by Siegel, Alex
"Considering the size of your paycheck, I'd expect a more accommodating attitude," Aaron said. "Teach the trick to Marina."
"What happens if I don't?"
"I don't want to make threats. Cooperate, and no harm will come to you."
"That sounded like a threat to me. Maybe coming here was a mistake." She glanced at the door.
He sighed loudly. "You're wasting everybody's time. Marina, please, encourage her to cooperate."
Marina swept Sheryl's legs with a low kick. Sheryl landed flat on the floor, face down. While she was still stunned, Marina sat on her back, grabbed her hair, and pulled hard. Marina held a long dagger in front of Sheryl's wide eyes.
"Do I have your attention?" Marina whispered in Sheryl's ear.
Sheryl whimpered. "Yes."
"Aaron and I are the most violent people you've ever met. He exterminates his enemies like rats. The blood I've spilled could fill a swimming pool. We are the monsters from your nightmares."
Sheryl swallowed.
Marina continued, "If we give an order, we expect it to be obeyed. Everybody else in this room understands that rule. Do you?"
The edge of the dagger gleamed in the light. It looked razor sharp.
"Yes," Sheryl said.
"The correct response is 'yes, ma'am.'" Marina gave Sheryl's hair a sharp jerk.
Sheryl winced in pain. "Yes, ma'am."
"And you will address Aaron as sir. Think of him as your personal god." Marina released Sheryl and stood up.
Sheryl's legs were shaking as she got to her feet. She felt nauseous. Marina's dagger was already gone, hidden somewhere in her clothes.
"Teach me the rope trick," Marina said in a cold voice.
"Yes, ma'am."
Chapter Four
The performance lasted two hours, and for Sheryl, it was a very long and miserable two hours. Aaron and Marina kept interrupting and making her repeat tricks. A few times, they suggested variations and demanded that Sheryl try them. She felt like a student taking an exam in front of a classroom.
Aaron was particularly relentless. She was learning two things about the man. First, he was insatiably curious. When he had a question, he wouldn't stop pressing until it was answered. Second, he didn't give a damn about politeness or manners. He obviously didn't care if other people thought he was a total asshole.
Sheryl was finally on her last trick. There were more gadgets, but she didn't intend to use them. This show had gone on long enough.
She took a sheet of paper and some pencils from the footlocker. In front of everybody, she tore the sheet into nine roughly even pieces. She distributed the scraps of paper and pencils to the audience.
"I want everybody to write a three digit number on your paper," she said. "Any number will do. Fold up the paper and don't let me see."
While they were working, she went back to her footlocker. She dug out a piece of slate, chalk, and an envelope. She placed these items on the table.
"Everybody ready?" she asked.
Her audience nodded.
She picked up the slate and used the chalk to write the number "514." She didn't let anybody see what she was writing. She placed the slate on the table with the number hidden.
"Aaron," she said, "please, gather up the papers and mix them around in your hand. Make sure you don't know whose is whose."
Aaron gave her a distrustful look as he followed her instructions.
"Thank you," Sheryl said. "Now, choose one piece of paper at random. Put it in the envelope and seal it. I'll look away just to be extra safe."
She went back to the footlocker. While he was working with the envelope, she retrieved a cigarette lighter from her tightly packed supplies. With the same hand, she covertly grabbed a prepared scrap of paper and hid it between her fingers.
"Ready?" she said.
"Yes," he answered.
She turned around and faced him. "Please, give me the envelope."
He handed the envelope to her. She used the cigarette lighter to ignite the corner. The envelope and the paper inside were made of flash paper, so they burst into flame instantly. She tossed the envelope into the air and simultaneously released the prepared scrap which was made of ordinary paper. To the audience, it appeared as if the envelope had burned up, leaving the chosen paper behind.
The prepared scrap fell to the ground. Sheryl picked it up and made a show of wiping off the soot.
She handed it to Aaron. "Please, read the number."
"5-1-4," he read aloud.
She grabbed the slate off the table and turned it around with a professional smile. She was rewarded with polite applause.
"I figured it out," Aaron said. "It's not a very good trick."
Her whole body sagged. "It works on most people, sir."
"Most people are idiots." He returned to his seat.
"Regardless, that was my last trick. I'd like to go to my hotel room now. I'm tired. Thank you for being such a memorable audience." She closed the footlocker and latched it.
"You're not leaving," Aaron said.
"Why not?" She looked at him. "You want an encore?"
"No. I'm going to interview you now. I want to know your hopes and dreams. Your secret fears. You're going to tell me everything."
Sheryl opened her mouth to complain, but the look in his eyes stopped her voice. He would get his answers even if it killed her. The strangely dark shadows had returned to his face, and this time, she was sure it wasn't an illusion. The light was avoiding him.
Everybody else watched her silently. None of them would lift a finger to help her. She felt very alone and afraid.
She cleared her throat. "First, could you tell me who you are, sir?"
"When the time is right," Aaron said. "I know you grew up in Houston even though you lost your Texas accent. Your mother is a nurse and your father is a high school basketball coach. You attended the University of Texas, but you quit after three years and never graduated. Let's start there. Why did you drop out of school?"
She stared at him in shock. He had done his homework, and that fact made her uncomfortable. She had dealt with stalkers before.
"Dropping out wasn't the plan," she said. "My parents had very little money, so I had to support myself while I went to school. I performed magic on weekends. My first gigs were birthday parties, and everybody loved my act. Within a year, I was doing corporate functions and trade shows. They paid well but required serious rehearsal. I had less time for studying."
"And eventually, you became a professional magician instead of a student."
"When I got an invitation to perform at the Magic Castle in Los Angeles, I knew I was done with school. It was a good decision financially. I earn a lot of money as an entertainer."
"432,000 dollars last year," he said.
She narrowed her eyes. It wasn't fair that he knew everything about her, and she knew nothing about him.
"More or less."
"What drew you to magic in the first place?" he said.
"Why do you care? What is this about?"
"Answer the question."
She took a deep breath to regain her composure. "I suppose it started when I was a little girl. I've loved secrets and mysteries for as long as I can remember. They make me feel special. I hate being just like everybody else."
"I know about secrets and mysteries." He nodded.
"I bet you do. I still haven't figured out that spitting trick."
"That's because it isn't a trick. What would you say your greatest strength is?"
She paused to consider the question. "I'm sneaky and clever. I always find a way to win, even if it isn't the obvious way."
"A very admirable trait."
Sheryl looked over at Tawni again. The woman's beauty and athleticism drew Sheryl's attention like a magnet. Tawni also had an intensity in her eyes that promised excitement.
"And your worst weakness?" Aaron said.
Sheryl shrugged. "I don't have one. I'm perfect."
He stared at her without even a hint of a smile.
In a quieter voice, she said, "Vanity, I suppose. I like having an audience. I want to stand out from the crowd."
He frowned.
"You're disappointed."
"In our business," he said, "we never have an audience. Vanity is a problem."
"And what business is that, sir?"
Instead of answering her, he stood up and stretched his arms. He wore a gray jacket tailored to fit his huge chest. She didn't know if she had ever met a more physically intimidating figure.
"According to our research," he said, "you've never had a long-term relationship with a man. I also noticed you seem very interested in Tawni. Are you a lesbian?"
The blunt question left her speechless. It was such an inappropriate thing to ask. Her face grew hot.
He looked over at Tawni. "I can't argue with your taste. Tawni is much more than just a pretty face. She has a cunning mind and a strong heart. A fearless warrior. I'm quite fond of her."
Marina gave Aaron a hard look.
"In a paternal way," he added quickly.
Tawni looked down and smiled. "Thank you, sir."
"Well?" Aaron stared at Sheryl. "Are you a lesbian?"
She raised her chin defiantly. "Yes, and I'm proud of it. For the record, Tawni is absolutely beautiful. Of course I'm interested in her. I'm not embarrassed at all to admit it."
Tawni covered her eyes.
"How did your parents react when they found out?" he said.
Sheryl winced at the memory. "Not well."
"Be more specific."
"I really don't want to talk about this."
"Answer the question." There was menace in his voice.
"They hired a psychiatrist to 'fix' me. It didn't work, obviously. Then they sent me away. I can't go home until I decide I like men. It's fine. I'm happy and successful now. I get to do what I want without being nagged. I don't have to conform to conventional expectations. I don't have to dress like a house wife."
Aaron grunted. "Tragic. Could you have sex with a man if you had to?"
Sheryl straightened. "What kind of question is that?"
He walked towards her. "My business often involves gathering information. Sexuality can be used to facilitate that process."
As he approached her, she instinctively took a step back.
"I'm not a whore," she said.
"I never said you were. It's a simple question. If innocent lives were at stake, could you let a man fuck you?"
Sheryl was starting to get the idea these people were secret agents. She wondered whether they worked for the government.
"I suppose I could," she said, "if it really was a matter of life and death. I'm getting very tired of these personal questions."
Aaron nodded. "I have one more. Have you ever killed anybody?"
"No, of course not! I'm a magician, not a murderer. What's wrong with you?"
"It's not a big deal. Most of the people in this room have a blood-stained score card. Tawni, Norbert, and Jack. Nancy, what about you?"
"Just one kill, sir," Nancy said, "but it was memorable."
Sheryl didn't find Nancy attractive. The woman's brown, frizzy hair made her look like a clown. She was big and round in a boyish way. Her plaid shirt was something a redneck might wear.
"You'll have to tell me the story someday." Aaron faced Sheryl. "As you can see, you're in a room full of killers."
"You sound like a gang of criminals," she said.
"We're soldiers in a war. We take the lives that must be taken. This interview is finished. I'll show you to your room now. Everybody else is dismissed."
The rest of the crowd walked quietly out of the ballroom. A moment later, Sheryl was alone with Aaron. She realized she was exhausted from stress.
He grabbed the footlocker, but instead of rolling it, he lifted it by the handles. He carried it so easily, it looked like the box was empty.
"Your suitcase is in your car?"
She nodded. "In the parking lot."
"Lead on."
They walked back through the lobby and went outside. The fresh night air felt good on her face. They went to her rental car. She opened the trunk, and he put the footlocker inside.
"Do you mind if I leave now instead of spending the night, sir?"
"I got you the best room in the hotel," he said. "You can leave in the morning."
"Sounds like I'm staying."
"Correct."
She sighed. "By the way, it's not nice to threaten me, give me orders, and treat me like a servant."
"Being popular isn't part of my job. Grab your suitcase."
She took her suitcase from the back seat of the car. They headed towards the hotel.
"You don't care if people hate you?"
"My team doesn't hate me," he said.
"All those people report to you?"
"Except for Marina, yes."
Sheryl furrowed her brow. She realized working for Aaron meant being part of a team. It was a strange concept for her. She had been a one-woman show almost her entire life, and it had been a lonely life. Maybe it was time for a change.
They reentered the lobby. Stone tiles on the walls sparkled in the soft light.
"This is a nice hotel," she said.
"Thank you. I'm proud of it."
"You work here?"
"I own it," Aaron said.
That statement stopped her in her tracks. Once again, he had managed to shock her. He nodded towards the elevator, and she resumed walking.
"You must be a billionaire," she said. "No wonder you can afford to pay me a million dollars."
"Technically, the money isn't mine. I just control it."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind," he said. "While we're on the subject of hotels, I need to explain something. My real name is a secret. Never use it in front of strangers. The staff of this hotel knows me as Mr. Berrycloth. It's extremely important that you don't slip up. Lives could be lost."
"You'd kill over a name?"
He looked at her, and the serious expression on his face was his answer. Is everything a matter of life and death with this guy?
They entered the elevator. He pressed the button for the twentieth floor, and it went up quickly.
"You did well tonight," he said casually.
"Huh?" She blinked at him. "It was my worst performance ever. I was so stressed I could barely force a smile. The tricks were so simple an amateur could've done them, and I still screwed up a few times."
"You fought through it like a professional, even after Marina mugged you. Most women would've broken down. You didn't do anything stupid either. You adapted, made good choices, and survived. You should be proud of yourself."
Despite everything, she smiled a little. He was right.
They eventually reached her hotel room which was at the end of a long hall on the top floor. He gave her a key card.
She opened the door and went into the room. She was surprised to find it was a luxury suite with two bedrooms, a living room, and a full kitchen. Golden fabric covered the furniture, and plush, black carpet covered the floor.
"This is great," she said.
"I'm glad you like it. If you get hungry, call room service. Just mention the name Mr. Berrycloth, and you'll get anything you want, free of charge. And don't try to leave, please. I'll see you in the morning."
"I feel like a prisoner."
"I'm trying to keep you safe from dangers you don't understand. But if you just stay here and relax, I promise no harm will come to you. If you run off, there is no such guarantee."
He turned and walked away.
* * *
Sheryl had decided to order room service after all. She had rushed through a quick dinner before driving down to Chicago, and now, five hours later, she was very hungry.
Her meal was laid out on the desk in her hotel room. The main dish was jumbo crab cakes, and they were cooked to golden brown perfection. Her vegetables were
sautéed brussels sprouts and steamed broccoli. A bottle of fine red wine and a glass stood within easy reach.
She was about to start eating when a knock on the door startled her.
"Room service," a deep male voice called.
"I already have my food!" she yelled back.
There was another loud knock.
She rolled her eyes and went to the door. When she opened it, she found herself staring at a shotgun. A giant suppressor was mounted on the barrel. A man dressed in black military fatigues was carrying it.
"Be quiet," he growled. "Find a chair and sit down."
Her heart was beating fast as she went back into the main room of her suite. She sat on a padded couch.
The intruder stood before her with the shotgun aimed at her forehead. He was a big, very muscular man. It seemed like she was meeting a lot of them lately. His reddish hair was cut so short she could see his scalp. His square, cleanly shaven jaw and light blue eyes made her think of a Hollywood action hero.
"I'm Special Agent Jenkins," he said, "FBI. I'm part of the Special Missions Unit. We hunt down terrorists."
Sheryl tried to swallow but her mouth was dry. "I'm not a terrorist."
"But you associate with them. Tell me about Aaron." He waved his shotgun menacingly.
"I don't know anything about him."
"He's responsible for more deaths than you would believe. You spent two hours with that monster tonight. Don't tell me you didn't hear anything interesting."
She shook her head. "He told me he owns this hotel. That's all. I don't even know his last name. How do you know I was with him?"
"We've been observing that rattlesnake for two months. You walked right into our stakeout. You're Sheryl Kapanina. How do you know Aaron?"
"He came to my dressing room last night and paid me to come here."
She had spent her life playing with illusions, and she instinctively knew when somebody was trying to fool her. She had trained herself to always look past the distractions and see the details that mattered. This situation felt wrong.
"How did you get up here?" she said.
Jenkins raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? I took the elevator."
"Dressed like that? Carrying a big shotgun? This hotel is full of people. Somebody could've seen you."
