Read Tomorrow Wendell (White Dragon Black) for Free Online Page B

keeping his eyes open for anything irregular.
    The man behind the display case looked his way briefly, but when Jonathan nodded, he simply returned his attention to the folded up newspaper on the countertop.
    Wendell hadn’t been lying; the owner seemed to care little for anything but completing a crossword. The store itself was clean yet cluttered, and the place was filled unabashedly with both the valuable and the craptastic.
    Nothing leapt out at him. There were no items of a mystical nature—no simian’s appendages, no hands belonging to the life-impaired, no altars, amulets, grimoires, or goblin ears. There was also no White Dragon Black symbol.
    Satisfied that the place was nothing more than what it seemed, Jonathan made his way to the fortuneteller machine. The contraption stood six feet tall and was in good condition. It had clearly been used, but just as noticeable was its maintenance. Jonathan wondered if the antique dealer himself had done any restoration on it.
    A strange chirping sound disturbed the silence such stores seem to command, and then a muttering buzzed at the edge of his hearing as the shopkeeper spoke into his cell.
    Discreetly opening his cigarette case, and wishing these were still the days when you could smoke wherever you wanted, Jonathan caught the owner’s reflection to see if the man in turn watched him.
    If the owner did have any interest in the fact that Jonathan was examining that particular piece of stock, he deserved an Oscar for hiding it.
    He had resumed working the crossword despite the phone balanced between cheek and shoulder. Jonathan put away his case and focused on the fortune machine itself.
    The words ‘Gypsy Tarot’ adorned the sides and front of the machine, and the character in the booth was much as Wendell had described. The mannequin resembled an older woman, a black headscarf over her grey hair and a bright, multi-colored shawl draped over her shoulders. Her shirt, which would be best described as a peasant blouse, was the color of fresh blood on a surgeon’s smock.
    Before her, on a shelf covered in purple velvet, were six cards in a pattern Jonathan thought of as the circle of life.
    He glanced at the cards themselves.
    Nothing about the spread was sinister. It was comprised of the Two of Swords, the Hanged Man, the Queen of Wands, the Fool, the Knight, and the Six of Cups. He didn’t spend a lot of time working out if there was a hidden message in the cards but considered it wise to scribble them down in his notepad anyway. Jonathan had an associate he’d have to call later to see if she had any thoughts on the displayed cards.
    He thought it best to follow the script Wendell had relayed to him as best he could. He first checked the price tag as Wendell had, in case something about it had set off the chain of events, and blanched at the five-digit number written there. Jonathan suspected he wasn’t charging his client enough if he thought that price was reasonable.
    He turned away from the machine, cleared his throat, and spoke just loud enough to be heard in the silent shop.
    “Excuse me, but does this work?”
    He got no response from the staff, probably because his ear was covered by a square of plastic.
    “It’s like cell phones emit a frequency that turns you into an ass,” he continued. “Wonder if there’s an app for that?” Jonathan lifted his hand and tried again. “Hello?”
    The man behind the counter looked up with a furrowed brow. When he spotted Jonathan, he blinked rapidly and tilted his head. Regaining his composure, having located the source of the voice that had disturbed him, the owner now looked at Jonathan with feigned interest.
    “This fortuneteller machine—does it actually work?”
    “Hum? Oh, yes, it does. Takes nickels.” And with that, the man once again returned the phone to his ear and his attention to the crossword.
    Jonathan watched the older gentleman until utterly convinced the man couldn’t care if he used the