by Don Passman
He turned around and slowly lumbered into the garage.
* * *
As we drove off, I said, “What do you think?”
“I’ll ask Morton if they verified whether he was in Seattle. If so, he’s obviously not the Slut Man.”
I let out a sigh. “I certainly don’t get the vibe he’s a killer. Though I guess the really good killers don’t give off that vibe.” I scratched my scalp with my fingernails. “So where are we?”
Hannah glanced over. “You want a straight answer?”
“Not necessarily…”
“The apartment manager recognized you. Her father recognized you, though that was probably from the photo. The father of Sherry’s son, with his sleazy past and abusive temper, can maybe create reasonable doubt. Too soon to tell.”
I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. I pressed on the spot with my index finger. “I didn’t do anything. That’s got to come through.”
“As between you and God, you’re golden.” Hannah drove onto the 101 freeway. “I need to talk to your alibi David Hu. We have to prove you were at the Magic Castle that night. Anything to put doubt in the jurors’ minds.”
She swerved into a faster lane.
I rolled down the window a couple of inches, got a rush of air on my face, and said, “What else can I do?”
“Pray the DNA tests are faulty.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
That night, as I walked down the hall toward my apartment, I saw something taped to my door. It was a white envelope with my name handwritten on the front. I peeled it off the door, ripped it open, and unfolded the paper inside.
3-DAY NOTICE TO PAY RENT OR QUIT.
It went on to say that my rent was overdue. Like I didn’t know that?
If I don’t pay up in three days, I’ll be evicted.
I crumpled up the notice, went inside, and threw it on the floor. Lisa fluttered in her cage. I took her out and put her on my shoulder. She bit at my earlobe. I pushed her aside.
I sat on the couch and dialed Carly’s cell. While it rang, I practiced what I was going to say.
“Hi, Carly.”
I cleared my throat.
“Hello, Carly.”
Pitched my voice lower. “Carly? It’s Harvey.”
She answered, saying, “Hi, Harvey.”
Thank you, caller ID.
I said, “I … uh…”
“Me … um, too … I…”
“Well, I wondered…”
“Yes. I’d…”
Lisa backed a few steps down my shoulder.
I stood up. “I’m doing a magic show tomorrow night. Just a crappy little convention. You said you wanted to see some tricks, so I thought maybe you’d like to come along. I mean, I know it’s short notice and all that, but—”
“I’d love to.”
* * *
Carly and I arrived at the Culver City Convention Hall just before my show. We went into the auditorium, which was a small gym, and saw clusters of middle-aged men holding red plastic cups while yapping at each other. The air smelled like beer. Uneven rows of empty folding chairs were arranged in front of the closed stage curtains.
Hmm. Carly’s the only woman here.
I said, “You want to watch from backstage?”
“No, I want the full effect of the show.”
“The only ones out here are these conventioning Moose-Heads, or whatever they’re called.”
Carly chuckled. “I can handle myself.” She gave my arm a little squeeze.
I said, “I may have to raunch up the show to get their attention.”
“I’m a big girl.”
“Well … okay.” I glanced at the stage. “I’ve got to go back and get ready.”
“Break a wand.”
She turned and walked off. I watched her hips swing.
I went outside to the U-Haul trailer hitched to my car, unloaded the two rolling metal trunks, and used one to push the other as I wheeled them inside. I first took out my magic table, with its black velvet top and gold fringe, then unpacked the tricks and set them up.
When I finished, I walked to the front of the stage, leaned against a proscenium pillar, and pulled aside the thick velvet curtain to peek out.
None of the men were looking toward the stage. No doubt they’d rather tell fish-gutting stories than watch some doofus like me.
Where’s Carly? Some guy already got her into his cab-over camper?
Where’s my agent, Marty? And the Vegas promoter?
I studied the Moose-Heads. A bearded guy laughed so hard that he sloshed beer over the side of his cup. Most of these guys are shiny-eyed from the booze. Gotta do something to get their attention right away. Still no women besides Carly. Definitely raunch it up.
I let go of the curtain.
Someone behind me yelled, “Harvey!”
I turned around and saw my agent, Marty, walking my way, wearing his BriteSmile grin. He had gel-induced spiky hair and wore brown loafers without socks. In his right ear, a wireless cell phone earpiece blinked with a blue light. Beside Marty was a balding man with a ponytail who was working an Android phone with his thumbs.
Marty said, “This is Bernie Schulman.”
Bernie gave the Android a few more thumb taps, then slid it into his pocket. He stuck out his hand. “Marty says you’ve got some talent.”
I smiled at him. “I do.”
Bernie chuckled. “I like guys with confidence. Show me what you got, kid.” He clapped me on the arm and walked off.
Marty yelled after him. “Catch up with you, Bernie.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside. Marty leaned in close and whispered, “Why are the cops asking about you?”
My breath caught. “What?”
“The cops. They called me right before I left tonight.”
“Why would they do that?”
“You tell me.”
I shifted my weight to the other foot. “Well, they’ve been talking to me about this misunderstanding. No big deal. What did they ask you?”
“They wanted to know where you were. Right that second.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I didn’t know.”
“Good.” I looked around. “Did you, um, tell them about my show tonight?”
“Well … yeah. They’re the cops.” Marty leveled his gaze at me. “That a problem?”
What the fuck do you think? “No…”
He straightened up, then held out his fist so I could give him a fist bump. “Knock ’em dead!”
Couldn’t you pick another word, douche bag?
I fist bumped him, then straightened my posture, smoothed down my sequined jacket, and adjusted the knot of my shooting-star tie. I reached inside my coat and stroked Lisa, who was snug in her secret pocket. Finally I walked over to my magic table and checked the tricks one last time. Because I’d decided to raunch up the act, I’d substituted a couple of the props.
Are the cops out there waiting for me? How am I going to do a show with that on my head?
A squat hall manager came up to me and said, “You’re on.”
I threw my head toward the audience. “Nobody’s sitting down.”
“They’ll sit when we open the curtains.”
“Isn’t somebody gonna say the show’s starting?”
He stared at me. “Sure. ‘The show’s starting.’ Now get going, Houdini.” The man shuffled off to the side.
I stepped forward and cleared my throat. In my peripheral vision, I saw the hall manager grab a curtain rope and heave it hand over hand. The pulleys squeaked as the curtains slid open.
The gym lights were up at full blast. The folding chairs were empty. I saw Marty standing off to the side with Bernie, who’d gone back to Android Land. There’s Carly, near the door. Don’t see Sergeant Morton.
I walked to the front of the stage. A couple of men in the rear looked my way, then went back to their conversation.
I said, “Good evening.”
Some guy i
n the back finished a joke. The group around him guffawed. One of them said, “Clarence, that’s a real piss-cutter!”
I spoke louder. “I’m Harvey Kendall. When I was a young boy—”
An overweight man said to another hulking guy, “Billy? Is that Billy Swenson? I don’t believe it!” The men grabbed each other in a bear hug.
I yelled, “When I was a young boy, I liked to play with fire.” I grabbed the silver urn from my magic table and said, “Who’s got a twenty-dollar bill?”
The few that heard me looked away, making sure they wouldn’t catch my gaze. I asked again. After a moment, a skinny guy in a striped shirt came to the front of the stage and waved a bill at me.
“Thank you, sir,” I said loudly. No one besides Skinny seemed to hear. I handed him a felt marker and asked him to write his name on the bill. A couple of men started to watch.
When he finished, I held up the bill and squinted at it. “Josh Stevens. Is that right?”
“Yup.”
“Josh, did you know you can get three to five years for defacing federal property?”
A few men laughed. They came a little closer.
I tossed the twenty into the silver urn. It exploded in a blast of fire. That shut up the drunks. I said, “Ooops.”
Laughter. Except for Josh, who was staring at the urn.
I put on this forced grin, dumped the ashes on the stage, squatted down, and rapidly pawed through the pieces. After a moment, I looked up. “Anyone else got a twenty?”
That got a laugh. More men moved toward the stage. A couple of them sat down in the folding chairs.
“Well,” I said. “For my next trick…” I stood up. “I need someone up onstage. Any nude women here?” I shielded my eyes and scanned the hall. “How about a fatso who’s showing a little butt crack?”
Some guys pushed a huge man forward. He had curly black hair, a high forehead, and biceps almost the size of my thigh. The big man shook his head, backed up, got pushed again, shook his head, then ambled forward with an “Oh, what the hell” expression. His buddies cheered.
When Sasquatch got on the stage, I saw he had a good six inches over me. Not to mention a hundred pounds.
I looked up at him. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Dave.”
I noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “Dave, you have a girlfriend?”
He nodded.
“Would you like to read her mind?”
He half-smiled.
I said, “Take a seat.” I walked to the wings, grabbed a folding chair, opened it up, and put it at the front of the stage. When Dave sat down, I showed him a black velvet bag and turned it inside out to prove it was empty.
I said, “I’m getting vibrations about your girlfriend. Yes, definite vibrations. She’s sending me her thoughts.”
I stepped around behind Dave. “Signals getting stronger. She wants something you’ve never given her. It’s materializing right here.” I stayed behind Dave so he couldn’t see me, and reached into the bag. “Vibrations getting stronger!” I came out with a twelve-inch rubber dildo, which I shook hard enough to flap around.
The audience howled, then cheered. As Dave spun in a circle, I changed the dildo into a bouquet of paper flowers. “Here you go, Dave. Take these home to her.”
He squinted at me, then took the flowers in his oversize paw.
“Oh,” I said. “It looks like there’s something stuck in the bouquet.”
Dave looked through the flowers and held up an egg. I produced a glass tumbler and told him to crack the egg into it. When he broke the shell, the insides slopped into the glass. Along with the yolk was a rolled-up twenty-dollar bill that had been inside the egg. I fished it out and told Dave to unroll it.
He read the name on the wet bill. “Josh Stevens.”
Applause, whistles.
I saw Carly in the back, leaning against the wall, applauding.
Where’s the Vegas guy?
Is that Sergeant Morton? No. Is it?
* * *
I went on to make Lisa appear in a flash of flames, then put her on her perch next to the magic table. I stuck a foot-long needle through my arm, which is a gross-looking trick that always goes over with a testosterone crowd. I did a giant cups-and-balls routine, an homage to the magician I’d seen at the Renaissance Fair when I was little. Except in this one, I kept making the balls larger, ending up with a bowling ball.
I raised my arms to quiet the audience.
“It is said that the magicians of ancient India were able to dematerialize and pass through solid objects. This was dismissed by historians as myth, but I’ve discovered it was true. After years of research, and more years of disciplined practice, I have mastered their art. Watch.”
I wheeled out a six-foot-tall pane of glass, about the width of a door, and turned the thin edge toward the audience. Then I brought out two Chinese folding screens and stood them on the stage, one against each side of the glass.
The place went quiet. I walked behind one of the Chinese screens and waved a red handkerchief above the screen, so that the audience could see my hand.
I said, “One.”
I lowered the handkerchief.
“Two.”
“Three!” I raised the handkerchief on the other side of the glass. The audience gasped. Yes! I know I got it right when they gasp.
I kicked over the screen.
The men leapt to their feet, whistling, cheering. Off to the side, the squat hall manager gave me a thumbs-up. I went to Lisa’s perch, set her on my shoulder, stepped forward, and took a few bows.
They kept clapping. Someone yelled, “More!” Then a bunch of them did.
Guys, it’s not like being a rock star, who can just whip out his guitar and strum another tune. Magicians can’t do encores unless the tricks are set up in advance.
Well … better to leave ’em wanting more.
The audience kept cheering. I backed up a few steps, bowed again. Wish I had another trick.
I said, “Thank you,” not sure they could hear me over the noise.
I backed up farther and glanced to the side. The stage manager raised his eyebrows and threw his head toward the rope, asking if I wanted to end it. I nodded. He closed the curtain.
As soon as the curtains shut, I grabbed the dish towel that I keep under the magic table and mopped my face. I could still hear the muffled applause. Grinning, I pulled loose my shooting-star tie and walked offstage. The armpits of my shirt clung to my skin.
I grabbed the handle of my metal trunk, rolled it onstage next to the magic table, and unlatched the top. My pulse was still pumping hard in my neck. I fit my wooden duck Joanne into the cutout foam-rubber padding, then tossed in the deck of oversize playing cards from which Joanne picks the selected card.
Marty came rushing up with Bernie, the Vegas promoter. Marty pumped my hand, saying, “Harvey, that’s the best I’ve ever seen you.” As he spoke, he kept glancing at Bernie.
Bernie stuck out his hand. “Great job, kid. And I don’t impress easily. You really got something.”
I shook his hand. Couldn’t help grinning.
Bernie said, “So you want to do Vegas, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
He screwed his mouth to the side. “You call me ‘sir’ one more time and you’re back doing kiddies’ birthday parties.”
“Yes, si—Bernie.”
He laughed, slapped my shoulder. “I like this kid. Look, I can probably get you a small gig. Maybe a grand a week to start. Then work you up.”
A grand a week? I almost laughed. Marty, standing behind Bernie, was vigorously shaking his head, mouthing No.
Bernie said, “Whaddaya say?”
“I’d love to do Vegas. You gotta talk to Marty about the deal.”
Behind Bernie’s back, Marty made an exaggerated sigh of relief and gave me the okay sign.
Carly came up and took hold of my arm. “That was awesome!”
“Thanks.” I introduce
d her to the men.
Behind Carly, Marty gave me a raised-eyebrows-and-downturned-mouth-slow-head-bob that meant, This is a hot one; I didn’t think you had it in you.
Off to the side, I heard a man clapping. All of us turned to see Sergeant Morton walking our way. His skinny partner trailed behind.
Shit.
My heart sped up again.
At least his badge isn’t showing.
As he got closer, I took a step back.
Morton said, “Nice show, Mr. Kendall.”
Marty looked at me, puzzled. He grabbed Bernie and pulled him away, glancing back over his shoulder. Carly held on to me.
Morton said, “Could we talk privately?”
I said, “Now?”
“It’s important.”
“I’m pretty busy.”
He smiled. “I’m afraid I have to insist.”
Carly said, “I’ll wait over there.” She walked to the side of the stage and stood by the curtain rope, watching us.
Morton rubbed his chin. “You’ve been a busy man, Mr. Kendall. Let’s see. Breaking and entering the victim’s apartment. By the way, thanks for letting us know the manager had seen you before.”
I shook my head. “I’d never seen the manager before I went to Sherry’s apartment and found the thumb drive.”
“So why’d he think you looked familiar?”
“Same as Sherry’s father. He probably recognized me from the pictures of suspects that you showed him.”
“One little problem. We never showed him your picture. We talked to the manager before we got the DNA match from Virginia.”
My voice rose. “He’s lying. I’ve never seen him before.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Carly take a step toward us, looking worried.
Morton said, “I appreciate your finding the thumb drive. We’d have gotten to her boyfriend sooner or later, but your burglary skills moved that along nicely. Kevin was real helpful. We got a motive now. Someone walked in on them having sex. Jealousy’s been one of the top three motives since biblical times.”
I narrowed my eyes at Morton. “I never met Sherry Allen.”
