What would a magician do?

What would I do?

I’d hide it in plain sight. Somewhere so obvious I’d make you dismiss it right away. I’d make it easy to get rid of if I had to, without you ever knowing.

I look at the objects on the table and see what he did.

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I CALL OVER to Agent Knoll and make sure the forensic tech with the camera is recording. We don’t want to leave anything to chance; it’s critical we preserve the chain of evidence. Finding the SIM might not convict him of the murders, but it could be enough for us to build a case. At the very least it would mean we don’t have to let him go.

The Warlock probably drives a lot and has to expect to get pulled over occasionally. Some states, like Texas, have random DUI stops. Police can’t search your car without probable cause, but that doesn’t always mean they won’t take a good look inside or flip through your phone if they have it in their custody. It wouldn’t be admissible, but if they saw a few cryptic texts, they might bring in a drug dog to sniff your car. That’s the way things work. I’ve never done it, but I know good cops who see things differently. The Warlock has to function in a world of fuzzy rules. One where police see an out-of-state license plate driving near a border town and decide to investigate. He can’t afford to ditch his cell phone or SIM every time he sees flashing blue lights. He needs a procedure. He needs at least two SIM cards. One that he uses for his illicit phone calls and the one he replaces it with when he gets pulled over so police don’t get suspicious when his phone flashes “NO SIM.”

Magicians have all kinds of places to hide things. Even in a pair of fishnets, a sequined bikini top and shorts, I could hide a dozen objects my gynecologist would never find. It starts with using the idea of innocence to hide things.

My grandfather gave me my first magic set after he taught me the trick with the red balls. Coincidentally, it had his face on it. Made in China for a buck, it was filled with plastic props that were scaled-down versions of stage tricks. A flimsy instruction booklet explained how to perform the ersatz miracles.

The first trick I learned, because it was the easiest, involved a little round box. You would place a quarter inside of it, give it a shake, and open it to reveal the quarter had shrunk to half its size. It fooled kids and adults alike. I would perform it whenever Grandfather or Dad would put me on the spot. Somewhere there’s a photo of me, wearing a T-shirt with Grandfather’s face on it, and me grinning, missing a tooth. I’m proudly holding the little box up in my fingers.

The big quarter vanished when a disk underneath the lid fell on top of it, blending in with the bottom of the box. The tiny quarter, no bigger than a SIM card, was on the other side of the disk, under the lid to the box. The lid itself looked like a big bottle cap.