by John Gaspard
“Well, I’m guessing he was successful with the clocking,” I said, “But what happened to prevent the second part of his plan.”
“Simple,” he said. “I shot him. In the ass.”
And then, for maybe the first time ever, I saw Homicide Detective Fred Hutton smile.
“We got an anonymous phone call,” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton said as we were riding down in the elevator.
“An anonymous call? From whom?” I immediately recognized the stupidity of the question. “I mean, who did they call?” I added quickly, hoping to cover the gaffe. “911? A precinct?”
He shook his head. “They called me directly. On my cell. Which is unlisted.”
His look suggested that if I had any answers, now would be a good time to offer them up. I did my best to stare back at him blankly, which took no appreciable effort on my part.
“Detective Wright and I were nearby,” he continued, “so we went up to the apartment. We heard what was going on through the front door and, since it wasn’t closed completely, we pushed open the door and saw Dylan Lasalle swinging a gun at the back of your head.”
“And then you shot Dylan in the ass.”
“I used deadly force to prevent a potentially lethal assault,” he said. “I fired low to disable the assailant.”
“Well, however you want to put it, thank you.”
He snorted at this, but I felt the need to continue. “We’re even now.”
Homicide Detective Fred Hutton turned slowly and looked at me. “Excuse me?”
“Well, I know you probably felt bad, you know, having an affair with my wife and all, and I just wanted you to know that now we’re even.”
“Marks, we were never uneven. Besides, I was just doing my job.”
I smiled at him and nodded. “That’s okay. I know you have to say that. But I just want you to know we’re square now.”
“We’re not square,” he said definitively as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened and he stepped out, turning back to add, “If anything, you owe me one.”
He headed through the lobby toward the front doors and I followed.
The circular driveway in front of the building was buzzing with activity. An ambulance was taking up the most space, with squad cars parked haphazardly around it, while a TV news van had created its own parking spot on the sidewalk. Lights atop the van lit up the driveway, while cars in the adjacent street slowed to get a glimpse and see what the fuss was all about.
Dylan was laid out on a stretcher by the back door of the ambulance. He was lying on his side and I noticed he was handcuffed to the metal frame of the stretcher. It appeared that even with his injuries he was considered a flight risk. Two EMTs grabbed the side of the stretcher and lifted, sliding it smoothly into the back of the ambulance. One of the EMTs climbed inside while the other headed toward the driver’s seat. Before the back door closed, Homicide Detective Fred Hutton climbed in. I suspect he and Dylan would chat on their way downtown.
I started to head to where I had parked my car, but had to detour around one of the police cars. As I passed it, a voice called to me.
“Eli!”
I turned and saw it was Trish. She was seated in the back seat of one of the squad cars. I approached the car, not really sure if you’re allowed to talk to someone in the back of a police car.
“You’re in a police car,” I said.
“Yes,” she nodded. “They’ve asked me to come downtown and answer some questions.”
“They asked you?”
“After a fashion.” She held up her hands, revealing the handcuffs she was wearing. “I bet you know how to get out of these things,” she said, adding a wicked smile.
I looked more closely at the handcuffs, and then up at her. “I do,” I said. “But, more importantly, I know how not to get into them in the first place.”
“Because you’re not a bad boy.”
“Decidedly not.”
“How’s your head?”
I instinctively reached up and touched the knob on the back of my head and then instantly wished I hadn’t. “It hurts when I touch it.”
“Then don’t touch it.”
“Good advice.” We looked at each other for a long moment. She once again looked gorgeous to me, but I was surprised to find that I no longer felt in the least bit interested. I’m not sure if that counted as growth, but I was going to take it.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
My head was sore, inside and out. “I’m thinking,” I said, “that I’m really beginning to question my judgment when it comes to women.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Your ex-wife seemed nice.”
“Yes,” I conceded. “She has her days.”
“And that woman we met in the bar. The one whose divorce had just come through. I liked her.”
“Yes,” I said. “I like her too.”
We continued to look at each other. I had no idea what to say in a situation like this.
“Remember at the reunion,” Trish finally said, “when I asked you how you did that one trick?”
I nodded, not really remembering but, as always, wanting to be agreeable.
“And you said,” she continued, “that in your experience, people are often let down when they finally find out how a magic trick is done?”
“Yes, that’s true,” I said.
She looked over at the ambulance as it pulled out of the driveway and then she looked up at the apartment building. Finally she turned back to me.
“Now you know how the trick was done,” she said quietly. “Sorry to let you down.”
I didn’t know how to respond, which is just as well for at that moment the squad car started up and began to head down the driveway.
I watched it go and then turned and looked up the side of the building. I craned my neck, finally spotting the balcony on the twenty-ninth floor. I then looked down at my feet and realized that, give or take a foot or two, I was standing exactly where I would have landed.
I unconsciously took two steps to the side, just to be safe. And then I began walking toward my car.
Chapter 26
“Man, she played you like a banjo.”
“Played me like a banjo?”
“You know, like someone who was really good on the banjo. Wasn’t Earl Scruggs good on the banjo?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Well, she played you like Earl Scruggs played the banjo,” Jake concluded, smiling broadly at his late-to-arrive analogy.
“I was taken in, yes,” I replied flatly. “She fooled me.”
“Suckered. One born every minute.” Jake laughed and then did a quick flourish with his card deck, producing four kings, two in each hand.
“You’re still playing with magic?” I asked, steering the conversation in a more appealing direction. I was putting away the tricks I had demonstrated earlier that morning, placing them in their designated spots inside the glass display case. Jake was leaning on the case, absently repeating his card flourish.
“Well, I spent so much time learning this crap, I’d hate to let it all go. You never know when someone’s going to want to see a trick at a bar or party.”
The bell over the door rang and we both turned to see an older, bearded man step into the shop. He looked lost and I was sure he was about to ask for change for the bus. Harry, adding receipts by the cash register, glanced up and greeted him with a smile.
“Can I do something for you today, sir?”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly, sounding like he didn’t use his voice much. “I was looking for some silks, if you have any. Nothing fancy.”
“I have exactly the thing,” Harry replied, gesturing toward a display at the far end of the counter across the room. “Well-made, not fancy, real workers you’ll use for years and years.” He
continued with his sales pitch at a quieter tone as the older customer slowly followed him to the far counter.
Jake gave him a bored once-over, then turned back to me. “So how many people did she kill? Three, was it?”
“She may not have actually killed anyone,” I said, lowering my voice in the hope might Jake would follow suit. “It sounds like Dylan shot Howard Washburn and drowned Sylvia Washburn. I’m not sure who shot the guy they passed off as Dylan.”
“And who was that guy, anyway?”
“They’re still working on that. Deirdre says the theory is it was someone from the homeless shelter where Trish worked. Somehow she coaxed him into meeting her out on the running path in the middle of the night.”
“I’d meet her on a running path in the middle of the night,” Jake said, winking broadly.
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And then—blam!”
“Something like that.” I pulled the sliding door shut on the display case and began to straighten up the counter behind me.
“And then she goes down to the morgue to identify the body and she tells the cops, with a straight face, that it’s her husband. Wicked. Wicked girl.”
Jake grinned and flourished the four kings again. I was getting annoyed with the flourish and with him.
“Yeah, I guess that’s what she did. So, when do you head back to LA?”
He stopped in mid-flourish and consulted his watch. “My flight is in a couple of hours. I just wanted to stop by and thank you for your help on the movie.”
“No problem. It was fun. And different.”
“It was that.” He looked over his shoulder and then leaned across the counter. “I also wanted to let Harry know there are no hard feelings. About, you know, how he destroyed the Terry Alexander mystery and all.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”
“Would you tell him? You know, after I leave?”
“Why? He’s right here. You’re right here. You’re both right here.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder. Harry had returned to the cash register and was ringing up the customer’s purchase. The two were chatting quietly. Jake turned back to me. “I’d rather you tell him.”
“Why?”
Jake leaned in again. “Because he scares the hell out of me,” he finally whispered.
“Oh, don’t be a wimp,” I snapped, pulling the cards from his hand and giving him a hard shove. He stumbled a bit, righted himself and then shambled over toward Harry.
“Thank you,” the older customer was saying as Harry handed him a small bag. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
“My pleasure,” Harry said. “Absolutely my pleasure.”
The old man nodded at Harry and then at Jake as he passed him on his way to the door. Jake nodded in return.
“How’s it going?”
“Fine,” the man said with a smile. “It’s going just fine.”
He made his way through the door as Jake turned and addressed Harry. I crossed the room to make sure I could hear every blessed word.
“Well, Mr. Marks,” Jake began, trying to sound as casual as he could, “I’m heading back to LA.”
“Never liked LA,” Harry said as he closed the cash register drawer. “It takes forever to drive anywhere and there’s nothing there when you get to where you were going.”
Jake was clearly stumped by this response. He turned to me for help, but I merely smiled and leaned on the counter. “I suppose that’s true,” Jake continued. “Anyway, thanks for letting us borrow Eli while we were making the movie. He was a great help to us.”
“His time is his own,” Harry said. He looked at Jake blankly, but there was a twinkle in his eyes and I could tell he was enjoying playing with this poor, blathering actor.
“I suppose it is,” Jake said. “But he was very helpful in getting my portrayal of Terry Alexander right.”
“Terry Alexander?” Harry said. “Were you playing Terry Alexander?”
“Yes,” Jake said, starting to get frustrated with this circular conversation. “The movie was about Terry Alexander.”
“Really. Well, you should have said something to him when you had the opportunity.”
“To whom?” Jake was nearing a breaking point.
“To Terry Alexander,” Harry said as he pointed toward the door. “He just walked out of the shop.”
Jake was out the door in a flash and then back a few seconds later.
“He’s gone,” he said, shaking his head. “Disappeared.”
“I once knew a really clever magician,” Harry recited to no one in particular. “He could walk down the street and, just like that, turn into a bar.”
This took a moment to settle in and then Jake yelped and ran out the door again.
“What are you doing?” I asked Harry. He was grinning widely.
“Just having a little fun.”
Jake burst through the door again, this time looking winded. “Nope, he’s not in the bar either.”
“I never said he was,” Harry replied as he headed back to straighten up some silks he’d left out on the counter.
“That guy was Terry Alexander?” I asked, seeing Jake was still trying to catch his breath.
“Yes, he was.”
“Terry Alexander is alive?”
“It would appear so.”
“Why did Terry Alexander come to see you?”
“He wanted to buy some silks,” Harry replied, but then he noticed my expression and added, “And to thank me.”
“Thank you for what?”
“For giving him his life back. Or his death back. Something like that. To be honest, I didn’t follow the conversation as closely as I might have.”
Jake had caught his breath and stepped forward. “So he was alive and you knew it this whole time?”
Harry had finished folding the silks he hadn’t sold. He started placing them back in their respective boxes. “As soon as I saw the video, I immediately recognized what he was trying to do. The poor fellow had obviously gone to great lengths to fake his own death. When I saw that, I felt the least I could do would be to help him stay dead.”
Harry carefully replaced each of the boxes into their slots on the wall behind the counter. Jake looked to me with a frustrated grimace and I shook my head. The only way to get the whole story would be to let Harry tell it at his own pace. Try to goose him and he’d clam up for sure.
“It was clear this movie of yours was going to reopen the whole can of worms and if there was any mystery to how he had died, that would stir things up even further. I figured if we took the mystery out of it, people wouldn’t care anymore. And Terry Alexander could go away and do whatever he wanted to do when he stopped wanting to be a magician.”
“But why did you keep this a secret?” That was going to be my next question, but Jake beat me to it.
“Because, my boy, that’s what magicians do,” Harry said solemnly. “We keep secrets. And if Terry Alexander wants to disappear and live a normal life, who am I to deny him that?” He gave Jake a serious look. “And you, young man, are now a magician. Which means you are also bound to this secret. Is that clear?”
Jake nodded slowly.
“I can’t hear you,” Harry said sternly. “Is that clear?”
“Yes. Yes sir, it is,” Jake sputtered. “It’s clear.”
“Good.” Harry finished replacing the silks and headed toward the back stairs.
“Eli, I’m going to go up and have an early dinner,” he said over his shoulder as he walked. “Do you mind locking up when the time comes?”
“No problem.”
We watched him cross the shop, moving slower than usual. I think Max’s death was still weighing on him and probably reminding him of the loss of Aunt Alice two years before. He got to the base of the st
airs, pulled back the curtain and then turned around.
“Have a nice flight back to LA, Jake,” he said with a gentle smile. “Say hello to the boys at The Magic Castle. And don’t be a stranger.” And with that he disappeared behind the curtain.
After Jake left for the airport, I pulled out the list I’d made of the many things that needed to be done around the shop. Since they each appeared to be of equal importance, I ignored all of them and instead spent a frustrating hour or so once again trying to perfect my very imperfect Center Deal move. After a while, each attempt was more pitiful than the last, and I was about to call it a day when the phone rang.
“Chicago Magic,” I said into the phone as I set the damned deck of cards aside.
“Ah, Mandrake,” a thin voice said through the receiver. “Back at work after your bump on the head? That shows a good spirit.”
“Yes, I am,” I said slowly. “How are you, Mr. Lime?”
“Well,” he said. “All is well and right with the world. For today.”
“Good,” I said. “That’s good.” I didn’t know what else to say and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry himself, so we each sat quietly on our respective ends of the phone for several awkward seconds.
“I was glad to see the police detective responded so promptly to my call,” he finally said. “Both Harpo and I had come to fear he wouldn’t get to you in time. But apparently he did.”
“So it was you who placed the anonymous call?”
“Well, I felt I had to step in. It appeared things were heating up and I would have hated to see such a talented performer such as yourself—an innocent bystander really—come to harm.”
“Thank you, I guess,” I finally said, not sure of the correct response in this situation. “So, did you know all along Dylan wasn’t dead?”
“It seemed the most likely answer. In murder, the simplest answer is usually the right one.”
“That’s often true in magic,” I added.
“Is that a fact,” he said thoughtfully. “Is that a fact.”
“And that’s why you sent me the poster for the movie Laura? To give me a hint?”
