Free The Ambitious Card (An Eli Marks Mystery) by John Gaspard Page B

“Barometric pressure can be an issue, but I think I have a work-around for that.”
    “Just so you can stop the kids from crying,” Nathan said with a plaintive edge in his voice. “I gotta find a way to make the kids stop crying.”
    Nathan’s problem was one shared by just about any performer who employs helium balloons while working with kids. There’s nothing that makes a kid happier than a helium balloon and nothing that makes them sadder than when they lose their grip and it floats up into the sky, never to be seen again. Even popping a balloon is not as traumatic, although I’m not really sure why. Perhaps the popping sound has some sort of primal catharsis built into it. But a single balloon that gets loose can turn a happy birthday party into a tantrum-filled nightmare scenario.
    To solve the problem, I’d experimented a bit and found just the right combination of helium and oxygen so that a filled balloon will float, but won’t go any higher than about six feet off the ground. It took a lot of trial and error and for days the basement was filled with hundreds of balloons, either caught in the ceiling or drifting lethargically several inches off the floor.
    “Of course, finding the right mix was only the first part of the problem. The second was to make the process magical,” I said to Nathan as I helped him remove his pirate coat. “And I think I’ve cracked that, too.”
    I handed him my invention, a cross between a large belt and a small corset, to put around his waist. It was a bulky fit because the back of the belt held a metal canister, like a miniature scuba tank. A tube with a small, custom nozzle on the end ran out of the canister.
    I helped Nathan put his coat back on, taking care to snake the tube down the inside of his right sleeve. I gave the coat one final tug and then stepped back to check my work.
    “That looks good,” I said, gesturing for him to spin around so I could see him from all sides. “You really can’t see anything out of the ordinary.”
    I crossed over to my workbench and opened a fresh bag of balloons, grabbing one and heading back to Nathan, who was looking at the nozzle on the tube in his sleeve. “Where’d you get this?” he asked.
    I shrugged, handing him the limp balloon. “I cobbled it together from a couple different pieces. Here’s how the gag works. You bring the balloon up to your face, just like you would if you were going to blow it up with your mouth.”
    Nathan followed my instructions as I talked him through the steps. “At the same time, you’ve palmed the nozzle at the end of the tube. You bring the end of the balloon to your mouth, but it’s the nozzle that actually goes into the balloon. Your hands are covering it, so it just looks like you’re blowing up a balloon normally. Once the nozzle is in place, just press the button on its side and the balloon will inflate.”
    I watched as he went through the steps and I was happy to see that it really looked like he was blowing up the balloon manually. When it reached the right size, he pulled it away from his mouth and quickly tied off the end. He then mimed handing the completed balloon to an invisible child in front of him. He let go of the balloon and it floated in mid-air right where he had left it. After a few seconds it began to drift upwards, but it didn’t get any higher than six feet. The balloon floated around the room languidly. We both watched it, transfixed.
    “That’s cool,” he said finally. For a second, he almost sounded happy.

      
    Once I got Nathan’s stuff all packed away and he headed off to his gig, I began to putter around the store, taking care of all the little chores that I never seem to get around to, but which always need to be done.
    First I tackled restocking the gag gifts. It’s a sad fact, but the few walk-in sales we do get all seem to come from that one rack in a back corner. Over the years, we’ve moved it around the store, to maybe six different spots.