Finger Gun

Zandra closes her eyes and rubs her temples. It's for dramatic effect, and to buy her time.

Fifty people...

Need to crunch some percentages...

"Children, since I set foot on this vessel, I felt a presence," Zandra says as she opens her eyes. She deliberately replaces "Curd Queen" with "vessel," since the clunky name might splinter the drama. Her hands release from her temples and chop at the air. It looks like she's practicing martial arts in slow motion against an invisible opponent.

"Whoa," Chad says from behind Zandra.

Shut up, Chad.

Zandra commands full attention as she shuffles to the table in the middle of the deck. She continues chopping at the air and says, "This vessel, this boat, is infested with spirits. In your earthly terms, children, it is haunted."

Wait. I've overplayed my hand here. Need an escape hatch in case the Curd Queen has a clean history.

"Or it's about to become haunted. Maybe soon, maybe some other time. But understand this, children: the spirits see this vessel as a special place. It isn't an ordinary boat, which means there's an extraordinary reason you're all here. That may mean something different to each of you, but the spirits could not be clearer," Zandra says.

Sound confident about how vague you're being. That's key in a cold reading. It forms a gap—a debt in the conversation—the audience will try to fill on their own. Politicians use this trick all the time when they spend 30 minutes saying absolutely nothing. Corporate America loves to pull this, too. Psychics only need to mimic what they see, because most people have had some exposure to President Shithead and CEO Fuckmonkey at some point in their lives.

Zandra glances at Ivy and Jade. They seem satisfied with the performance so far.

"The spirits want to show you exactly what they mean. They don't want to leave any doubt about just how rare and incredible a moment like this really is, that we all, children, should be right here together, right now, in this very time and location," Zandra says, stretching that last sentence out by slicing it into fragments for maximum effect.

Let's do this.

Zandra points at a middle-aged man at the middle table. "You."

"Me?" the man says.

"Yes," Zandra says. "The spirits say you, child, have a special connection with someone here. Someone near to you. Physically near to you."

The man cranks his neck one way and then the other. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me, child, do you know what astrology is?" Zandra says.

"Sure."

"Maybe you've read your horoscope before?"

"Of course."

"Anything beyond that, child?" Zandra says.

"Not really," the man says.

Good. I've got the right mark. I've also made it seem like this guy's guiding the conversation. You've got to be like a trial lawyer examining a witness. Ask the right questions to get the right answers.

"You share a birthday with someone here. Someone near you. The spirits say you are linked with this person," Zandra says.

"I am?" the man says.

Everyone leans a little closer toward the man for a better view of what happens next. Zandra raises both hands in the air like she's summoning the weather.

Here we go.

"What, child, is the month and day of your birth?" Zandra says to the man.

Nervous, the man mumbles a date.

"Louder!" Zandra says, hands still up high.

"October 15," the man says.

Zandra's hands shake on their descent to her sides. She inhales sharply through her nose. "Someone here has a birthday on October 15. Reveal yourself now. The spirits command it."

One table over, someone raises a hand. It's a woman roughly the same age as the man.

"I do," the woman says.

Excellent. It worked.

"I can't explain why the spirits selected you two, but you need to connect with each other. Maybe it's a business opportunity, maybe a family connection, maybe something else. Either way, children, it was extremely important for you two to meet today," Zandra says. "Promise me you'll do as the spirits say."

The man and woman do. They don't seem to know each other, but they're soon sitting side by side.

Some other attendees start to clap. They're waved quiet by Rev. Cash. He dabs at his forehead with a napkin and then stands.

"This seems fun, but I'm not sure the believers in attendance are comfortable with whatever this is," Rev. Cash says. A few attendees nod.

Ivy and Jade start to run interference, but Zandra tells them to stay put.

"I understand your concern," Zandra says to Rev. Cash. "I'm only communicating what the spirits tell me. Nothing more."

"No, you don't understand my concern. How do we know these spirits aren't demons in disguise?" Rev. Cash says.

I can promise you, demons had nothing to do with this.

"I've been doing this a long time, reverend. I've met my share of demons. I know the difference," Zandra says.

Rev. Cash turns to Ivy and Jade and says, "Look, all I'm saying is, it's one thing to choose to be exposed to the satanic, the occult. God will have the final say in the end about those choices. But forcing us all to sit through this? I had to say something."

"You don't think that's incredible, though? I mean, what are the odds?" Jade says. "It's like 1 in 365."

Thanks, Jade.

"The devil uses all sorts of tricks to lure you in," Rev. Cash says. "I want this to be a successful experience for everyone. Don't no one need to go astray."

Ivy, stoic as ever, says to Zandra, "Are the spirits telling you anything else?"

"Yes," Zandra says. "They say the reverend is a good man."

Quit pissing in my ear, reverend. I've got one more thing left to do yet.

"That's exactly what a demon would say to get me to back off," Rev. Cash says.

Fine. I'll go for broke so you sit down and shut the fuck up.

"The spirits tell me you need to keep an eye on your heart health," Zandra says.

That throws Rev. Cash for a loop. "What did you just say?"

Rev. Cash is tall. I watched him eat almost nothing but meat for dinner. Heart disease is the leading killer in the United States. Put it all together, and heart health is a good place to look for a hit.

Rev. Cash shakes his head and takes a seat. "My father died of heart disease."

Bingo.

"And he doesn't want the same to happen to you," Zandra says.

Rev. Cash grumbles something about "witches" under his breath, but Zandra ignores it. She closes her eyes and chops at the air once again. She soaks up a long pause before continuing.

"The spirits are also concerned about the health of someone else here," Zandra says, eyes still closed. "They tell me about someone who experienced a traumatic injury. This injury may have even ended a significant chapter of this person's life."

Zandra opens her eyes and looks right at Aaron. So does everyone else. The story of his injury is well known in Wisconsin, and beyond. His career pierced the zeitgeist so that even people unfamiliar with professional football know the who, what, where, and how of Aaron's injury.

How convenient of the spirits to point me to him.

Aaron's eyes travel everywhere but at Zandra.

Zandra paces in a circle until she stops next to Cherry Peach.

"The spirits hear everything, child. And they know when you're listening. You'd be wise to keep that in mind. You never know what you might hear, or what the spirits hear from you. The conversation goes both ways. Like a vent between two rooms of reality," Zandra says.

You getting the message, asshole? You need to know that I know that you know about my conversation with Cherry Peach. Keep your hands to yourself and you'll walk off this boat with your balls still intact.

Zandra makes a finger gun and points it at Aaron. "Does this make sense to you, child?"

Put on the spot, Aaron can't ignore Zandra any longer. He nods once.

"Does this mean he's going to play football again?" the man with the October 15 birthday says. He means it in a joking way, and a few others chuckle. Aaron's slate face breaks into a smile.

Not if I can help it.

"If the spirits have any tips, I'd love to hear 'em," Aaron jokes back at the man. Then to Zandra, "The Tampa Bay game was two seasons ago. It's a little late for the spirits to tell me to be careful."

"It's always a good time to be careful," Zandra says and holsters her finger gun in her pocket. She can almost feel the good vibes radiating next to her from Cherry Peach.

If vibes were a real thing.

Ivy intervenes to keep the evening moving. Dessert is ready. Chocolate mousse. The hallmark of a cheap dessert in a fancy dish.

"Let's hear it for Zandra," Ivy says, and 48 pairs of hands clap.

Zandra returns to her seat at the table with Chad, Bexley, and the others. She lights up a cigarette in silence.

Chocolate sounds good. I've got my appetite back.

"That was amazing," Bexley says from across the table.

Zandra grunts and exhales a plume of smoke.

"Hey, Zandra, I bet I know how you did that birthday thing," Chad says, his arm wrapped around Bexley's shoulder.

You are the last person who would figure it out.

Zandra sits and smokes.

"You want to bet me?" Chad says.

"Knock it off," Bexley says in a hiss.

"No, no, it's cool, it's cool. I got it. It's all math," Chad says. He unwraps his arm from Bexley. "See, there are 10 houses of the sun in astrology, m'kay? There are 10 hours in a day under the metric system—I don't even need to say how to metric system figures into this—if you use an old-fashioned clock that goes around twice in 24 hours. And 10 divided by two is five. Five plus 10 is 15, and October is the tenth month of the year, which would be the last month if the calendar was metric. It's all about time. Clocks. Calendars. So, October 15. Easy."

That is the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard. Honestly. Nothing will ever out-stupid the pile of horseshit that just fell out of your mouth, Chad.

Bexley nods along with Chad's reasoning. She says, "Numerology."

"Yeah, yeah, numerology," Chad says.

Zandra flicks the ash of her cigarette and says, "Congratulations."

"See? Numerology," Bexley says.

It's not numerology. It's something else.

Here's how I did it.