True story.

Guy walks into a magic shop.

Pulls out his wallet.

"I'm so rich," he says, "I got money to burn."

Opens his wallet.

Flames shoot out.

You might see this any given day at Ziggy's Magic Shop in Lancaster.

Here, in this tiny, cluttered shop in the funky 300 block of North Queen Street, magicians gather to check out the latest goods, gab, swap tricks, show off and practice their patter.

"Pick a card."

"Watch the coin."

"Cut the deck."

"Don't worry. I'm a trained professional ... something."

"Hand me your wedding ring."

Um, word to the wise?

Your ring is going to disappear.

Your card is going to be divined.

The coin, the scarf, the sponge ball, all are going to reappear, but where you least expect it.

"We cheat for a living," says Ed Clarke, Ziggy's owner, also known as "Almar the Professional Idiot."

The 44-year-old Bridgeport resident plies his trade in a shop lined with black-and-white photos of magic greats known near and far: Harry Houdini, Clint Riedel, Harry Blackstone and Edward Ziegenfuss.

In 2004, Clarke bought the shop from Ziegenfuss, a local, late magician who had operated it for almost 25 years.

The shop, with its worn linoleum and old-fashioned glass display cases, has a throwback vibe that adds to its magic.

Clusters of wands, bunches of showy magicians' flowers, piles of colorful scarves and boxes of red sponge balls line the shelves and cases.

Stuck to the dropped-tile ceiling are signed cards, flipped up there during the — what else? — Card on Ceiling trick, where someone picks a card from a deck and signs it, the magician tosses the deck into the air, and only the signed card magically sticks to the ceiling.

Below is a sign that reads "The Secret is Told When the Trick is Sold."

Check out the alphabetized drawers. Under F, fire wallets are filed. Pull out P and there are pens that somehow penetrate a dollar bill without tearing it. Out of G, Clarke gets a fake gun that he shoots, unfurling a banner that reads "Bang!"

Nearby are decks of cards divided by suits, as well as numbers and faces.

"This is the place to come if you need 25 two of hearts," Clarke says.

And just why would anyone need 25 two of hearts?

"This is an ordinary deck. I cut the rope in the middle. There's nothing in the box. Lies. All lies," says Clarke, grinning.

Local magicians, many members of the Lancaster Professional Magicians Club (www.lancastermagicians.com), often haunt the shop, sitting along one wall in a row of flip-down movie theater seats that Clarke says came from one of the city's now defunct theaters.

Here, they might learn a new trick and then practice it in a mirror. They shoot the breeze, remembering how doing a trick for some airport workers got them bumped up to first class one time, or bought them a drink in a club another time.

Chuck Artinian, 68, comes in early. The Cochranville entrepreneur is a restaurateur, walking around and doing magic for his customers now at the Chuck Stop Restaurant in Gap and formerly at the Corn Crib Restaurant, known for the airplane sticking out of its roof and its oddball advertisements advising people not to eat there.

Seth Sheckard, 36, of Columbia, comes in for some new cards. He's a student of magic, who knows the terms and background for many tricks.

He's joined by Kevin Roth, 37, of Strasburg, who does one of many scratch-your-head card tricks performed, saying, "We kind of feed off each other."

"Uncle Yodie" also appears. He's Darrell Yoder, 50, of Lancaster, a fifth-grade teacher at Elizabeth Martin School who has taught his students a few tricks over the years.

Magicians often carry around cards, coins or other small tricks to show off. The greeting "Whattaya' got?" will produce the flaming wallet or the palmed quarter.

Michael Choe, 10, a kid whose mom owns a neighborhood restaurant, wanders in and stands by the wall, quietly watching the magicians.

Get ready.

Here comes The Shrinking Cigarette, The Zig-Zag Soda Can, The Vanishing Glass, The Ugly Keychain, The Hot Rod.

Just don't ask how the trick is done. Someone invariably changes the subject, then the trick.

At one point, everyone troops outside to watch an impromptu sidewalk show/demonstration of a little glass gizmo that Artinian has brought. It mysteriously disappears with a resounding CRACK. Passersby stare.

The magicians can't help themselves.

"I'm a natural-born show-off," Clarke says, laughing.

The Philadelphia native, like many magicians, got interested in magic as a kid.

When he was 12, he dove into a lake handcuffed, after reading about Houdini doing it. By the time he was 14, he was hanging around Nat Litt and Jack Chanin, a Russian Jewish man with a Chinese stage name who used to send Clarke out into the Philadelphia streets with a trick, telling him not to come back until he had made $5 performing it.

After high school, Clarke went into the U.S. Navy, where he learned about explosives and ordnance, something that came in handy when he became a fire-eater and sword-swallower in a succession of circus side shows.

He also was a "talker" (circus folk don't use the term "barker"), someone who "turns a tip," or convinces an audience to come into the side show.

Clarke, who moved here 20 years ago, specializes in comedy and horror magic. He's a regular at Jason's Woods during Halloween.

Magic, he says, is not really about the magic.

"It's about the entertainment," he says. "Most magicians can't sing. They can't dance and they sure ain't good-enough looking to be an actor.

"But they love to entertain."

Now, can he borrow your wallet? ...

CONTACT US: cstauffer@LNPnews.com or 481-6024