Left alone, Carter would practice his tricks, or find the closest library. He loved to lose himself in books about ideas like hope and strength and wonder, but also about things like train engineers, gymnastics, and pie recipes. Over time, he became good at fending for himself. He also became an expert cartwheeler and dreamer of sugary treats.
As the years went by, Carter’s patience began to wear down. His uncle was a crook – Carter knew that. Yet he kept hoping that Sly would suddenly pick a town, get a job, and settle down. Perhaps it was a slim hope, maybe even an impossible hope, but hope was one of the few things Carter had in his possession. At least until a particularly brisk spring night…
“See that man over there?” Uncle Sly whispered to Carter. “I want you to go over and nick his watch.” The word nick, while usually a man’s name, can also mean steal.
“How many times have I told you?” Carter said. “I don’t steal.” He’d come up with this rule years ago when he’d figured out what his uncle really did. He promised himself that he’d never be like his uncle. No matter what. It had been Carter’s code ever since.
“You little –” Uncle Sly growled as he grabbed Carter roughly by his shirt. A cop appeared, walking down the street, twirling his baton. Uncle Sly put on a bright smile and hugged Carter close, like a valued son. “– ball of sunshine! Oh, good evening, Officer.”
The officer nodded and kept walking.
When the cop was out of sight, Uncle Sly took Carter by the collar and snarled, “Fine. Then keep a lookout while I work.”
Carter’s uncle’s idea of work wasn’t typical. He didn’t invent the Hula-hoop or operate heavy machinery. He didn’t grow rhubarb on a farm or train zoo snakes to not bite children. Uncle Sly’s idea of work was a con artist’s version of work: stealing from others.
Carter’s fingers rubbed over the rectangular shape in the side of his leather satchel. All that he owned fitted into this bag. It contained a deck of playing cards, three cups, three coins (one of which had a deep scratch down its face), some marbles, an extra pair of socks, a rope, his newsboy cap, and a small wooden box with the initials LWL on it. The box appeared to be sealed shut with no way to open it, but Carter didn’t care. It was the only thing he had left of his parents.
“I’d rather just go back to the halfway home,” Carter whispered to Uncle Sly. “My stomach doesn’t feel good.”
“It’s called a halfway house,” Uncle Sly snapped. “I won’t have you acting all sentimental-like. That kind of thinking can be dangerous for folks like us. Now, pull up your britches and get ready to help me out, would ya?”
Carter swallowed a groan as Uncle Sly searched the street for a victim. Minutes later, the cop reappeared, strolling slowly, looking inside shop windows. Carter whistled, a signal telling his uncle to stop whatever criminal act he was doing. As the officer moved around the corner, Carter looked left and right for any others on patrol. When the coast was clear, he gave Uncle Sly a nod.
Uncle Sly ducked into the mouth of an alleyway and spoke to strangers who were passing by. “Hey, check this out – see how easy it is to win? Step right up, I have an easy enough game for you. Double your money in a single minute. It’s as easy as one-two-three!” The strangers must have liked hearing the word easy so many times, because they stopped at Uncle Sly’s folding table.
Carter preferred Uncle Sly while he worked. When his uncle ran a racket – not a racket for playing tennis, mind you, but another way of saying tricking someone – he shone as brightly as a million-watt lightbulb. He became funny and charming and quick as electricity. His smile made old women blush, angry men applaud, and crabby babies ready to hand over all their lollipops.
When Carter’s uncle wasn’t working, his eyes went cold and dark. Being around him then was like walking around in a pitch-black room full of hard edges. Take a wrong step and you would stub your toe so badly it’d make you cry. Carter tiptoed a lot.
“Step right up, ladies and gents,” Uncle Sly called from the alley. “I’ve got a game that’ll knock your socks off !”
“If he doesn’t steal your socks first,” Carter grumbled to himself. As his uncle worked, the sun began to set and an unexpected chill crept over Carter. Though it was almost summer and the trees in a nearby park displayed green and glorious foliage, clouds blocked the sun, and Carter shivered. He would have pulled a scarf or a jacket out of his bag, but sadly, he didn’t own either.
Since he had to keep watch anyway, Carter studied his uncle’s hand movements. Uncle Sly had fast hands (though Carter knew his own were faster), and his preferred method of conning people out of their money was something called the shell game.
It involved three nutshells turned upside down on a table. Uncle Sly would place a dried pea on the table before hiding it under one of the shells. Then he’d ask the game contestants to watch as he moved the shells about. When Uncle Sly stopped, the player guessed which shell held the pea.
“That looks easy,” said another passerby. “I’ll give it a go.”
“Most excellent, sir.” Uncle Sly placed the pea on the table, covered it with a shell, then placed the other two shells on either side. “Place your bet first. That’s right, set your dollar on the table. Now, keep your eyes on the shell with the pea.” He moved the shells around the table, mixing them up. The passerby’s eyes were locked on the shell he thought had the pea.
“Okay, pick a shell, good sir,” Uncle Sly said to the passerby.
“It’s this one,” he said. “I know it is. I didn’t take my eyes off it.”
“Interesting choice.” Uncle Sly smiled. He held his breath before the reveal.
Carter shook his head. The players were never right – not unless Uncle Sly wanted them to be. This was because he had the pea stashed behind the crook of his fingers. It was all sleight of hand – a magician skill that means using your hands quickly to move objects without anyone noticing. Carter knew sleight of hand to be a very useful skill for any magician. Most magicians would use it to pull a coin from an ear or plant a card in someone’s pocket – all to earn smiles. But his uncle didn’t use it to make people happy – he and other crooks would use sleight of hand to take things from them without their knowledge.
As Uncle Sly pulled back the shell, there was no pea. “I’m sorry, sir. You lost. Would you like to try again?”
“I never took my eyes off the shell,” the passerby growled.
“I’m sorry, but it seems you did,” Uncle Sly said, flashing a smile at the man. But the charm wasn’t working.
Maybe it was that this man reminded Carter of his father or maybe it was simply that he had finally seen his uncle dupe a victim one too many times, but Carter knew he’d be no better than Uncle Sly if he stood by and watched it happen again.
So Carter came out from behind the corner where he’d been hiding. His uncle’s eyes grew wide as Carter strolled up to the table. “It’s a neat trick, isn’t it?” he asked the passerby.
“What are you doing, boy?” Uncle Sly snarled, his jaw tightening, a vein popping out of his forehead.
“Helping,” Carter whispered. Uncle Sly blinked as if his anger had made him go momentarily deaf.
The passerby grabbed the other two shells and flipped them over. There was no pea. “You no-good, dirty cheat!” he shouted.
Uncle Sly grabbed his money and the shells and dodged the man’s swinging fists. Then Uncle Sly turned and ran up the alley as fast as he could. Carter took off down the street in the opposite direction, his satchel bouncing against his side.
Behind them, the man shouted, “Police! That man’s a thief ! Someone get him!”
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