Gheist

by Richard Mosses

  “That’s the long and short of it,” said Vincent.

  “So who we lookin’ for?” said Clint.

  “Melchior the Magnificent.”

  “Wow, that’s some name,” said Fingers. “Sounds like a comic-book character.”

  “That wouldn’t be too far from the mark,” said Vincent. “Interesting person. We only met once, but they left quite an impression.”

  “Where do we find Melchior?” said Jack.

  “That’s an easy one, for once,” said Kat. “Melchior is on twice a night in the Hanging Gardens hotel and casino. I always meant to go to a show, but playing cards was more of a draw.”

  Kat sat down in the dark, just making it for the Matinee show. Clint and Vincent joined her at the table.

  “Did you ever speak to the guy that took your heart?” Kat said. She’d been burning to ask Vincent about it.

  “Hardly. I was strapped to a chair, two big guys standing over. This little old guy came in with a pot and just took it out of my chest, like that bit in the Indiana Jones movie, but with smoke and no blood. Put it in the pot and left. He was talking some voodoo nonsense. A few days later I saw him when I passed the church on my way to the office or somewhere. I stopped the car and went back, got myself a traffic ticket. The place was mobbed with all sorts of people. I realise now they were all dead, well most of them.”

  “Did anyone film your heart being taken out?” It didn’t seem like something you woke up one morning knowing how to do. Someone must have shown the guy who did this to her how to do it. But more importantly Vincent was given his heart back. It could be done. If she couldn’t persuade Danton’s guy to do it, maybe she could persuade Evelyn instead. It was the only good reason she had for not strangling Evelyn next time she saw her.

  “Not unless the camera was hidden.”

  The purple velvet curtains drew back to show a slender person in a classic dinner jacket and top hat combination. From the round of applause, it was clear this performance was well attended. It was surprising that a stage-based magic show would be so popular.

  The show started in standard form, with audience participation. A few card tricks, a section where Melchior spoke to the dead on behalf of one or two, although none of them could see any spirits on stage, so it seemed it must be cold reading rather than a true séance. All through this Kat couldn’t tell if Melchior was a man or a woman. It didn’t really matter, but it was remarkable just how androgynous the magician was. Even the voice was balanced, and no trace of an accent. Melchior could be anyone from anywhere.

  The act changed up a gear and started to look like what you expect from a headline magician’s show on the Strip, with nods to other acts. The curtain pulled back increasing the size of the stage. A horse and carriage was driven on and made to disappear. Two Bengal tigers painted purple and green roamed the stage, vanishing when Melchior commanded them to jump through a hoop, then coming out of the hoop later in the act still in mid jump. Melchior also performed a trick Kat was sure she’d seen in a film, where two doors were placed at either end of the stage. One was opened by Melchior who bounced a ball towards the other, only to open the door and catch the ball at the other side. “Twins,” she said. “It must be done with twins.” Until Melchior threw the ball into the audience only to catch it at a table only a few feet from theirs. There was no time to move a twin into place, unless there was a triplet planted there since the start of the show and you’d think someone would have noticed. Finally, Melchior set up a trick similar to that of his tigers. He dived, weighted, chained and straitjacketed, from a platform through a hoop suspended over a hedgehog of sharpened swords, all inspected by an audience member. Only Melchior didn’t come out the other side. The hoop was moved by an assistant to another part of the stage, over a glass-walled tank of water. Melchior emerged from the hoop splashing into the tank with a door closing behind him. In the tank Melchior had to free himself from his bonds before his oxygen ran out, and more spikes would stab through the tank, as shown by a large clock ticking down in the background. The clock sounded a deep deadly chime, the spikes entered the tank and the water misted red only for Melchior to reveal himself disguised as the assistant. The crowd went wild.

  “I’m sorry, lady. Appointment only.” Kat was told at the stage door. “And Melchior doesn’t do appointments.”

  “Tell him to say that Vincent Vadim is here to see Melchior. That should work,” said Vincent.

  “You don’t look like a Vincent,” said the door keeper when she did.

  “Don’t judge a book by the cover,” said Kat. “Just tell him. I’ll make it worth your while.” She shook the door keeper’s hand and passed him fifty dollars. “I’ll double it when you come back.”

  The door man looked at her a moment, then checked the note. “I’ll deliver your message, but I ain’t makin’ no promises.”

  Kat raised her hands to say that was fair enough.

  About five minutes later he returned. He just looked at Kat. Who palmed off another fifty. For all she knew he could’ve just had a quick fag break. “He’s agreed to see you. Go down the corridor on the right, third door on the left. I find you anywhere else I call the cops. We clear?”

  “We’re clear,” said Kat, followed by Clint and Vincent.

  Backstage was a breeze block and coated concrete affair. Air ducts, pipes and wiring were bolted to the ceiling or wall. Trolleys and small forklifts ferried pallets of goods around the open areas.

  With no star on the door, or even a name, this room could be anyone’s. Kat checked the instructions in her head and was sure this was the right place.

  “Come in,” was the response to her knock.

  Inside, the room was as spare and functional as the corridor. A two-seat couch, a dressing table with mirror, only a few pots on the table, a flat-pack wardrobe, a small TV suspended from the wall opposite the couch, and on the floor was a mini-bar fridge on top of which balanced a kettle. Melchior the Magnificent, wearing a pair of jeans and a white shirt, sat on the couch. It was still impossible to tell, so perfectly balanced were Melchior’s features, their race or sex.

  “Hello,” said Melchior. “To what do I owe this pleasure? I hope you’re not taking Vincent’s name in vain.”

  Clint started poking round the room when it appeared Melchior couldn’t see him. He looked like a Private Investigator in a Western.

  “I’m Kat McKay. I’m looking for your help. I understand from Vincent that you did some work for Danton in the 90s…”

  A look of distaste crossed Melchior’s face at the mention of Danton. He lifted a hand and cut Kat off. “Sorry, I think you would have been better speaking to my sister about that. Unfortunately, she is no longer with us.”

  “Typical,” said Vincent. “I never actually spoke to Melchior directly. I only knew we worked together on the building. I had no idea.”

  “My condolences,” said Kat. “That seems to be a common situation with people who have worked for Danton. Vincent is also no longer with us either. Fortunately, I’ve been able to…”

  Melchior lifted a hand again and ever so slightly shook his head. “I’ll not have any ill spoken of the dead, or Danton. I’m sure it is just a sad coincidence.”

  There had to be someone out there who liked Danton. Then Kat remembered her first conversation with Jack, Fingers and Clint.

  “There’s a device of some sort, stuck behind the mirror,” said Clint. “Maybe someone’s listenin’. Can’t imagine who that might be.”

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” said Kat. “Is there somewhere I can pay my respects to your sister?”

  Melchior’s eyes narrowed. “Let me give you the address.” Melchior got up and went to the dressing table, opened a drawer and took out a pad and pen and sat on the stool, back to the mirror. For a brief second it seemed like Melchior made eye contact with Clint. Melchior handed the top sheet to Kat. “This is where I like to go to remember her.”

  “Thank you.”

&nb
sp; Kat waited until they had left to look at the note. There was an address for a street off the Strip. It also said 11am, ask for Pink Floyd.

  “What the hell is this about?” said Kat.

  “Clearly Danton is still takin’ a close interest in Melchior,” said Clint.

  “Guess I’ll see you there tomorrow,” said Kat.

  Having given so much to the doorman, Kat would have to find a bus back to her room. Boosting a car seemed too risky after what Carlos had said to her.

  Kat didn’t appreciate another early start. 11am might seem like a luxurious start even if your late show finished after midnight. Kat on the other hand had barely got the chance to get more than three or four hours sleep after her shift.

  When she found the address, Vincent and Clint were waiting for her, and she couldn’t see the funny side. “A sex shop?” In a neighbourhood that seemed to specialise in XXX videos and sex toys and was proud to let the casual passer-by know about it – a fibreglass model of a naked woman stuck out from the wall like the figurehead on a porno pirate ship. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. This better not be a set up.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” said Vincent. “Maybe we’ve got the address wrong.”

  Kat showed him the page. The handwriting was clear, the numbering distinct. There was no mistake.

  “Guess we better ask for Floyd,” said Clint.

  “It better not be a giant dildo, or Melchior will find himself on the business end.”

  “What’s a dildo?” said Clint.

  “A rubber dick,” said Kat.

  “Oh, right,” said Clint. “Why would anyone want one of those?”

  “Let’s go in and find out, shall we?” said Kat.

  While not quite the education for a naïve eighteen-year-old as passing postcard racks in Amsterdam, the inside of the store was just as lewd as advertised. Leather and rubber hung next to shelves of latex pussy cast from pornstars’ genitalia. Every size and shape of fake penis made from a variety of materials was displayed in glass cases and numerous racks of DVDs catered to every kink. Kat was most reminded of Planet Mordor, a shop in Glasgow which seemed to overflow with books, comics, models and action figures. Everybody has their vice.

  “Hi,” said Kat to the girl behind the counter. She had an impressive array of tattoos, shown off by only wearing a bikini top and denim shorts over ripped fishnets. “I’m looking for Pink Floyd.”

  There must have been something in her demeanour, or her tone, that told her not to piss about. As pale as she was, the girl seemed to go a shade paler. “Just a moment, ma’am,” she said while rummaging in a drawer beneath the counter. She took out a particularly odd phallus, it looked like it was made of ivory with irregular nodules across the surface, and walked over to a shelf of latex vaginas, without hesitating she thrust the device into one of them and twisted. “Just go through the changing room.” She indicated the booth with a thick velvet curtain across it. Tentatively, Kat pushed aside the curtain. An open doorway led to a wood panelled corridor, more like something from a gentleman’s club than a strip mall sex shop. With a nod of thanks, and a quick glance at Clint and Vincent, she headed in.

  The corridor ended at a wooden door which opened into a large room with subdued lighting that continued the wood panelled look. It was hard to tell if this was an elegant torture chamber or a bizarre museum. Right in front of Kat was an iron maiden cast from crude iron, opened up to show the metal spikes in its innards. Next to it was a tall rectangular water tank like she’d seen many magicians lowered into wearing straightjackets, except this one was made from old wood and the glass looked a little milky with age. Unlike others this one had a board across the top with two holes. Beside it was a framed print of Houdini himself suspended and bound in the water. Further round was a restored automaton, the Mechanical Turk, poised to make a winning chess move. The path through the room took Kat past many more historical stage magic exhibits, some large enough to need their own space, others shown in well-lit cases or shelved cabinets. The room seemed to go on without end, like the warehouse at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, except with the exhibits taken out of the crates. At one point she was in a small library of witchcraft and demonology, ancient leather bound books kept in controlled atmospheres, wood-cuts of trafficking with devils on display.

  “I’d heard something like this existed,” said Vincent. “A museum of magic and conjuring. But I had no idea it was here all this time. Look, it’s the original cabinet of Dr Caligari, from the silent movie.” He pointed at a tall wooden box.

  “What has this got to do with dildos?” said Clint, who sounded like he was trying out a new word.

  Next was an ornate sarcophagus, set on its feet. The face of pharaoh pale and as androgynous as Melchior. Across the chest was a splendid sun with wings held in the forelegs of a dark scarab, a long line of hieroglyphs trailed down to the feet. A number of funerary gods attended down the body, offering various organs and symbols in their hands.

  Kat was taken back to the moment her heart was removed and the jar it was placed in. She felt the space in her chest, like a missing beat, a hard judder. For a brief moment she wondered if this was a trap. What did they know about this Melchior person anyway? Just because there’d been some kind of theatre around Melchior being spied upon didn’t make it real.

  As they got closer the sarcophagus opened smoothly and slowly, to reveal Melchior within, arms crossed, wearing a white tuxedo jacket, white trousers and waist coat, and a white shirt, punctuated by a black bow tie, hair slicked down and parted to one side. Kat was reminded of the guys from Kraftwerk dressed and performing like robots, or perhaps androids. Melchior opened its eyes as they reached him-her. “Spook,” Melchior said.

  “Shiver,” said Kat.

  “You sure know how to make an entrance, son,” said Clint.

  “Thank you,” said Melchior, smiling. “It has become my profession, after all. Please, follow me.” Melchior led them to an area with low leather couches around a table made from the same wood that lined the walls. “I’m truly sorry for all the cloak and dagger nonsense. While it brings a certain, frisson, to life, it is terribly tedious.”

  “We wouldn’t have seen this amazing place you have here,” said Vincent. “I can’t complain about seeing that.”

  “You’re very kind,” said Melchior. “Indeed, if you tried to get in any other way, it would not have been possible. I have done similar work here to what was done for Madam Danton, although it is somewhat inferior. As I said before, it was my sister who did that work. Excuse me a moment.”

  Instead of leaving, Melchior continued to sit, with his eyes closed. Melchior’s eyes opened. Someone else was at home now.

  “Who are you?” said Kat.

  “I am Melchior the Magnificent. The original one. My brother took on the act. Or rather he was encouraged to do so by Madame Danton.” The voice was different, with the emphasis on syllables altered. “It hasn’t been without some success.” Melchior separated her hands to indicate the museum around them. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to enjoy it. Although he is trapped in a gilded cage.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your loss,” said Kat. “As you can see Vincent had a similar problem. I’m here because we need your help. Danton has my heart and I mean to take it back again. Vincent is helping us understand the layout of the building, but he knew you’d done some work there too and I’m guessing it didn’t involve installing fortune teller machines.”

  “You’re right,” said Melchior. “I was brought in to add some magical protection to the casino. For me, stage magic was a hobby, it was other types of magic that interested me. I have constructed alarms and wards all around the casino. This prevents people remote viewing the site and spirits in the casino can’t see or even enter some parts of the complex that Madame Danton wants kept hidden.”

  “Just as well we didn’t send Fingers in to look around,” said Clint.

  “Apart from telling u
s where these security systems are, can you help us bypass them, or set up our own defences?”

  “I’ll do what I can,” said Melchior. “Without being there, the best I can do is work with Vincent to help your planning.” Vincent nodded. “Creating counter measures…I’d need to teach someone magic and that could take years.”

  “What about your brother?” said Kat. “Couldn’t he do it?”

  “And do his regular stage show? No. And I can’t be there without him.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know about anchors, of course. After I was murdered, after I came back, I made my brother make himself my anchor. Some of the tricks are only possible if I’m there to do them.”

  “You can make anchors?” said Clint.

  “It is possible. However, it’s difficult and costly. It doesn’t always go well. My chain is particularly short as a consequence. While this has its advantages, I can’t travel far. Also, please understand, I will not do anything to risk my brother’s life. While I have more than just a sister’s interest in his well-being, I am also responsible for his slavery. If you can find a way to free him I’d be grateful. I want that far more than any petty revenge over my death.”

  “You’d think if the Dantons are so concerned about supernatural security they’d take more precautions in not creating dead enemies,” said Clint.

  “It does seem to be somewhat careless,” said Melchior. “On the other hand, maybe it’s not such a coincidence after all.”

  “What do you mean?” Kat said. “Is he creating ghosts for some reason?”

  “I think it’s a possibility,” Melchior said.

  “What good would that do him?” Clint said.

  “If he has their anchor, he has access to any number of tools, weapons even, that no one would see coming,” Kat said. “It’s practically what I’m doing.”