Dark Passage

by Marcia Talley

  Carlos from Mexico City smiled helpfully. ‘Mr and Mrs Westfall are in 8592. But I’ll be happy to deliver the note for you, if you like.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Oh, would you? How kind.’ I handed Carlos the note, along with a five-dollar bill. I followed along, slightly behind, as he headed down the hallway. ‘I can’t imagine how I got so confused about the room number. I was sure Jack said 8622 or 8624. Are you sure he’s in 8592?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. This section, it’s mostly for staff. Mr LeRoy Carney, he is in 8622.’

  ‘The photographer?’ I asked, my heart pounding.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Carlos paused, turned, grinned.

  ‘8624, now, that’s Miss Pia and Miss Lorelei,’ Carlos was saying when I tuned back in.

  ‘Ah,’ I said as we neared the Westfall’s cabin. ‘The magician’s assistants. I saw them in Channing’s sword basket act the other night, and they were terrific.’

  ‘He pulled a silver dollar out of my ear one time. Let me keep it, too. Very nice guy.’

  ‘You’ve never seen his show?’

  Carlos’s shoulders drooped. ‘I have to work,’ he said simply.

  I thanked Carlos profusely, feeling sad that because of his punishing schedule, his only exposure to Channing’s amazing talents had been a bit of prestidigitation in the corridor. I also tried to hide my annoyance with Officer Ben Martin, who had obviously been keeping information from us. It wasn’t as if we were disinterested bystanders. We actually had a need to know.

  But it was all good, I thought, as I strolled along the deck toward the bow. Buck Carney was going nowhere, I thought with perverted pleasure, except to a federal prison where he’d meet new, close friends. Big, ugly, hairy friends, I thought, quoting Bette Midler in Ruthless People. Not that he’d ever see what they looked like, because he’d be facing the other way.

  Just thinking about it made me grin.

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘As the cabinet is turned, or seen from the extreme sides, some spectators will find they are looking at themselves in the mirror.’

  Jim Steinmeyer, Hiding the Elephant, Da Capo,

  2004, p. 81

  Before I ran into Connor, it had been my intention to arrive at the theater first, snag four seats in a row near the front of the stage, and be well into my second mojito by the time my sisters showed up.

  Not surprisingly, they had gotten there first.

  I was boiling over with excitement at the news I was carrying, but I managed not to erupt until the server had disappeared with our drinks order. ‘So, you see,’ I said after the server had gone, and come back, and I’d finally reached the end of my chronicle, ‘if it hadn’t been for Connor …’ I let the sentence die. Everyone sitting round me could fill in the blank.

  Julie blushed and smiled a secret smile. She reminded me of the Mona Lisa, or maybe the Cheshire Cat. ‘So I was right after all,’ she said. ‘I just knew it!’

  ‘I’ll have to apologize to the young man,’ Georgina said. ‘I’m just so very, very grateful. If only I had known.’

  ‘You can pin a medal on him later, Georgina,’ Ruth whispered.

  I’d skipped the part about Connor confessing to buying Julie booze; an executive decision, and one I do not regret, I thought, as I melted into the upholstered seat and began to enjoy my drink.

  ‘May I join you?’

  I turned, straw still caught between my lips, as David slid into the empty seat on my right.

  ‘We missed you at dinner,’ I told him.

  ‘Unavoidably detained,’ he said, pointing to his forehead.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, squinting at his face as the house lights began to dim. A square white bandage decorated the area just above his left eyebrow.

  ‘Two stitches,’ he explained. ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘You didn’t answer my question, David.’

  David flagged down a passing server and ordered a club soda with lime. ‘When I came out of the bar, I had a run-in with Jack Westfall. He accused me of ruining his life. Blamed me for Security asking permission to search his room.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He refused, of course.’

  ‘About the run-in, I mean. The bandage. Explain.’

  ‘I’d had a bit to drink, words were exchanged, and I took a swing at him. He swung back and I forgot to duck. Bastard. I’d like to nail his ass.’

  ‘I’m afraid we were wrong about Jack Westfall, David.’ In the few minutes remaining before the show began, I briefed David on the occupant of cabin 8622, what Connor saw and what I had subsequently learned about Mr Leroy ‘Buck’ Carney.

  ‘God damn,’ he said. ‘Have you told Pia?’

  ‘No time, but I will, after the show.’

  Suddenly the house lights dimmed and the intro music began, something slow and tinkling like sands through an hourglass.

  The opening act was Cameron Reyes, a recent semi-finalist on American Idol, or maybe it was The Voice. Cameron’s rendition of ‘Hey, Gotta Stay Awake’ – a song of his own composing, according to the emcee – alternately soared, then plunged through at least four octaves, producing wails so pitiful that Reyes could have been passing a kidney stone, for all I knew, just like our late Aunt Evelyn. If there was a key, he never managed to find it. Autotune was the only explanation for the popularity of the guy. Millions of fans had already downloaded this very song from iTunes. Go figure.

  Me? I just wanted to rip my ears off.

  Finally, he went away.

  After a moment, the Star Wars theme began and Channing strolled out on stage. To keep his act fresh for the audience, he’d replaced the floating ball with the Chinese linking rings, solid circles of steel that linked and unlinked, or passed through one another so seamlessly that you’d think the metal had liquefied.

  Pia had told me that the Zig-Zag Box would be replaced by the Vanishing Cabinet, so I wasn’t surprised when Pia and Channing rolled the brightly painted cabinet from the wings and centered it on the stage.

  Wearing a red brocade cheongsam, Pia stood to the right of the cabinet, smiling brightly. Channing smiled upon the audience from the opposite side of the cabinet. Channing approached the footlights, his teeth dazzling as he said, ‘We need a volunteer from the audience! Who would like to volunteer?’

  Julie’s hand shot up. She bounced in her seat making ooooh, ooooh noises like a student with the correct answer to the question, ‘What is the capital of Iowa?’

  Georgina grabbed her daughter’s arm. ‘Sit down, Julie!’

  ‘I want to do it, Mom! Please!’ All during this conversation, she continued to wave at the magician, signaling look at me, look at me!

  Although Channing first appeared to favor a young blonde girl in the front row, Julie’s tactic worked. Channing’s arm shot out. ‘You! The pretty little redhead in the second row!’

  Julie shot to her feet, both hands pressed to her chest. ‘Me? You mean me?’ She favored her mother with a pitiful, pleading glance.

  Georgina nodded once, shooed Julie off with a flick of her hand.

  Julie’s eyes darted right, then left – where are the stairs? – but Channing was already striding stage left, hand extended – this way, young lady, this way – and in a few seconds had seized her upraised hand and escorted her to stand in front of the cabinet.

  He bent his head to her ear and asked a question.

  Julie’s smile vanished. Her lips moved.

  Channing answered, then straightened and waved an arm dramatically over my niece’s head. ‘Ladies and gentleman, I give you Miss Julie Cardinale, all the way from Baltimore, Maryland, who has kindly agreed to assist us with this demonstration!’

  Channing opened one door of the cabinet, Pia the other. A bouncy ragtime tune began playing as Pia demonstrated that the cabinet was completely empty, then Channing took Julie’s hand and helped her step inside.

  Julie faced the audience, hands folded demurely in front of her, smiling uncertainly.

  One ga
ily painted door closed over Julie, then the other. Pia and Channing together spun the cabinet around three times – three’s the charm! – and when they opened the doors again, Julie was gone.

  Georgina gasped.

  ‘Amazing,’ pronounced Ruth. ‘And the girl has absolutely no training.’

  ‘Where did she go?’ a woman behind me hissed.

  ‘It’s a trap door, silly,’ her companion replied.

  Although Pia hadn’t showed me the inner workings of the cabinet, I was fairly certain that Julie hadn’t gone anywhere. After three more turns, the doors were reopened and our precious girl was back, bowing stiffly from the waist, drinking in the applause.

  ‘How did you do that, Julie Lynn?’ her mother wanted to know when Julie rejoined us, reclaiming her seat.

  ‘Before the magician asked me my name, he made me promise not to tell.’

  ‘Ah, the magicians’ code,’ I explained. ‘Julie has just been initiated into the club.’

  Julie folded her arms across her chest. ‘Some club,’ she muttered.

  I leaned closer. ‘What did you say, Julie?’

  ‘Shhhh, you two!’ Georgina cautioned. ‘The next act is starting.’

  The Vanishing Cabinet was removed and the Indian Sword Basket appeared. One girl went into the sword basket and two girls came out but, unlike last time, both remained completely unscathed.

  The magician and his two beautiful and talented assistants exited stage right, the music soared then faded, and the show was over.

  We were gathering up our handbags, preparing to leave when Julie stopped us. ‘Pia’s gone to the dressing room to change,’ Julie said. ‘She told me to ask Hannah to wait. I want to see her, too.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to sit in the hot tub, Julie,’ Georgina fussed, sending a look of desperation in my direction. ‘It’s our last chance.’ Georgina had been my sister long enough for me to read the hidden message.

  ‘If Julie wants to stay with me for now, that’s fine,’ I said, reading the please-please-Aunt-Hannah-please message in my niece’s eyes. ‘Maybe Pia will take her back stage and show her the props.’ I winked at my niece. ‘Now that you’re a junior magician.’

  ‘What are your plans, Ruth?’ Georgina wanted to know.

  ‘Hot tub sounds divine!’ She raised an eyebrow at me. ‘Join us when you finish here?’

  ‘Julie?’ I asked.

  Tight-lipped, Julie nodded.

  ‘As soon as we finish up here, we’ll hop into our bathing suits and come find you. Keep the water hot!’ I called after my sisters.

  Almost the second her mother and aunt turned their backs and started down the aisle, Julie crumpled.

  David stepped in at once. ‘What’s wrong, Julie?’

  ‘Nobody’s going to believe me now! Nobody!’ Dry-eyed, bathed in the warm lights of the auditorium, Julie began to shiver. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder and drew her close.

  ‘It’s his aftershave,’ Julie continued, unprompted. ‘Up on the stage when he put his head next to mine, I knew. Right away, I knew. Smells like paint thinner.’

  David and I exchanged worried glances. ‘Tom Channing?’ I blurted. ‘You mean you now think Tom Channing was the man who attacked you?’

  Julie nodded.

  ‘Why didn’t you say something when your mother was here, Julie?’

  ‘Mom is so judgmental! She’s pissed off at me for wasting everybody’s time.’

  ‘No, she’s not.’

  ‘Is, too. Before we came down here tonight I got the mother-daughter talk from hell. “A man’s life is at stake, Julie Lynn! You have to be one-hundred-percent sure instead of pointing fingers at every man on the ship wearing a black shirt!” Blah blah blah.’ She paused, consulting David. ‘Because of the drugs, I may not remember much, Mr Warren, but I do remember that smell. When Channing put his head next to mine, I gagged. I felt like I was going to hurl.’ Then to me, ‘But I held it together up there, didn’t I, Aunt Hannah?

  Suddenly it all made sense. Julie’s sudden stiffness on stage, her tight lips. I’d chalked it up to sudden stage fright. ‘You did indeed, sweetie. We had no idea.’

  To David, I said, ‘What should we do? Julie’s right. This is the third man that Julie has fingered as her attacker. I doubt anyone will believe her testimony now.’ For Julie’s sake, I found what I hoped was a reassuring smile and sent it her way.

  ‘He knows that I know, too,’ Julie cut in.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Up there on stage? When he put me in the box, I just said it right out. “You did it,” I said. His face got all twisty in the lights, and when he shut me in the cabinet he threatened me. “If you tell anybody, Joo-lee” – just like that, Joo-lee – “I’ll make you disappear for good, just like those other naughty little girls.” ’

  I grabbed Julie’s hand, squeezed it hard. ‘Oh my God!’ Random thoughts, snatches of past conversations were crashing around in my brain like bumper cars. After a moment I asked, ‘Does Pia know?’

  Julie’s curls bounced as she shook her head. ‘Nobody heard but me and him.’

  Largely silent until now, David spoke. ‘You’re right. After two mistaken identifications, Julie’s credibility is shot. But I have an idea.’ David reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and began fishing for the iPhone I knew he kept there.

  Just then, Julie sat bolt upright. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, I am so out of here!’

  Channing, still dressed in his performing attire, smiling broadly, was striding down the aisle in our direction. Why, I had no idea. Was he trying to intimidate Julie?

  ‘Brazen bastard,’ David snarled. ‘It’s an issue of control with these sons of bitches. He probably thinks he’s got Julie under his spell.’

  But Julie didn’t wait around to be charmed or intimidated. With the aisle blocked by Channing’s advancing figure, she vaulted onto the stage and scurried off into the wings.

  The instant Julie fled, Channing’s smile vanished and he took off after her. David and I were unimportant, invisible.

  ‘Tom, stop!’ I yelled. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  If I hurried, I thought I could intersect Channing before he got to the stairs that would take him up onto the stage. No way was I going to let him get to Julie.

  Thanks to an Olympic-worthy sprint at my end, we reached the stairs at the same time. I threw myself at his legs, and succeeded in grabbing one ankle. He turned and shook his leg free, as if I were a pesky lap dog.

  I’d never played football – my sport was archery – not that either skill would have done me much good at the time as I was flat out on the floor, grimacing in pain.

  Channing strode purposefully across the stage. By now I was convinced that the man had become seriously unhinged, although, thinking about it as I lay there trying to catch my breath, he had obviously been twisted for some time. But what could he possibly hope to gain by harming Julie in front of me and all these witnesses?

  ‘Call Security!’ I yelled to David Warren. ‘Tom’s flipped out!’

  I got to my knees, scrambled to my feet, and charged after him. Channing had reached the wings and as I ran, gasping, I watched him draw the curtain aside.

  ‘I know you’re in here, you little bitch!’ he rasped, his voice frosty, cruel. Something fell over with a metallic crash, like cymbals. The Chinese rings, I thought. He’d run into the prop table.

  When I erupted through the curtain, Channing had sent the Indian Sword Basket flying off its base and turned his attention to the Vanishing Cabinet. He grasped the handles and threw open the doors, then peered inside.

  ‘God dammit! Where have you got to? You can’t hide from me, you little slut!’ Channing had totally lost the plot. He extended a long arm into the cabinet just as I caught up with him.

  ‘Security’s on the way!’ I screamed, pounding with my fists on the man’s back. ‘Get out of here and leave my niece alone!’

  I thought I might have gotten through b
ecause Channing did an about-face, shoved me roughly aside and went out the way he had come. But where was Julie?

  The doors to the Vanishing Cabinet stood wide open. I peeked inside. Empty. Or was it? I didn’t have time to figure out how the illusion worked. I rapped on the open door. ‘Julie, if you’re in there somewhere, knock and let me know.’

  Tap-tap-tap. Faint, but clear.

  Thank God, I thought.

  ‘Stay there!’ I ordered. ‘I’ll be back for you. And don’t come out until I do!’

  I spun on my heel to take up the chase, then stopped short. A large hand was pulling the curtain aside. Shit! Had Channing doubled back?

  ‘David!’ I cried when I saw the man’s face. ‘God, you scared me! Thank heaven’s you’re here. Did you call Security?’

  He ignored my question. ‘Where’s Channing?’ he said darkly.

  ‘He went that way,’ I said, flapping my hand rapidly. ‘I don’t know how you missed him.’

  David gazed past me, to the ruin that had been Channing’s props. He kicked at one of the Chinese rings, sending it rolling across the floor. With the toe of his shoe, he lifted the Indian Sword Basket and let it fall. He stooped, picked up one of the sabres, licked his thumb and used it to test the sharpness of the blade.

  ‘They’re not trick swords,’ I told him. ‘Be careful or you’ll cut yourself.’

  Empty-eyed, moving with the rigid determination of a cemetery ghoul in Night of the Living Dead, David turned, almost trance-like, and pushed aside the curtain.

  I doubt he even heard me.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Another issue is the cost borne by U.S. taxpayers when the U.S. Coast Guard is enlisted to search for a missing passenger. This expense is not trivial. In just one case … the total cost incurred during the search was estimated by the Coast Guard to be $813,807.’

  Testimony of Ross A. Klein, PhD before the Senate

  Committee on Commerce, Science, and

  Transportation, March 1, 2012

  Raising the sabre high over his head, David charged through the curtain, screaming like a Rough Rider at the attack on San Juan Hill.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I yelled, running after him.