That had made Starkey laugh. “Jeevan, have I ever told you that you’re a criminal genius?”
He hadn’t seemed too comfortable with the thought. “Well, I’ve been told I’m a genius . . . .”
Starkey often wonders why Jeevan’s parents would choose to unwind a kid so bright—but it’s an unspoken rule that you just don’t ask.
The money gave the storks a little bit of freedom, because money buys legitimacy. All they needed was a simple subterfuge—an illusion that no one would question—and if there’s one thing that Starkey knows as an amateur magician, it’s the art of illusion. Misdirection. Every magician knows that an audience will always follow the hand that moves and will always believe what is presented to the eye until there’s a reason not to.
Camp Red Heron was Starkey’s own brainstorm. All it took to make the illusion real was an order of 130 camp T-shirts, staff shirts, and a few matching hats as icing on the cake. As Camp Red Heron, they were able to travel on trains and even charter buses, because the illusion ran on the power of assumption. People saw a camp on a field trip, and it became part of their reality without a second thought. Ironically, the more boisterous, the more visible they were, the more powerfully the illusion held. Even if people were watching a news report about the band of fugitive Unwinds, Camp Red Heron could march right past them, loud and obnoxious, and no one—not even law enforcement—would bat an eye. Who knew that hiding in plain sight could be so gratifying?
The first order of business was getting out of Southern California to a place where the authorities would not be searching for them. Having had enough desert for a lifetime, Starkey deemed that they take the Amtrak north to greener, lusher pastures. At their first campsite, near Monterey, they had no trouble whatsoever. Then they continued north, reserving their space at Redwood Bluff. All had gone well until today—but even so, today’s crisis was easily managed.
Bam finishes rinsing the bleaching solution out of Starkey’s hair, and the towel boy hurries to dry it.
“So, if the campground manager squeals, will you really hurt one of his kids?” Bam asks.
Starkey is annoyed that she’s asked such a question in front of the flashlights, the towel, and the water bucket.
“He won’t squeal,” Starkey says, tousling his hair.
“But if he does?”
He turns to the towel kid. He’s one of the younger groupies who’s always trying to win Starkey’s favor. “What do I always say?”
The kid takes on a terrified pop-quiz look. “Uh . . . smoke and mirrors?”
“Exactly! It’s all smoke and mirrors.”
That’s the only answer he gives Bam—and even the answer is a foggy deflection, a nonanswer that avoids the question. Would he hurt them? Although Starkey would rather not think about it, he knows he’ll do whatever is necessary to protect his storks. Even if it means making an example of someone.
“Speaking of mirrors, have a look,” Bam says, and hands him a mirror that she tore off the side of someone’s car.
It’s hard to get a full view of himself—he keeps having to shift the mirror to catch the entire visual effect. “I like it,” he says.
“You look good as a platinum blond,” she tells him. “Very surfer dude.”
“Yeah, but surfer dude doesn’t exactly inspire trust from adults,” Starkey points out. “Cut it. Make it short and neat. I want to look like an Eagle Scout.”
“You’ll never be an Eagle Scout, Starkey,” she says with a grin, and some of the other kids laugh. It actually hurts, although he won’t show it. He first got interested in magic when he was younger because of its value as a Boy Scout merit badge. Funny how things change.
“Just do it, Bambi,” he says. Which makes her scowl, as he intended. The other kids know not to laugh at her actual given name, lest they face her formidable wrath.
When Bam is done, Starkey could pass for the boy next door when he smiles, or a Hitler Youth when he doesn’t. His scalp still stings from the bleaching solution, but it’s not a bad feeling. “You know, I’m not the only one who needs to change identities,” he tells Bam, after the other kids have left.
She laughs. “Nobody’s touching my hair.”
Bam has hair just short enough to be low maintenance. Her clothes are mannish, but only because she detests prissiness. Once and only once she made a pass at Starkey, but it was quickly deflected. Another girl might have folded and turned painfully awkward around him, but Bam took it in stride and carried on. Even if Starkey had been attracted to her, he knows acting on it would have been a bad idea. He’s not foolish enough to think that a relationship here in the relative wild will last, and adding that kind of complication to his relationship with his second in command would be foolhardy. As for other girls, the fact that he can have any girl he wants is a perk of his position he knows he must apply with careful discretion. He gives the same eye contact, the same lingering smile to every girl—and even to the boys that he can tell have an interest. It’s all part of his subtle control. Keep them all thinking they’re special. That they can be more than just a face in the crowd. These little touches carry big weight. The illusion of hope, combined with a healthy fear of him, keeps all his storks in line.
“I don’t mean changing your identity, Bam,” Starkey says. “I mean our identity. This guy did figure out who we are. To be safe, we can’t be Camp Red Heron anymore.”
“We could be a school—that way it won’t just get us through the rest of the summer, but will work once the school year starts too.”
o;As you said, you’re paid in full,” Proctor says. “Nothing more is needed at this time. It was a pleasure to have Camp Red Heron here, and I hope to see you next summer.” Although both of them know that’s the last thing he wants.
As Proctor leaves, his legs a little wobbly, he realizes something. The picture of his daughter that seemed to have vanished during their conversation has now appeared in his shirt pocket. As he gazes at it, tears come to his eyes. Rather than feeling anger, he feels gratitude. Gratitude that he was not so much of a fool as to bring harm to her or to her brother.
15 • Starkey
“Don’t move,” Bam says. “If this stuff gets in your eyes, it burns like you can’t believe.”