can\u2019t bring myself to detail them; her hot, gunpowder death-maker is an awful deterrent. So, she nods at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s go, Truth-teller,\u201d she says. \u201cBring those cards. My guy is waiting for us in the van.\u201d<\/p>\n
We have a short debate about this, where I wring my hands and she gestures with her gun.<\/p>\n
With the debate concluded, I end up in the empty back of her van. We\u2019re rolling down back avenues and I\u2019m rocking about, stomach aching from nerves and bad suspension, looking like a circus freak in the sunlight with my cheap purple cloak.<\/p>\n
This lady\u2014I\u2019ll call her Gunner\u2014she\u2019s squatting in front of me, and she\u2019s got one hand wrapped around her gun\u2019s neck, as if ready to bludgeon. The other hand points at tattered blueprints.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a small-time bank,\u201d she says. \u201cSome tellers up front, handful of customers, maybe a part-time guard with peach fuzz. Security is way outdated.\u201d She looks at me hard. \u201cAnything we don\u2019t know about?\u201d<\/p>\n
I cock my head. \u201cWell, uh…\u201d I say. \u201cI don\u2019t know how to break this to you, but I don\u2019t work at the bank.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course not,\u201d she says. \u201cAsk the cards.\u201d<\/p>\n
I squint at her. Slowly, it all sinks in. \u201cYou… you want me to use my tarot cards…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUh huh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo get you through your bank heist?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou got it, Truth-teller.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c…Cool.\u201d<\/p>\n
And of course, that\u2019s the last thing I want to do. I want to vault right out the back, road rash be damned. But the back door looks locked, and she\u2019s got that handgun. And there\u2019s this big, big white dude driving the van. I\u2019m gonna call him Meatstick. His beefy hands throttle the steering wheel like he\u2019d be good at doing the same to me.<\/p>\n
I lean forward, trying not to sweat on my cards too much.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook…\u201d I say. I clear my throat as I shuffle the cards. \u201cThe tarot doesn\u2019t work right if it\u2019s not all laid out. It\u2019s just as much about\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Idly, she tugs on her gun\u2019s slide, checking that there\u2019s a bullet in the chamber.<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d I say. So, I cut the deck and I set down the cards, and I wave my hand over the deck. Habit tells me to close my eyes and say some emphatic oohs<\/i>, but I\u2019m afraid of getting gun-butt to face if I ham it up too much. So, I take a deep breath, pray to my late aunt Edna, and flip over the first card.<\/p>\n
On the card is a sad, Jesus-y old man with a stick and lantern.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Hermit,\u201d I tell Gunner. I think: What I wouldn\u2019t give to be that guy. Just me and that lantern. We\u2019d be pals.<\/i><\/p>\n
\u201cAnd?\u201d Gunner says. Up front, the steering wheel\u2019s leather squeaks under Meatstick\u2019s grip.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis guy\u2019s all about planning,\u201d I sputter. \u201cWhich… you guys got covered, I see.\u201d My mind spins. \u201cUh, and since he\u2019s upside down, it\u2019s all about loneliness and suspicion. About expecting the worst.\u201d My heart whirls as I catch an opportunity. I look at her, wide-eyed. \u201cYeah. It means all is not what it seems here. Maybe they hired more guards. Or maybe they upgraded the security. Can\u2019t know for sure.\u201d For good measure, I add, sagely, \u201cYou know, might just be best to call it all off.\u201d<\/p>\n
Gunner and I have a good ol\u2019 awkward stare-off. Then she says, \u201cThen we\u2019ll have to secure everyone right away.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEr, wait,\u201d I say, \u201cThat\u2019s not what I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
She leans for Meatstick. \u201cGet your shotgun ready. We\u2019re doing this loud.\u201d<\/p>\n
We have three more debates in my head, but they all end with Meatstick doing a jig on my face. So I just keep quiet and twirl the Hermit around my fingers.<\/p>\n
We arrive at the bank, and sure enough, it\u2019s tiny. We park along the side, leave the van doors open and the keys in the ignition. They drag me along, and off we go waltzing straight through the front door. Gunner and her handgun, then me and my doofy attire, then Meatstick and a shotgun that looks like a baton against his frame.<\/p>\n
The lobby is quaint, just two tellers up front, and a handful of people in line. Rustic wood-carved decorations, faux-marble floors. A single, open door to the right leads to back offices. No peach-fuzz guard in sight.<\/p>\n
The couple of people that notice us are so distracted by my fugly cloak, they don\u2019t see Gunner reach into her satchel and pull out a second handgun\u2014a revolver. She aims high, fires three times into the ceiling, and damn do my ears ring. I think I\u2019ve gotten tinnitus until I realize that, no, part of it is all the screaming. Everyone\u2019s dropping to the ground, and the two tellers back for the wall with their hands up. And there\u2019s Gunner\u2019s yelling: \u201cGet on the ground! Don\u2019t move! Don\u2019t touch a thing!\u201d<\/p>\n
Meatstick rushes forward with his shotgun, keeping the tellers in line. And Gunner, she spins around, shoves the revolver into my hands. The thing is still smoking, and heavier than I expected. Somehow, it\u2019s only now<\/i> that my fool self asks: What have I gotten myself into?<\/i> Also: They trust me with one of these?<\/i> I<\/i> don\u2019t trust me with these. I look for a safety switch, but the revolver doesn\u2019t seem to have one.<\/p>\n
Gunner moves quickly to the front counter, waving her gun at the crowd, while Meatstick secures the tellers with zip ties. Gunner gestures for me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright, Truth-teller,\u201d she says. \u201cLet\u2019s do this. C\u2019mere.\u201d<\/p>\n
So I come up to the counter, waving my gun around for show as I do. Gunner and I lean in together over the counter.<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone\u2019s down,\u201d she says, her voice low. With the tellers tied, Meatstick rounds the desk and starts walking from person to person, zip-tying their hands behind their backs. \u201cWhat do we need to know next?\u201d<\/p>\n
I let out a long breath against a torrent of nerves. Look across the terrified crowd, then lean back in. \u201cLook, we\u2019re gonna get ourselves arrested or killed here,\u201d I whisper. \u201cCan I just say… this is absolutely\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she says, expressionless. \u201cNo, you can\u2019t just say<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n
I blink. \u201cCool. Glad we\u2019re on the same page.\u201d I slip out my tarot deck. Can\u2019t help but give it just the slightest flair. A bit of shuffle therapy for me, even if Gunner seems less than impressed. I flip a card down one-handed.<\/p>\n
On the card is a dude with a fez, who holds way too many swords by the blades. He looks like he\u2019s enjoying himself, even as he\u2019s about to drop the swords with infomercial-style blunder.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeven of Swords,\u201d I say, trying to keep my voice from cracking. I clench my eyes shut, waggle my non-gun hand over the card. \u201cOoh, yes, it\u2019s a card of great foreboding.\u201d My voice quavers like I\u2019m an ancient lady, or a spooky ghost. \u201cGreat foreboding indeed.\u201d Uh huh. And all the while, I think: What the hell<\/i> does it mean? And how\u2019d I manage to<\/i> forget?<\/i> I strain, try to ignore Meatstick\u2019s bellowing. I mean, I can\u2019t just make something up, can I? Girl\u2019s got standards.<\/p>\n
Suddenly, I remember. \u201cOoh, it means… betrayal.\u201d Yeah, it\u2019s coming back to me now. Caught up with the relief, I keep on, eyes still closed: \u201cIf you\u2019re not careful, you will be deceived by someone very sneaky. So sneaky! Someone near you will try to pull a fast one. You\u2019ll be\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I open my eyes, and Gunner\u2019s sticking her uncle\u2019s prized possession at my nose.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat so?\u201d she says. She looks to Meatstick. It\u2019s funny; his shotgun doesn\u2019t seem quite so little when it\u2019s aimed at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve known this guy since we were kids,\u201d Gunner says. \u201cHe and I, we\u2019ve been through a lot.\u201d Her finger edges for the trigger. \u201cSo who here is left to be sneaky?\u201d<\/p>\n
And that\u2019s when there\u2019s a clatter behind me. We look back just in time to see a guy skitter up, pull the alarm, and bust out the door.<\/p>\n
We all yell, but the sirens yell louder\u2014and then Meatstick is blasting his shotgun into the air and Gunner\u2019s dragging me past the tellers.<\/p>\n
The back room is all plush carpet, with office doors along either side, and at the end, the bank vault door protected by a gate of metal bars. Gunner and I wave our guns around. The few workers who had been rubbernecking from their office doors duck back inside, leaving the room to us.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe gotta act fast,\u201d says Gunner, heading straight for the vault. She tosses down her satchel and starts pulling out cables. \u201cAnother card, Truth-teller!\u201d So I stuff the gun in my cloak pocket, crouch next to her, and draw.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s a posh man with his pet sword. He sits on a massive throne inexplicably placed in a tiny woodland diorama. It\u2019s the King of Swords, which I always thought was a mighty bold title since he only has the one.<\/p>\n
I flash her the card, and she flashes me back a look showing she doesn\u2019t keep up on her royalty. \u201cKing of Swords,\u201d I explain, \u201cis all about mastery. Strength. Authority.\u201d I glance to the front of the bank; sirens wail in the far distance. \u201cOr in this case, I guess… Authorities?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd how\u2019s that getting us through this gate and into the vault?\u201d Gunner says.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d I say. \u201cYeah.\u201d I look around. \u201cAuthority. Hey. Maybe there\u2019s a bank manager?\u201d<\/p>\n
Gunner stands up sharply. \u201cOf course,\u201d she says. She gives a little chuckle. \u201cThose cards are smart.\u201d She looks across the doors in the room, before landing on one just behind me. She points. \u201cThere.\u201d She grabs me by the arm and pulls me to it. \u201cGet the key for the vault gate. And the code to the vault too, or this is gonna get even louder.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWait, what\u2014\u201d I try, but I\u2019m drowned out by the blast of her gun, which blows open the door by the handle. Before I know it, she\u2019s pushed me through the splinters and dust into the office, where a small, graying man is dropping his telephone and scrambling up. There\u2019s some unintelligible yelling, I\u2019m sure from me as much as him, and he dives for something on his desk. A flash of silver, a blade!<\/i> says my brain, and on instinct I draw my gun on him.<\/p>\n
Only once the dust settles do I see: he\u2019s wielding a letter opener. Still, he points it at me with such a volatile blend of desperation and fear I don\u2019t dare lower my gun.<\/p>\n
\u201cEr, uh…\u201d I start. I clear my throat. \u201cLet\u2019s make this easy for everyone. Give me the keys to the vault.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man doesn\u2019t speak; he just keeps backing up. His free hand scrambles blindly against the back wall. And here I\u2019m left baffled. I already have the gun trained on him; isn\u2019t that incentive enough?<\/p>\n
So, I lean out the door, catch Gunner\u2019s attention\u2014she\u2019s made quite a mess by now with the odds and bobs from her satchel\u2014and I mouth, What do I do?<\/i><\/p>\n
She shrugs. \u201cIsn\u2019t that what your cards are for?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
I frown, lean back in. With no better options, I sigh, re-draw my deck, and while I keep the gun trained on him, I one-hand shuffle the cards.<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s find out your fate,\u201d I say. He just blubbers, and I can only think to myself, Don\u2019t draw the Death card, don\u2019t draw the Death card<\/i>…<\/p>\n
I pull one and show it to him first, repressing the urge from my carnival days to ask whether it\u2019s indeed his card. He frowns at it. Seems scared at first, but then he just cocks his head. I flip the card around and I see why: It\u2019s the weird scene that is the Ten of Pentacles. A couple and their child are chilling with the doppelganger of Moses. Though they\u2019re probably only there to pet his two adorable dogs.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Ten of Pentacles,\u201d I announce. I squint at the card. \u201cHey. The old man here looks kinda like you. Anyway, this card\u2019s all about family and wealth and security. Or, flipped upside down, the loss thereof.\u201d I fold the card back in. Decide to run with it. \u201cThis isn\u2019t worth your family losing you, is it?\u201d<\/p>\n
He deflates, puts his hands up. \u201cAlright, alright,\u201d he says. He reaches into his pockets and tosses a ring of keys to my feet. \u201cYou\u2019re insane. A madwoman. Just let me be.\u201d<\/p>\n
I pick up the keys. \u201cAnd the code to the vault?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man swallows hard. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter now. That alarm, you\u2019re only getting through if you\u2019ve got explosives.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frown. Glance at Gunner. And only now do I realize that everything she\u2019s pulling out of her satchel make up a bomb. What\u2019d I think she was gonna do to the vault, jump-start it?<\/p>\n
I toss the keys to her. She nods, unlocks the gate, and as she swings it open, she points at my door.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood work. He\u2019ll be secure in there?\u201d<\/p>\n
I look back, just in time to see the manager tumbling out the window. I finally stop aiming the gun forward. Carefully, I pull the door closed. \u201cSure,\u201d I say. \u201cHe\u2019s not going anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
I get back to Gunner, who is setting up an explosive charge against the vault\u2019s exposed lock. I swallow the acrid taste of anxiety. All at once, it feels like too much. Sirens scream closer; people cry in the lobby. Meatstick details all the fine ways he\u2019ll rearrange someone\u2019s face if they try anything.<\/p>\n
A terrible thought hits me as Gunner places the last bits against the vault. After all, I do<\/i> have a gun. I could end Gunner right now. If I\u2019m fast enough, I can jump Meatstick before he knows what\u2019s happened. I can stop all of this. I have the power. If I can only bring myself to use<\/i> it\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright, Truth-teller,\u201d Gunner says, turning back to me. I wag the gun away. She stares hard at me for just a second. Then says: \u201cTime to do your thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nod and draw another card, all business now. \u201cOkay, this time we got\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, no,\u201d she says. She holds out a thin rope from her project. The rope wedges into bricks that look like\u2014but probably aren\u2019t\u2014just gray putty. \u201cYour other<\/i> thing,\u201d she says. \u201cThat little…\u201d She gestures with her wrist.<\/p>\n
I piece it all together. She\u2019s holding the fuse<\/i>. \u201cOh of course,\u201d I say, stepping up. I grab it. \u201cSo I should just…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe sooner the better,\u201d she says. Meatstick makes an angry grunt from the other room, and she moves to help him out. \u201cJust get out of the way when you do!\u201d<\/p>\n
So there I\u2019m holding the fuse in one hand, feeling like a dolt while I aim my other wrist at it. Nervously, I send out a little tuft of fire that seems so much less impressive in the light. The fuse doesn\u2019t take. I frown, try again. No luck.<\/p>\n
\u201cNow<\/i>!\u201d Gunner yells, punctuated by a shotgun peal. I try a third time with no luck, this time barely making a flame at all. Running out of juice. So I dig in my pocket and pull out the lighter I keep for cigarettes that I could use so badly right now. One flick, and the fuse is crackling its way puttyward. I shuffle up, tripping on my robe, and as I round the corner, I yell, \u201cFire in the hole!\u201d<\/p>\n
The concussion rocks the bank, at once deeper and sharper than I expected. It sounds like someone Meatstick-sized slammed the vault with a mallet. But moments later, it\u2019s clear this was more effective; I hear metal clattering to the floor.<\/p>\n
Gunner rushes back in with a whoop, pulls the hefty door open from its steaming, blasted-out hole, and moves inside with her satchel. Moments later I hear her grinding away with a power drill.<\/p>\n
I come round to the open vault door. There before me are two walls of lockboxes, and beyond them, a metal table layered deliciously with stacks of cash. I stand coughing from the pungent aftermath until Gunner throws the empty satchel at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cFill \u2019er up, Truth-teller,\u201d she says, and she doesn\u2019t have to tell me twice. Next I know, I\u2019m scooping armful after armful of bills into the satchel, only pausing to shuck out the contents of each lockbox as Gunner busts it open. Jewels. Fine watches. Bonds. Some poor sap\u2019s living will\u2014never mind, that one ends up on the floor.<\/p>\n
And I\u2019ll admit, in the excitement, all my apprehension boils away, reducing into this heady glee. I dare let myself think the unthinkable: If we make it out of this, I could choose to never work again. I wouldn\u2019t have to put on the old song-and-dance, wear this cheap, stupid robe I found at a party store. I wouldn\u2019t have to keep up the very act that got me into this mess.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re not out of this yet,\u201d Gunner says, which doesn\u2019t sober me in the slightest. She sees that the satchel is full to bursting, so she offers up another satchel. We swap, and she points at me, eyes wide. \u201cNow, ask the cards how we\u2019re getting out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n
The sirens are close now; no doubt it\u2019s only a matter of minutes before this place is swarmed. I throw the new satchel on the metal table, start shoveling cash in with one hand and shuffling the deck with the other. \u201cAlright, another card coming up,\u201d I say. With a flair, I toss a card onto the table. I finally give up on the lockboxes and sweep a huge chunk of cash into the satchel. It spills across the floor, which only makes me laugh. There\u2019s more here than we\u2019d ever need. Hands shaking, I zip up the satchel, throw it over my shoulder, and pick up the card.<\/p>\n
Before I can read it, I hear a metallic slam behind me. I turn to find the gate closed, Gunner standing on the other side. I drop the card to my feet. She stares at me as she re-locks the gate.<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks, Truth-teller,\u201d she says. She gives me a salute, hefts the loaded bag over her shoulder, and jogs for the front. I stare, dumbfounded, as I hear them exit. Then, tires peel out and veer away, only moments later followed by police cars careening to a stop out front. Flashes of blue and red through the windows, and then men with guns yelling at me to get on the ground.<\/p>\n
Seconds later, belly to the floor, handcuffs locking round my wrists, I see the card: I drew a young dandy, one step away from a steep cliff, and neither the white rose nor the white dog can stop him from that fall.<\/p>\n
I drew the Fool.<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
So yes, Officer. I know what it looks like.<\/p>\n
Of course, all the witnesses remember me the best. I look like a vagrant wizard.<\/p>\n
Naturally, my fingerprints are all over the revolver. I told you: she had gloves.<\/p>\n
I get why the bank manager thinks I gambled with his life using cards.<\/p>\n
And I know you caught me\u2014and only me\u2014in the vault. With, again, only my fingerprints over everything.<\/p>\n
What can I tell you, except everything I just did?<\/p>\n
I assume you never caught the other two. Too busy booking prime suspect number one, huh? Of course<\/i> I don\u2019t know where they are. But with how well they planned? Probably halfway to Memphis by now.<\/p>\n
Alright, but just ask yourself: Do I look like the type that could pull this off? What\u2019s more likely: I\u2019m some big shot heister, master of lies and deceit? Or everything I just told you?<\/p>\n
On second thought, don\u2019t answer that.<\/p>\n
==========<\/p>\n
AUTHOR BIO:<\/p>\n
Tarver Nova is a spec-fic writer and professional night owl in New York. His stories are found in Kaleidotrope<\/i> and elsewhere. Visit him at tarvernova.com<\/a>, or show him your cats on Twitter @tarvernova<\/a>.<\/p>\n ==========<\/p>\n WHY WE CHOSE TO PUBLISH \u201cThe Oracle and the Heist\u201d:<\/p>\n Such unexpected fun. In the first few sentences of his opening, author Tarver Nova sets up the scene, introduces an interesting character with an interesting voice, and tosses in a bit of foreshadowing. And the reader is hooked. In short order we know what the antagonist<\/i> wants, so, the story sucks us in even more is off and running. What makes this piece work so well is that we have no idea where this is going, beyond a semi-planned (ill-planned?) bank robbery.<\/p>\n The ending delivers a double punch. The first happens when the main character draws the Fool, and we chuckle\u2014of course it had to be that card. Nothing else would make sense, but we still didn\u2019t expect it. The story could have ended there, but the author adds one more little surprise by revealing that the entire story was one big flashback being told by the main character to the police. Fiction is typically narrated in past tense, and because of that, we sort of know it already happened. But this one is told in present tense, so the second ending catches us by surprise <\/p>\n Note that the author never tells us any of the characters\u2019 real names, not even the main character. We\u2019ve all read stories where some of the minor characters are identified by their appearance or profession, but it\u2019s rare for the protagonist to be done that way. Here, however, the technique works perfectly and adds to the humor.<\/p>\n We chose this story because it\u2019s precisely what we look for in the pieces we publish: something different, something unexpected. By that we don\u2019t necessarily mean a surprise ending. Rather, we want a story that is out of the ordinary. Had this story been only about a clever bank robbery, we might not have given it a second look. What sets this story apart is that the main character isn\u2019t a bank robber and doesn\u2019t turn out to be a hero. The robbers get away with it, and Truth-teller get the blame\u2014a bit of a downer. Could the main character have done something different to avoid getting sucked in? Probably not, because she didn\u2019t believe she had any real fortune-telling abilities. However, the reader is left with a slight hope that the police will straighten everything out eventually.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" She leans on the chair\u2019s back. \u201cLast time, your voodoo cards…\u201d she says, waving at my deck, \u201cThey told me I\u2019d come into money.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1509,"menu_order":4,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"issuem_issue":[254],"issuem_issue_categories":[],"issuem_issue_tags":[258],"class_list":["post-1520","article","type-article","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","issuem_issue-issue-36-january-2022","issuem_issue_tags-trver-nova"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/article\/1520","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/article"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/article"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1520"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/article\/1520\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1522,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/article\/1520\/revisions\/1522"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1509"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1520"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"issuem_issue","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/issuem_issue?post=1520"},{"taxonomy":"issuem_issue_categories","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/issuem_issue_categories?post=1520"},{"taxonomy":"issuem_issue_tags","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/fabulaargentea.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/issuem_issue_tags?post=1520"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}