Chapter 2: The Great Escape

Right now, I needed all the luck I could get.

I ducked my head, shoulders hunched, pulse drumming in my throat. About five hundred yards ahead, someone was blocking the road.

A group of burly guys with walkie-talkies were stationed at the north end of Lincoln Avenue.

They looked like they could bench-press a minivan and still ask for dessert. Their arms glistened with sweat, tattoos curling out from under their sleeves. They stopped every man about my age and height, holding up their phones to compare faces with the photo.

Even the most impatient commuters slowed down, the usual New York-style sidewalk dance replaced by sidelong glances and quiet tension. Most passersby kept quiet, not wanting to get in the way of guys built like linebackers.

No one wanted trouble. Most of them wore tank tops and gym shorts, showing off huge muscles—probably members of the CrossFit gym upstairs.

I recognized a couple from the gym next to the old movie theater. They were always outside, arguing about deadlifts and protein shakes. Compared to them, I looked like a stray dog.

Scruffy, hunched, and way out of my weight class. Any one of them could pin me to the ground with ease.

If it came down to a fight, I’d have about as much chance as a rabbit in a wolf pack. But at this point, there was no turning back.

My feet moved on autopilot, threading through puddles and sidewalk cracks. They were only ten yards apart—no need for radios, really.

Their leader kept barking into his walkie anyway, maybe just to flex for the security cameras. The fact that they had them meant someone was watching from above.

Probably a buddy with a drone or a cell phone on the gym balcony. At this range, if I turned around, I’d be spotted instantly.

Every step felt watched. Thoughts raced through my mind. I slowed just a bit, but kept moving, angling slightly to the left.

Even that subtle shift drew attention—one of the men picked up his radio and tiptoed to get a better look.

His head cocked, mouth tight, he started scanning faces. Luckily, there were still several hundred yards between us.

A little breathing room. He squinted suspiciously, trying to make me out.

I ducked my chin, adjusting my stride, hoping my new buzzcut and Target tee would throw them off. I’d also taken off the jacket I wore in the surveillance video.

The morning chill bit through my t-shirt, but it was worth it for the disguise. He didn’t shout, not wanting to alert me, but called over a buddy. The two of them, one on each side, started closing in from behind.

I pretended not to notice, and with a smile, called out:

"Sir, miss, care to buy some gold?"

My best carnival-barker voice, with a wink and a grin, hoping they'd bite. The two people on the bench looked startled.

The girl’s eyes went wide, the guy tensed up, clutching his coffee cup like a shield. "Gold? No, thanks. We’re not buying."

They wore matching Ohio State hoodies, probably freshmen, both pretending not to care who texted first. Each held an empty Starbucks cup, sneaking shy glances at each other.

I recognized the nervous shuffle, the way their knees almost touched but never quite did. That fragile energy you only see on first dates. I instantly had them pegged—

First love, awkward phase, first date.

There was that innocent uncertainty, that hope that maybe this could be something. A pair like this would be too embarrassed to check their phones mid-date. They probably hadn’t seen the billionaire’s livestream.

Their phones were out of sight, stowed away so they could impress each other. More importantly, the boy was about my build, and his jacket was similar.

He had on a faded blue windbreaker, the kind you buy on clearance. And magic is all about light, angles, and timing.

If I could pull this off, maybe I’d be gone before anyone blinked. I grinned. "Not selling gold. It’s our jewelry store’s anniversary, and we’re running a couples’ challenge. Would you two like to join?"

My words tumbled out in the friendly, sales-y tone of every mall kiosk worker from here to Cleveland. The jewelry store was three or four blocks down the street.

It was a real place, too, with neon signs and fake Greek columns. I lied without missing a beat: "If the guy can run from here to the store entrance in under ninety seconds, the lady gets a gold ring as a souvenir."

I made sure my smile was just wide enough to seem real, the way a car salesman would. "Really?" They were skeptical.

The girl leaned in, the guy raised an eyebrow. Gold’s expensive these days—this sounded too generous.

No one gives out gold for free. Seeing that gold alone didn’t tempt them, I had to appeal to love.

Love, the only thing that sells harder than gold. I took out a gold ring from my pocket and handed it to the boy, hinting for him to put it on the girl.

It was just a cheap imitation, a prop worth a few bucks.

You could buy ten for a dollar at the party store, but under the streetlights, it looked the part. But both of them blushed instantly, hands trembling as he slipped it onto her finger.

Their cheeks burned, the way only young love can blush. "There, the ring looks great on you. Sir, are you sure you don’t want to try?" I said calmly, hand outstretched. "If you don’t, I’ll have to take it back."

I kept my voice light, coaxing, as if I had all the time in the world. The girl whispered, "...I want it."

Her voice was barely a squeak, but her eyes said everything. The boy, completely under the spell, nodded without thinking.

He gulped, squared his shoulders, and for a split second, looked like he could take on the world. Out of the corner of my eye, the two musclemen were closing in, less than a hundred yards away.

I could practically feel the ground shake beneath their footsteps. I made a snap decision, hit the timer: "The challenge starts—run!"

My voice cracked like a starting pistol. The boy jumped up, startled, and sprinted off in the opposite direction, weaving through the crowd like the wind. All eyes turned to watch him go.

The moment was magic—everyone distracted, everyone watching the wrong rabbit. He moved so fast, all you could see was the tail of his coat.

His shoes slapped against the concrete, scattering pigeons and laughter in his wake. "After him!"

The two musclemen instantly turned and chased the boy.

They tore after him, big arms pumping, nearly colliding with a guy pushing a stroller. The girl, startled, asked, "Why are you chasing him? Is this part of your jewelry store’s event?"

She looked at me, wide-eyed and hopeful, waiting for some explanation. A few seconds passed. No answer.

She turned around and realized I—who was supposed to be timing—had vanished without a trace.

All that was left was the ring on her finger and the crowd’s confused buzz. The magic had worked.