by Chris Ewan
Josh slapped the blades together, demonstrating that they were real. Then he beamed inanely at the audience, like some Hammer Horror bloodsucker.
‘Can’t teleport you all in one piece, Victoria. So I’m going to have to send you in chunks. Okay?’
For the first time, Victoria zeroed in on my eyes, and for just a moment she looked almost as alarmed as I felt. Then she squared her shoulders and set her jaw and nodded as though having somebody threaten to run her through with razor-sharp blades was an everyday occurrence.
Masters held the blades in one hand and used his spare hand to flip down two hatches, revealing a pair of slots at around the height of Victoria’s waist and neck. Victoria gazed towards the ceiling, as if she was trying to avoid an unpleasant scene in a gory movie.
‘Don’t worry,’ Masters bellowed. ‘This is top quality steel. Hardly ever snags.’
The audience snickered uncertainly but I didn’t join them. I had a fair understanding of how the illusion worked, so I was aware that there was an element of risk. And if you’re wondering how I knew that, might I encourage you to invest in a paperback edition of my second Michael Faulks mystery, The Thief in the Theatre?
The novel is available in all good remainder bins and it tells a diverting little tale about the theft of a very fine necklace from an operatic diva who happens to perform in a nightly West End variety show. As with all of my burglar novels, things don’t run smoothly for Faulks. Some way into the story, at around the point at which Faulks has developed a seemingly flawless plan to steal the diva’s necklace, he’s alarmed to learn that she’s agreed, for one night only, to participate in the show’s magic act. And not only that, but she’s prepared to allow her precious necklace to be placed inside a velvet bag and smashed into a thousand tiny pieces with a claw hammer.
Now clearly, the necklace isn’t really smashed. We’ve all seen that particular trick too many times to believe that it could be. But imagine the shock on the face of the diva, not to mention the sheer panic displayed by the magician, when our hapless conjurer reaches the moment of his big reveal, only to find that when he pops the giant balloon that has been floating above the stage for his entire performance, absolutely nothing drops out. The necklace was supposed to be there, and now it isn’t. The magician genuinely has no idea where it has gone. The diva is distraught. And Faulks? Well, he’s tearing his hair from its roots. Because it looks as though someone has beaten him to the loot, and if he plans on fulfilling his assignment, he’s going to have to figure out what on earth has happened.
Faulks wasn’t alone in that. When I wrote the scene, I hadn’t the faintest clue what had happened, either. Yes, I knew some close-up magic, and I liked to think that I was pretty good at sleight of hand, but I didn’t know a thing about illusions. And so I found myself having to read all kinds of books and magazines and manuals, until I ended up learning far more than I needed to know. And one of the illusions I’d come to gain some understanding of was the one Victoria was presently undergoing.
The solution had everything to do with perspective, which is one of the reasons why the interior of the closet was completely black. And while I didn’t know precisely how Masters intended to set about confounding his audience, I did know that the blades would be a fair distance away from Victoria’s skin at all times. Actually, everyone in the theatre knew that, but it was Masters’ job to make us believe otherwise. And what I didn’t want to happen, what I was positively afraid of, was that Victoria might panic. The illusion relied on the person inside the closet not moving in the slightest. That was something Masters’ assistant, the one who was currently floating face down in his bath, would have been well practised in. And yes, Victoria had been strapped in position to ensure that she didn’t move too much, but what if she flinched or jerked her head forwards? Couldn’t the blades catch her then?
Thunk – Thunk –
The audience sucked in a sharp, collective breath and I snapped out of my thoughts to see that it was all quite academic. Masters had run the blades through Victoria and so far as I could tell, she was still in one piece.
‘All set,’ Masters said, slapping the side of the closet. ‘You must be ready for that trip now, right? Could do with a little relaxation, I’m guessing.’
Victoria blew a gust of air towards her fringe.
‘Well, hold on, darling, we’re almost . . . there.’
Now perhaps if it hadn’t been Victoria in the closet, and if I hadn’t been so concerned for her welfare or so keenly attuned to Masters’ behaviour, I might not have registered the slight quaver in his voice, or the way in which he hesitated as he neared the end of his sentence. And if I hadn’t been sitting in the front row, I almost certainly wouldn’t have caught the way he frowned and gazed off to my right.
To most of the audience, his performance must have seemed flawless as he launched into the next part of his spiel, about how hot it was in Rio at this time of year and what a swell trip Victoria was sure to have, drinking cocktails and dancing the samba on the beach. But I had noticed, and so I looked to where he’d been looking, and I happened to see two men standing in the far aisle, one of whom was whispering into a two-way radio.
The two-way radio might have been enough to snag anybody’s attention – this was in the middle of a show spectacular, and everybody had been warned to switch off their cellphones and pagers – but that wasn’t why I continued to look. I continued to look because the men were identical.
They really were exactly the same. They had carroty hair, clipped close to the scalp, very pale skin dotted with freckles, and prominent ears. They were strikingly thin, so much so that their Adam’s apples seemed to protrude as though they’d each swallowed an egg, and they were dressed in the preppy style of Ivy League graduates, sporting blue knitted sweaters over blue chequered shirts, pale chinos and tasselled loafers. If it hadn’t been for the way they’d interrupted Masters’ rhythm, I might even have believed that they were a part of his act. It wouldn’t have been the first time a magician had used twins to his advantage.
Back on stage, dry ice had encircled the cabinet and the music had increased in volume. Masters was holding a large black cape to his side, like a matador awaiting an invisible bull. Then he flicked the cape up onto his shoulders, pressed a finger to his lips and crept behind the rear of the closet.
And then we waited. And waited some more.
SEVEN
The scenario would have made for a cracking sociology experiment.
Question: How long will a theatre audience wait if a performer vanishes in the middle of his act?
Answer: Approximately seven minutes.
I’m able to tell you this because once Masters had stepped behind the cabinet, I waited along with everyone else for him to emerge from the other side and complete his illusion. But he never did reappear, and as the dry ice began to thin, and as the jazzy show music looped and re-looped, and as the audience turned to one another and murmured uncertainly, it slowly dawned on us all that something was up.
Continuity aside, it was plain odd to have absolutely nothing happen for the first five minutes, and it was stranger still when the bald stagehand shuffled on to peer behind the closet, followed shortly afterwards by the smartly dressed twins. But even then, I think most of us were holding our breath for some spectacular twist.
It never came, and we had to settle for one of the ginger-haired twins gesturing frantically to the wings until the stage curtain plummeted and a fit of whispers swept the crowd. The auditorium lights flashed on and a hasty announcement was made over the speaker system, apologising for the cancellation of the show and asking us to exit the theatre as quickly and as calmly as possible.
Some hope. We were bewildered, sure, but we were also intrigued – and I was worried about Victoria. A second announcement followed, more curt this time, and a team of security guards jogged down the aisles in their period cop uniforms to direct us outside.
I say ‘us’, but I’m afraid I ra
ther took matters into my own hands, and while everybody else was shuffling back towards the casino floor and speculating about what could have happened, I snuck up onto the stage and ducked beneath the heavy curtain.
As I pushed up from my knees and brushed stage dust from my palms, I noticed the identical twins and the black-clad stagehand, huddled at the rear of the closet. I couldn’t hear what they were saying and I couldn’t see any sign of Josh. I’d half-expected to find him flat on his back with someone administering the kiss of life, but there was nothing to indicate that he was anywhere nearby.
I waved awkwardly at Victoria, who was still trapped in the cabinet, and was just in the process of approaching her when the twin with the two-way radio happened to catch sight of me.
‘Sir, this is a restricted area and you need to leave along with everybody else. We can’t have you back here.’
He marched towards me and gestured over my shoulder towards the exit with his radio. Sure, he had the build of a classroom skeleton and the skin tone to match, but the edge in his voice told me he was used to having people do as he said.
‘But that’s my friend.’ I pointed to Victoria’s face. She looked annoyed, which wasn’t altogether surprising.
‘Sir, we’re dealing with a situation here and I’m asking you to make your way outside.’
‘Hold it,’ the second twin said, before either of us could continue. He looked from me to his brother and back again, then extended a bony finger and subjected me to a slow, watery stare. ‘This is the guy on the surveillance footage. You remember?’
I think I may have gulped, and I’m pretty sure the colour drained from my face until I was nearly as pale as the twins themselves. I certainly began to wonder if this was a situation Victoria could handle by herself.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘maybe you’re right and I should leave.’
‘This is the guy?’ the first twin asked, ignoring me.
‘I’m telling you. It’s him.’
Now, considering what had happened upstairs in Masters’ suite, you’ll understand that those words chilled me to the very core. You’ll also appreciate that I wasn’t spectacularly pleased when Victoria chipped in to conclude the introductions.
‘His name’s Charlie. And if it’s not too much trouble, could somebody please release me and tell me what on earth is going on.’
The twins peered at one another, adopting matching expressions that seemed to suggest they were running through the exact same thoughts. I got the distinct impression I wouldn’t like where their thoughts were leading them, but before they reached a conclusion we were interrupted by an insistent knocking.
‘Hello?’ Victoria called from the cabinet. ‘Is anyone listening to me? I think I’ve been in here long enough now, don’t you?’
The twins gazed at one another for a moment longer before approaching the closet. They stood in profile to me so that I could see their jug ears in all their glory, and they were just about to swing the doors open when I thought I’d better mention a minor detail.
‘You’ll need to remove the blades first.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘The blades in the side of the closet. The ones poking through my friend. Often these illusions have to be undone in a certain order.’
‘Is that right?’
‘So I understand.’
While they hesitated, I stepped forward and, flattening my palm against the side of the closet, I very delicately removed one of the blades. Once it was clear that the blade was unbloodied, the stagehand followed suit and yanked at the blade on the opposite side. We all looked at Victoria. Her head didn’t fall from her shoulders.
The twins hauled open the closet doors. I heard a hissing, shuffling noise, like shower water striking a tray, and then both twins leaped backwards and cursed as a great volume of sand spilled out over their loafers.
I moved sideways and saw that Victoria’s feet were buried up to the ankles in sand. I also discovered that the closet interior was no longer black. It was decorated with a beach mural featuring a pale blue sky, a turquoise sea and a yellow beach dotted with colourful parasols and figures in swimsuits. Victoria was still strapped in position, only now she wore a straw sunhat on her head and was holding a pink daiquiri glass with a cocktail umbrella poking out from it. Despite her props, she didn’t appear to be in a holiday mood.
‘Nice vacation?’
I won’t describe the look I received, but suffice it to say that I unbuckled the straps and helped her out from the closet as swiftly as I could.
‘What’s happened? Where’s Josh?’ she asked, kicking sand from her stockinged feet.
‘I think that’s exactly what these gentlemen would like to know.’
The twins snatched a look at one another and I found myself wondering if they ever spoke or took a decision without checking with each other first.
‘You’re saying he didn’t plan this with you?’
Victoria scrunched up her face. ‘Plan what?’
Just for a change, they turned to consult one another. I could swear they almost blinked simultaneously.
‘We barely know the guy,’ I explained. ‘My friend only met him this evening. He asked her to help out with his act. And now she’s done that, and I think it’s probably best if we just go.’
I freed the daiquiri from Victoria’s hand and passed it to the stagehand. He didn’t look too chuffed about it, and he looked even less pleased when I plonked the floppy sunhat on his bald head. I didn’t care. I grabbed Victoria’s wrist and dragged her towards the curtain.
‘Hold it. Nobody’s going anywhere until we find Josh.’
I’d been afraid one of the twins might say something like that. I wasn’t crazy about the suggestion.
‘But this has nothing to do with us.’
‘It has everything to do with you.’
I steadied myself, then shook my head very slowly.
‘You’re mistaken. I don’t know who you are and I don’t altogether care. But we’re going to leave now. And I’m afraid that’s the end of the matter.’
I parted the stage curtain and poked my head through, but before the rest of me could follow, I saw something that stopped me in my tracks – a string of security guards, arranged like a chorus line in their vintage uniforms. Somewhat disappointingly, they hadn’t linked arms and they weren’t high-kicking or singing a rousing show tune. They were standing with their feet shoulder-width apart and their hands behind their backs. One of them even patted a nightstick against his palm.
‘Like I said, nobody’s going anywhere until we find Josh.’
I turned and offered the twins one of the colder looks from Victoria’s collection. It seemed to lack the impact I might have hoped for.
‘You asked who we are.’ The twin without the radio poked his thumb towards his brother. ‘We’re the Fisher Twins.’
Of course they were. The name suited them. It fit with their pale, fish-belly skin and bug-eyes. But from the way he’d said it, I got the impression the name was meant to mean something more.
‘I’m sorry. Who?’
‘We own this casino. We built it and we run it. We watch over everything that happens here. So understand that we know why it is that you’re looking to leave in a hurry. And understand that we’re not prepared to let that happen.’
‘Charlie?’ Victoria said, from the corner of her mouth. ‘What have you done?’
I focused hard on what the twins had said. There was no reason to doubt them, and short of disappearing in a puff of smoke, my only real chance of getting out of the scrape I’d landed myself in was to hand them the man responsible for the corpse I’d stumbled upon. Because it seemed to me now that Masters must have killed her. Why else would he have behaved the way he had?
‘He’s in the cabinet,’ I said.
‘Say what?’
‘Josh. He’ll be in the cabinet.’
I brushed past the twins and approached the cabinet in question, moving around to the b
ack of it. I knocked on the rear panel with my good knuckles, trying to locate any hollow points. When that didn’t work, I felt around the edges with my fingertips, hunting for a concealed hinge.
‘But your friend was in the closet.’
‘Yeah, but there could be a rear section too. It’s a perspective thing.’ I slapped my palm against the wood. ‘You can come out now, Masters. We know you’re in there.’
There was no response. I sighed and, moving around to the front, stepped inside the closet on top of the sand. I prodded at the rear of the beach mural, searching for a loose board or a catch.
‘Where’d you get the drink?’ I asked Victoria.
‘The daiquiri? There was a cubby-hole near my shoulder. It had a sliding door. He told me to feel for it.’
I looked to where Victoria was pointing and noticed an inlaid panel that had been painted to match the rest of the mural. It was around the size of a hardback book and I slid it aside and found a small cavity. There was nothing inside it.
‘And the sunhat?’
‘A panel above my head.’
I checked up there too. The space was easy to access but it was completely empty.
‘And the mural? Where did that come from?’
‘The whole thing was covered by black roller blinds. He released them quite early on.’
‘And the sand?’
‘I have no idea. He didn’t warn me about it.’
I turned to the stagehand. ‘Are there any trapdoors?’
He shifted uncomfortably, then glanced sideways at the twins. It seemed the habit was catching.
‘You’re saying he went through a trapdoor?’ the twin with the radio said.
‘I’m not saying anything. I don’t even know if you have trapdoors. But if you do, it makes a lot of sense. He can’t have just vanished. He’s not that good a magician.’
