If there was one thing that Las Vegas was known for – well, it was casinos, but if there was something that held Henry’s attention more than wasting money on slots that only paid out enough to keep you interested or card tables that had too many rules, social and otherwise, for a drunken mind to try and comprehend, it had been magic. With a steady stream of magic shows and residencies, some seemingly decades long with how frequently one personality or another had been featured on nationwide television programming, there was no way to browse through Las Vegas’ show offerings without hitting upwards of five, six, ten different magical acts.

Some had everything to do with cards and close up magic, something that Henry couldn’t say he dabbled in though he could appreciate the sleight of hand trickery that came of making cards disappear up sleeves and coins behind ears, while others were elaborate tricks played by specialty carpentry and mirrored boxes, compartments small enough for a dainty stagehand to fit in; and then there were those bombast showcases of everything one could do, a cavalcade of lights and explosions triggered by a lean plate to suggest there was a flair of danger to go with the all-black rock star façade.

And all just felt cheesy - over-produced, if not fake, and built of the same song and dance that every magician did considering the apprentice-like onboarding one could imagine the hopeful enduring. It wasn’t natural. It didn’t come from dimensions beyond known existence or otherworldly deities from abysmal voids people dared not travel or aliens from the depths of the darkest space.

That was where Henry had an edge.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, not so far down the hole of legalized public drinking to outright make a fool of himself in public, but even someone as low key as a street magician, combing the crowds for someone just drunk enough to swindle out of a few dollars with a magic-themed three-card monte, wasn’t out of Henry’s sights. It was almost inevitable that in such a heightened state of hedonistic ease, the vibe and energy of Las Vegas stirring up the air in a way that seemed to lighten it, that Henry took his shot, trying not to laugh outright while he watched someone pull the same trick on someone he was sure the would-be magician had on another group of pretty girls further down The Strip.

“Alright, alright, I’ve got one better,” Henry commented, shaking his head a little as he cracked his knuckles and stretched his fingers out before he started rifling through his pockets for a coin. It really didn’t matter what kind, but when he came up short, he turned to the gawkers and onlookers, some of which were just as quick to pass. “Anyone got a coin? Preferably something with some weight on it ‘cause I don’t know how fair flipping a penny is actually going to be.”

It seemed incredulous, his attempts to best someone for no reason other than he could, though he highly doubted there hadn’t been someone who, at some point or another in the history of the Las Vegas Strip, hadn’t tried their hand at something similar. It was a gamble, just like everything else Las Vegas had to offer – be it in the form of gambling, trying to pick up someone at a club, or ensuring that one didn’t find themselves thrown in a drunk tank for disturbing the peace when they couldn’t contain their liquor – but it was a gamble that, much like a card counter, Henry knew the odds of. They were easily in his favor.

“And you,” he said, flicking his fingers a little bit to motion for the cap on someone’s head. “It doesn’t beat a top hat on the cheese factor, but I’m hoping the Dodger’s are going to be lucky this season – maybe even as lucky as I hope I’m going to be now or else I’m going to look like an idiot. I’m obviously a little faded right now, but what if I said that, from this coin alone, I could grow your money?” He asked; it was aloof, but that had been the intention, garnering a few laughs and just as many naysayers as someone finally procured a coin – a quarter – and held it out to Henry. He simply shook his head.

“All I need you to do is flip the thing,” he explained, “and while it is in the air, someone call out a side: Heads or tails?”

A single, simple flick sent the coin in the air, Henry and the rest of the spectators keeping an eye on it until it landed – not in someone’s hand, but caught right in the baseball cap which, as any potential error might have earned, garnered some rolled eyes and mumblings of uncertainty. “I know, I know. There is no way to see what it is, so let me just see if I can pull it out of here without trouble,” Henry said, shrugging his shoulders as he reached in to start rifling around for the coin. By all appearances, his arm had gone much further than the depth of the cap, Henry paying little attention to the curious gazes and bent forms which looked towards the bottom of the cap as if he had outright punched through it, but it lasted only a few seconds before something had been pulled out with a quick yank that was neither coin, cash nor – one of the more classic of magic tricks – a rabbit pulled from a hat.

Almost immediately, no appreciation given to be pulled out of another dimension by its tail, the goblin sprung out of his grip and onto the crowd, hands clamoring for grip on hair and clothing while it tried to rifle through the pockets and purses of the unsuspecting crowd. Its motives simple, the goblin seemed to find contentment with the loose bills and casino chips it could find, all of which found their way in the cap as Henry kept it held out during the small form chaos that had exploded. Some people yelled, some screamed, and some took off away from the commotion caused by such a small, impish creature that continued to hop around until the only person left had been the street magician – stunned, silent, staring at the goblin as a quick snap sent the creature back to the dimension it belonged with a portion of its earnings.

Not that Henry knew what a goblin would do with some spare change, but that ceased to be of issue as he looked back over to the street magician, smug and all too sure of himself for a tourist with a big mouth. His eyes moved down to the cap still in his hands, considering it for only a moment, before he all but smacked it into the magician’s chest as he handed it over.

“Told you,” he said, glancing down at his watch, “and now I’ve got a date with some steak and black bean nachos that I don’t want to miss.” There was a quick wave, nonchalant, as Henry turned on his heels to continue down The Strip, no consideration given to any confused and curious questions that might have followed him along the way.