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.He chose Mallorca for a number of reasons, one of which had proven laughably moot: that he spoke Spanish.That said, it did throw some more dust over his footprints given that anyone trying to track him down would most likely be looking for an Anglophone.Again, this might have been a needless consideration, but better to be safe; thus another reason for the choice of the Balearics was that an island was a logistically tricky place from which to forcibly abduct someone.No protection ultimately if it was the law who came calling, but that was only one potential threat.It was off-season, but the visiting population was still a reassuringly large – and reassuringly diverse – throng to be drifting within.There were a lot of ways to be nobody in particular on an island such as this, and he found old-town Palma to be just his speed.Maybe it was passing easy time in so many bars throughout the year, maybe some vestigial prison-time daydream, but the idea of owning a little joint of his own had begun to take root.Perhaps not merely a bar, more like a cabaret club: somewhere with a dais just big enough for a baby grand and a microphone, somewhere for a little blues, a little soul, and – the growing kernel of a yearning he had to admit to himself – a little magic.But shit, yeah, every guy in Folsom talked about owning a bar: that’s what they’d do when that one big score came off.What they really meant was that they just wanted to be in a bar, and when you’re banged up in Walla-Walla, who doesn’t? But who the hell was planning robberies just so that he could end up working his ass off keeping a legitimate business concern afloat? Nobody lay awake at night and fantasised about arguing with city officials and licensing boards, or about negotiating with breweries and making kickbacks to suppliers.Thus Zal took the sensibly gradualist step of merely working in a bar for a while.He didn’t make a conscious decision to begin performing tricks.He’d been working at the Dracon Rojo for a couple of weeks when one night there was a middle-aged English couple playing cards at the bar, just passing slow time, long drinks and gin rummy, keeping score on the back of a beermat.As the place filled up, Zal noticed a young buck pestering them for a loan of their deck, with which he proceeded to try impressing a trio of adolescent German chicks.He was arrogant to the point of obnoxious; once he had the cards, he acted like the people he’d bummed them from no longer existed, the shy English couple left in a state of mild humiliation as they helplessly waited for the return of their cards.This pissed Zal off, but not as much as the fact that the German chicks were failing to shine the guy on.He didn’t exactly have them eating out of his palm, but long as he was the only show in town, they were happy to let him entertain them – thus prolonging the older couple’s discomfiture.Some people feel naked or lost if they leave the house without their mobile phone or their watch; with Zal it’s a deck of cards.He broke out a pack of his own and handed them to the couple as a replacement, but not before executing a couple of deliberately ostentatious shuffles in order to grab the attention of the German chicks and their performing monkey.As he intended, having passed his own deck to the gin-players, the girls insisted the current act hand Zal the first pack and leave the stage to the next performer.‘Let him show us a trick,’ one of them said, and Zal was happy to oblige.Monkey boy must have slipped away at some point over the next half hour, but Zal didn’t notice him leave; nobody did, especially not the German chicks.They came back the next night with some guys they had met, and insisted he show the new arrivals some of his stuff.Night after that, the three girls didn’t show, but friends of their friends did, and so on.Zal was enjoying himself.He worked the evenings and practiced by day; not necessarily stuff appropriate for the bar, just practice, practice, practice: sleights and subtleties, shuffles, false cuts, drops and palms, vanishes, transpositions, penetrations.There were a few other staples he worked on, definitely not for the bar, which made him ask himself how far he might really want to take this [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.He chose Mallorca for a number of reasons, one of which had proven laughably moot: that he spoke Spanish.That said, it did throw some more dust over his footprints given that anyone trying to track him down would most likely be looking for an Anglophone.Again, this might have been a needless consideration, but better to be safe; thus another reason for the choice of the Balearics was that an island was a logistically tricky place from which to forcibly abduct someone.No protection ultimately if it was the law who came calling, but that was only one potential threat.It was off-season, but the visiting population was still a reassuringly large – and reassuringly diverse – throng to be drifting within.There were a lot of ways to be nobody in particular on an island such as this, and he found old-town Palma to be just his speed.Maybe it was passing easy time in so many bars throughout the year, maybe some vestigial prison-time daydream, but the idea of owning a little joint of his own had begun to take root.Perhaps not merely a bar, more like a cabaret club: somewhere with a dais just big enough for a baby grand and a microphone, somewhere for a little blues, a little soul, and – the growing kernel of a yearning he had to admit to himself – a little magic.But shit, yeah, every guy in Folsom talked about owning a bar: that’s what they’d do when that one big score came off.What they really meant was that they just wanted to be in a bar, and when you’re banged up in Walla-Walla, who doesn’t? But who the hell was planning robberies just so that he could end up working his ass off keeping a legitimate business concern afloat? Nobody lay awake at night and fantasised about arguing with city officials and licensing boards, or about negotiating with breweries and making kickbacks to suppliers.Thus Zal took the sensibly gradualist step of merely working in a bar for a while.He didn’t make a conscious decision to begin performing tricks.He’d been working at the Dracon Rojo for a couple of weeks when one night there was a middle-aged English couple playing cards at the bar, just passing slow time, long drinks and gin rummy, keeping score on the back of a beermat.As the place filled up, Zal noticed a young buck pestering them for a loan of their deck, with which he proceeded to try impressing a trio of adolescent German chicks.He was arrogant to the point of obnoxious; once he had the cards, he acted like the people he’d bummed them from no longer existed, the shy English couple left in a state of mild humiliation as they helplessly waited for the return of their cards.This pissed Zal off, but not as much as the fact that the German chicks were failing to shine the guy on.He didn’t exactly have them eating out of his palm, but long as he was the only show in town, they were happy to let him entertain them – thus prolonging the older couple’s discomfiture.Some people feel naked or lost if they leave the house without their mobile phone or their watch; with Zal it’s a deck of cards.He broke out a pack of his own and handed them to the couple as a replacement, but not before executing a couple of deliberately ostentatious shuffles in order to grab the attention of the German chicks and their performing monkey.As he intended, having passed his own deck to the gin-players, the girls insisted the current act hand Zal the first pack and leave the stage to the next performer.‘Let him show us a trick,’ one of them said, and Zal was happy to oblige.Monkey boy must have slipped away at some point over the next half hour, but Zal didn’t notice him leave; nobody did, especially not the German chicks.They came back the next night with some guys they had met, and insisted he show the new arrivals some of his stuff.Night after that, the three girls didn’t show, but friends of their friends did, and so on.Zal was enjoying himself.He worked the evenings and practiced by day; not necessarily stuff appropriate for the bar, just practice, practice, practice: sleights and subtleties, shuffles, false cuts, drops and palms, vanishes, transpositions, penetrations.There were a few other staples he worked on, definitely not for the bar, which made him ask himself how far he might really want to take this [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]