Zhdvpht! (Patreon)

I’m not a stalker. Well, ordinarily, I’m not. But I had begun to feel like one after following a girl for four or five blocks through the twisty cobblestone streets of Old Town.

She was a small woman with a tidy figure, busty but slender elsewhere. I’m no expert on women’s fashion, so all I can say is she wore a sort of short-sleeved, powder-blue one-piece garment that had a hood partly pulled up over her curly red hair. She had clonky-heeled, strappy sandals and bare legs., despite a chilling damp breeze.

She walked with a purposeful stride as if she knew her destination well. I was captivated by the way the muscles in her round bottom moved, jiggling only slightly but enticingly.

I seemed unable to leave off my surreptitious pursuit, staying half a block or more back, and apparently, my existence was completely unsuspected by my quarry. I felt guilty for enjoying the view, but I did not leave off.

The side street she turned on to led toward Drayside, the old industrial part of town but the area had been gentrified and the street lined with tiny, trendy shops and boutiques and a few offices staffed by esoteric specialists. Dr. Luft, Ornithopterist, read one shingle with a slogan, “Get a Bird’s Eye View; by Appointment Only.”

While I dawdled to read that one, she stopped in front of a dress shop, apparently looking at the mannequins in the window. Then she was off again, her pace a bit quicker and even more determined. I could only sigh at the perfection of her posterior and follow where it led.

Then I had to hurry a bit when I saw her disappear into one of the shops. I reached the door quickly, certain she had gone inside, having caught her in profile as she opened the door.

The sign on the shop had that special quirkiness of the area. “Zhdvpht!” it read, complete with exclamation mark. The slogan below seemed almost straightforward. “What R U Looking 4?”

I hesitated only a moment. Did I want the woman to see me? But I had followed her for several blocks already, now was not the time to give up. Maybe I could get a conversation going, invite her to lunch, perhaps at the nearby bistro that advertised “Authentic Calabrian Seafood.”

Where was Calabria, anyway?

I went inside, peering around. The misty day outside had not been particularly bright, but the inside of the store had a palpable dimness. A dark you could almost feel, broken only by tiny Christmas-tree-style bulbs at the end of each row of shelves.

At first, I thought it might be a bookstore, but the ranked displays held not only books but also gewgaws, kitschnesses, foibles, and knickknacks galore. Behind a counter near the center, a man in a rumpled and stained green tuxedo shuffled and riffled a deck of cards. He looked like an out-of-work stage magician trying to conjure up a new act.

I didn’t see the girl anywhere, but I hesitated before asking the man or searching for her. How could I not seem as creepy as I felt? Especially here….

“It’s supposed to be pronounced, ‘Schtuffed!’” The magician volunteered, then shrugged. “Nobody ever asks, but everybody wants to know.” He fanned the cards in front of him with a flourish. I noticed that he wore a burgundy dress shirt and had a narrow yellow tie lying on one shoulder of the tux instead of around his neck.

Before I could decide on something to say, he thrust the fanned-out cards in my direction. “Pick a card,” he demanded. “Any card except the Joker. I hate that guy.”

I took half a step forward and picked a card at random.

“Deuce of clubs,” he commented, almost sneering, “lowest ranked card in the deck.”

I looked at the card, the deuce of clubs for sure. I shrugged.

“Hold the card up in front of your face,” he ordered me. “In front of your mouth and nose.”

“I? What?” I stammered, but I did as he commanded, looking at the card again. It was still the deuce of clubs.

“You’ve been following that girl, haven’t you?” he demanded, adding, “No, keep the card in front of your face.”

I didn’t say anything, but I did shake my head. I felt my cheeks and forehead redden. I glared at him over the card.

He put the rest of the deck on the counter in front of him and produced a small silvery coin in his hand with a magical flourish. “You know anything about chaos theory?” he asked casually, making the coin walk across his knuckles. “She’s a strange attractor, cycling through her possibilities.”

I blinked at his nonsense and started to lower my hand and the card.

“No, no,” he admonished me. “We’re going to do a trick.” And he seemed to fling or flip the coin at me, just before I felt a click against my teeth.