by Debra Snow
“Ah, detectives! Are you ready to roll?”
Pro looked at Chu and said, “Mister Shaut can ride with us, if that helps.”
“Actually, we both are going to the show. Mister Shaut is the emcee tonight, and I’m also doing a set.”
“A what?” Chu asked, unfamiliar with the term.
“He’s performing as well,” Pro translated.
“Ah!” Chu acknowledged.
Brent went on, “Therefore, I will need to talk to the other entertainers and make sure the stage crew has everything they need. Mister Shaut must not be bothered with trifles!”
Pro bit back her desire to tell the brown-nosing weasel to shut up. “Okay, well, we should get going.”
“Mister Shaut?” Chu said and stepped into his office.
“Hm?” Shaut responded. “Oh, you guys go on without me.”
Chu crossed his arms. “Sir, that would defeat the purpose of us escorting you.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess so,” Shaut conceded and stood up at his desk. “Brent, you got my—”
“Your tux is right here, sir,” Brent Williams gushed enthusiastically. “It has been cleaned and pressed since your last appearance.”
“Good thing.” Shaut smirked. “We had a dove worker. His damn bird pooped all over me.”
“Pro, is it all right if Mister Shaut rides up front with me?” Chu said.
“No problem,” Pro replied. “Brent and I can sit behind the divider.”
“Divider?” Williams repeated.
“Yeah, it’s an unmarked, but it is a police car,” Pro explained. “Sometimes we arrest people and they have to go behind the metal cage. That’s where you and I can ride.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I get claustrophobic,” Williams whined.
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Brent,” Shaut scolded. “It’s only for twenty minutes. You’ll be fine.”
Shaut grabbed a small briefcase from the corner of the room, and soon all four people were out front on the street. Brent put the suitcase and garment bags in the trunk, and with only a moment’s hesitation, got into the car through the back door Pro held open. Pro slid in beside him, and Chu and Shaut got in the front.
Chu pulled into traffic, drove to the end of the block, and headed south on Ninth Avenue.
As they drove Chu glanced over at Shaut. “Is that all you need for a stage show, Mister Shaut?”
“Yup!” Shaut boasted. “I’m a minimalist. I just need a few things—some sponge balls, a couple of tricks I personally selected—and I am good to go!”
“So, Brent, how long have you been with Mister Shaut?” Pro asked in the back seat, as the blond man looked about the car nervously.
“A couple of years,” he answered and peered at the door near him. “There are no door handles back here.”
“Yeah, the only way out is to have someone open it from the outside,” Pro instructed. “That way prisoners can’t escape.”
“I don’t like it,” Brent muttered.
“It’s only for a short time. So how long—”
“Two years,” Williams interrupted. “Mister Shaut has taught me a lot about the business.”
“What is your interest?”
“I want to do my own show. Create effects like your father does.”
Pro looked out the window. “You don’t want to be like my father.”
“But he’s created illusions no one had ever seen before. He worked in Vegas for over twenty years. That’s something of a record.”
“I suppose,” Pro remarked coldly.
“And then to get out of an NYPD cell the way he did—”
Pro’s head snapped back to Williams. “How did you hear about that?”
“It was all on the news. I saw reports about it online.”
Pro leaned back and stared at the roof of the car. “Oh, jeez.”
“You gotta admit that was pretty cool,” Williams said, his fear forgotten in his excitement. “That’s one of the reasons I like working with Mister Shaut. I can tinker in his workshop, come up with ideas. I’m the one who built that mirror box.”
Pro’s head popped up. “You built it?”
“Yes, and it was tricky. I had to glue the hinges to the glass with a special adhesive that can only be used—”
Brent went on, but Pro had tuned him out. The video was all over the news sites online. Her time as a detective was definitely over. The brass would see it tonight, and tomorrow heads would roll, hers first.
But if she chose to resign, she could claim it was all her fault for not securing the prisoner correctly. That way Jacobs, Palos, and her partner wouldn’t lose their jobs. It would all be on her, and as she was the daughter of the prisoner, the brass would buy it.
“And that’s why I am learning to draw scaled plans,” Williams was saying.
“I’m sorry,” Pro responded, pulled out of her reverie. “Did you say you know how to draw plans? As in the ones we are looking for?”
Williams reddened. “Nothing of the sort. I said I am learning to draw them. If you’re going to build illusions, you have to know how to get your ideas out of your head and onto paper.”
He faced front and they rode on in silence.
“Oh, I forgot something,” Pro said. “Can you arrange a ticket for a guest of mine?”
“A guest?” Williams said haughtily, and pulled a paper from his jacket pocket. “Now you’re bringing a guest.”
Shaut spoke from the front seat. “Brent, don’t be an ass. If the lady wants a guest, give it to her.”
“Sir, I meant no disrespect to the detective,” Williams demurred. “But we have a very full house tonight.”
“Stick him in one of the house seats we keep open. What’s his name, detective?”
“Luther Ardoin.”
Williams sighed. “Very well, sir. But we are having that writer from the New York Beacon tonight, and you do know how good press keeps us going.”
“It’ll be fine,” Shaut declared. “So, a friend of yours? Someone special?”
Pro’s voice became businesslike. “He’s a security guard who helped secure the scene at Mister Mystique’s apartment. I wanted to…um…thank him.”
“Yeah, sad to hear about Mike. He was a good guy,” Shaut surmised. “Sam Lovell must be pretty upset. I’m surprised he’s still going on tonight.”
“Why, were they friends?” Chu asked.
“Last I knew they were an item, bumping uglies as they say.” Malcolm chortled. “Of course, that’s what the rumors were.”
“And Lovell is performing tonight?” Pro asked.
“Yes, and Adrianna Gray as well. It’s gonna be a hell of a show.” He pointed at a building as they approached. “And there is the theater right ahead!”
Chu pulled the car over directly in front of the theater and into a spot which bore a sign that read “No Parking Zone.” Shaut got out of his side of the car with his briefcase and looked up at the lit marquee that read “A Night Of Wonder” in bold letters. Chu opened the back door and Pro and Williams stepped out, then he opened the trunk and Williams got the garment bags and suitcase.
“Tom, I’ll stay with our witness,” Pro stated. “You park the car.”
Chu gave a nod and got back in the car and drove away.
“So, I’m a witness now?” Shaut chortled.
“Yes, sir, that is why we can offer police protection,” Pro explained. “Shall we go inside?”
The trio moved around the corner from the front of the theater to a metal door that Williams banged on with the flat of his hand. There was a click and the door came open. There stood a young woman with dark-brown hair, in jeans and a work shirt, with a headset around her neck.
They were at a side door, just in the front of the first row of audience seats, and the stage rose up to their left with a set of stairs.
“Good to see ya, boss,” the woman said, and checked her watch. “Whoa, 6:30? Is it a holiday or sumptin’?”
“Relax, Selly. I get here early
sometimes,” Shaut boomed in his loud voice. “This is Detective Thompson. She’s my police escort.”
“An’ a not too shabby one at that,” the woman said with a smirk. “I’m Selena, but everyone calls me Selly. I’m the stage manager.”
Pro reached out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Selly gave her a firm shake. “Nice arms. You must hit the gym a lot.”
“I try,” Pro said modestly. “You run the show?”
“As best as I can.” Selly turned back to Shaut. “Everything the same as usual? Do you need to change music or anything?”
“Same as always, Selly.”
“Good, I like it when things are easy. So, you want the roll call?”
“I’ll be the one for that, Selly,” Williams said, getting between the diminutive crew member and his boss. “Mister Shaut, you should start getting ready.”
He handed Shaut one of the garment bags, and Shaut draped it over the arm that held his briefcase.
“Of course, Brent. Thank you, Selly, and I brought checks.”
“Make sure you sign ‘em this week, okay? I didn’t like to have to drag you down here two weeks ago when you forgot.”
“Already done, Selly,” Shaut went on dismissively, and walked up onto the stage with Pro right behind him as Selly and Brent conferred on the acts for the evening’s performance.
Shaut and Pro walked toward a large curtain that had a lit-up box hanging down on wires from the curtain rod with the emblazoned logo for “A Night of Wonder” in fanciful letters. They walked into the wings, down a flight of stairs, and into a door marked “Dressing Room One.”
“One of the advantages of being the producer,” Shaut bragged, “I get the closest dressing room.”
“Nice,” Pro said, trying to be upbeat. The room wasn’t very large and had peeling paint on the ceiling. There were several makeup mirrors with lights around them, but half of the bulbs were out. Above the mirrors were a series of shelves going up fairly high with props, discarded wigs, and items leftover from what appeared to be the last hundred shows that were ever done in this theater.
Shaut hung the garment bag on a rickety standing rack and put his briefcase on the small ledge that was built into the wall below the mirrors. It was obviously to be used for makeup, but instead Shaut opened his case and began to arrange the contents.
The case was sectioned off into little squares, each one containing a different prop or accessory. He had added a sheet of foam on the lid, which kept everything in place and protected the contents in transit.
Pro could see props reminiscent of her own childhood, things she saw Max carry in a small case he’d bring to events. Several different sized red balls made of sponge, a plastic thumb, a flesh colored crescent moon-shaped object with a pencil lead, small enough to fit under one’s thumbnail.
Shaut took things out one at a time, did some simple preparation, and then unzipped the garment bag and extracted his jacket. He began to place objects in the pockets, and a wad of fake fifty-dollar bills into a clip that hung down the back of the suit.
“Mister Shaut, if you don’t mind, I’m going to check the perimeter,” Pro said.
“Hmm?” Shaut said, without looking up as he was focused on his tasks. “Very well, I’ll be right here.”
She stepped out into the hall and looked to her left, where several doorways were emblazoned with different numbers.
Next to the hall were stairs to the stage, and another set of stairs that went up to a second floor. She quickly climbed them and was on a small balcony that had a pair of bathrooms. There was also a hallway with closed doors but no lights on. She looked to see if any light came under the door, but they were all dark. She decided they were extra dressing rooms, if the theater had a show with a large cast.
She returned to the first floor, stepped into Dressing Room Two, and pulled out her papers from the attaché she had brought.
Going through the stack, she pulled out the translated message that had troubled her. It had been from Wednesday of last week, so only two days before the murder of Albert Floss. In pen she had written the number and the words above it. It read:
Deal is close
Trouble
Must keep one ahead
Of TM
It was something about the phrase that kindled something in her memory. Bad enough she had to crack that Houdini code and count out all the words, but now the message had another meaning that she was unsure of.
The door burst open and Sam Lovell came into the room, which made her rise to her feet. He carried a small suitcase and had a garment bag hanging on a strap from his shoulder. He looked up to see Pro, as she stuffed the pages away.
“Oh! Sorry, luv, didn’t know anyone would be ‘ere,” he said.
“Quite all right, Mister Lovell,” Pro said as she gathered her papers. “By the way, my partner checked your alibi for Friday. Your sponsor vouched for you.”
“Just like I said.” He gave a lopsided grin that showed off his crooked teeth.
“By the way, I heard from…someone that you were very close with Mister Mystique.”
The smile vanished. “From ‘ooja ‘ear that?”
Now it was Pro’s turn to smile. “Around. I was just wondering how much truth there was to the rumors.”
“Look, Michael was me friend, that’s all. Anyone says anything else, it’s all lies.”
“I see.” Pro considered her words carefully. “Do you know of any reason someone would want him dead?”
“Look, Mike ‘ad a thing about money. ‘E was right greedy. If ‘e ‘eard there was a score going down, ‘e’d try to muscle in on it. If you ask me, that’s what got ‘im done in.”
”Well, thank you, that’s very helpful. I was just leaving,” Pro said and slipped past the lanky magician to go out the door.
She continued down the dark hall and opened the door to Dressing Room Three to see Adrian Novack, aka Adrianna Gray, in nothing but a bra and panties, trying to curl her hair with a large electric curling iron.
“Oh hey, detective, c’mon in,” Adrian said with a high-spirited voice when Pro tried to back out. “But shut the door. I don’t want the boys to see the goods if they ain’t buying, ya know what I mean?”
Pro, not seeing a way to gracefully escape, stepped into the room and quietly closed the door. The third dressing room was remarkably similar to the previous two. Peeling paint, numerous shelves with discarded relics, and the under mirror ledge, Adrian had spread out equipment and also makeup.
“How are you, Miss Gray?” Pro attempted to sound cordial.
“Good. Hey, honey, I gotta apologize. I was pretty stewed when you guys showed up at my place yesterday.”
Pro shrugged. “It could happen to anyone…”
“Yeah, well after you left, I realized you’re Max’s kid. I certainly wouldn’t have talked about your old man the way I did if I had known,” she said and looked at herself in the mirror as she completed another curl.
She grabbed a small electronic cigarette off the table and took a drag, which she held and then slowly released in a thin cloud of vapor. “Not that I said anything that wasn’t true. But Max actually was always pretty nice to me, though not interested in a physical relationship.” The older woman turned around with a huge smile. “Hey, think of that! If Max had given me a tumble, I coulda been your stepmother!”
“No, thank you,” Pro blurted. “I have had quite enough stepmothers, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh yeah, Max did like the ladies. I once told him that he should just bang ‘em and not marry each one. Oh, but I shouldn’t talk like that in front of you. I never met your ma. Is she a nice lady?”
Pro stared at the floor. “To be honest, she’s the best.”
“That’s good, that you like her and all,” she said and took another drag as the device lit up with a blue light and she expelled another mouthful of fog that smelled like peppermint. She held up the electronic cigarette. “You gotta excuse me. I like
to vape before a show. It’s actually good for my throat and gives me a kick of nicotine.”
“Well, I should get back to Mister Shaut.”
“Wait, wait. I heard that you and your partner found Mike Mystique after you left my place. Is that right?”
“That’s correct. We believe he was killed by the same man as Al Floss and Louie Tanner.”
“Oh? Well, then that couldn’t be your father.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause he was hiding in my secret room until you guys were long gone,” she said simply.
Pro turned toward the woman and closed the space between them to pull the curling iron from her hand and put it on the ledge. “Run that by me again.”
“Max needed a place to crash, so I hid him in my secret room,” she said with a giggle. “I’m a magician. I got one of those.”
In one quick move, Pro grabbed the arm holding the electronic cigarette and twisted it behind Adrianna’s back and slammed her face down on the ledge.
“Ow!” Adrianna whined. “Go easy, I got a show to do.”
“You were aiding a fugitive?” Pro demanded. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take you to lock-up right now and put your sculpted ass in a cell.”
“I was just trying to tell you that your old man didn’t kill Mike Mystique, that’s all. Ease up. You’re hurting me.”
Pro let the woman go and took a step back. “Let me make it clear, girlie. After the curtain comes down, you are on your way to interrogation. I’d take you in now, but I gotta keep an eye on Mister Shaut.”
“Max didn’t kill anybody, don’t you see?” Adrianna yelled at Pro. She then rubbed her arm and looked in the mirror. “Geez, now I gotta start over with my hair.”
Unable to stand the self-absorbed performer any longer, Pro stepped back into the hall and slammed the door. She quickly texted her partner and told him to meet her backstage. She would need all the backup she could get.
At least she now knew where her father had hidden out once he checked out of the Waldorf and disappeared. Pro now had an inkling that Gray’s drunken confessions the previous day may have been staged for her benefit.
And the ME said it was two different killers, or at least the possibility of two. And Mystique was found in his bed. Did a woman tempt him and then kill him? But did the time line work? Was there enough time for Adrianna to kill Mystique and then be back at her apartment to be interviewed by the police? If the entire drunken act was fake, there could have been. Pro had assumed she’d been drinking for hours before she got there.
