Houdini's Last Trick

by David Khalaf

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HOUDINI HAD NO choice. He and Bess were stuck in L.A. for the night.

  The red car went south, all the way to the town of Santa Ana, but it was closed for the night. He thought of taking a taxi down to Orange County, but he doubted he could convince a driver to go that far.

  There was no evidence the damaged rail lines had anything to do with Atlas. Houdini’s stunt had occurred only yesterday evening; it would take him days by train, and a private airplane was unlikely for a man of that size and on such short notice. The more Houdini thought about it, the more preposterous the idea became.

  I’m just being paranoid.

  He and Bess took a taxi back to the apartment at MGM. The studio lot, with its high wall and guard stations, was the safest place to stay.

  The guard at the main gate recognized Houdini and let him inside. Apparently Mayer hadn’t blackballed him yet. The backlot was silent at this time of night. Houdini and Bess walked through the set of a frontier town, by a cluster of dark log cabins. There was a small pond at one end of the dirt road with a willow tree drooping over it. All it lacked was the sound of crickets and perhaps a few fireflies.

  “It’s magical,” Bess said.

  Houdini wondered if the cabins looked anything like the settlement where Calamity Jane had grown up in Montana, or later in Wyoming. He found himself wishing he had asked her more questions in the brief time he had spent with her. Jane had known what he was even before he fully understood it. She seemed to think he would have a purpose greater than magic. But she was also crazy, driven to insanity by voices in her head. Houdini sighed.

  I’m longing for advice from a madwoman.

  The Houdinis crossed from dirt onto cobblestone, taking a shortcut through a glamorous Parisian street. With a little light, music and people, it would have been indistinguishable from the real thing. But in its darkened state, it looked like an abandoned shell of something once glorious. Would that be their marriage, after Houdini had told his wife what he had done? Would the heart of their relationship die, and there be nothing left but a hollow corpse of memories?

  Finally they passed by the pirate boat, walking close to the hull. Sails whipped in the light breeze and Houdini jumped at the sudden movement. But there was no one there.

  At last they reached the sound stage, entered the side door, and climbed up the stairs to his apartment. He fumbled for his key but he needn’t have bothered: His door was ajar.

  Houdini stiffened. He held Bess back and peered through the crack of the door. It was silent, but from the corner of the couch he saw a trail of cigarette smoke snaking its way up through the air.

  “I’d invite you in but you already live here.”

  “Chaplin!”

  Houdini rushed inside, relieved to see his friend.

  “What are you doing here?” Houdini asked.

  “Waiting for you, old man.”

  Bess stepped inside the room.

  “Charlie, this is my wife.”

  Chaplin stood and took Bess’s hand.

  “Mrs. Houdini, a pleasure to finally meet you,” Chaplin said. “Behind every great magician is a great magician’s assistant.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “A pleasure as well.”

  “Where have you been?” Chaplin asked Houdini. “I’m nearly through an entire pack of cigarettes.”

  “I was at the train station. Where were you?”

  Houdini’s eyes passed over a wooden crate that had the word “ARMY” stamped on it.

  “What’s that?”

  “Reinforcements.”

  Chaplin picked up a crowbar lying next to the crate.

  “During the war, I sold war bonds with Mary and Doug,” Chaplin said. “We made some friends in the military. I called in a favor.”

  He wedged the crowbar underneath the lid and pried it open against the groan of nails. Inside, there was a small arsenal: two rifles with bayonets, half a dozen grenades, and a backpack with a long hose coming from it.

  “What’s that?”

  “A flamethrower,” Chaplin said. “Surely the strongest man on Earth can still burn?”

  “Does this mean you’re still in?” Houdini asked. “You’re not abandoning me after the horrible stunt I pulled?”

  “I made a promise,” Chaplin said. “And you’re my friend. Besides, your stunt will probably triple our ticket sales. I’m not angry; I’m ecstatic.”

  “Thank you,” Houdini said. “For sticking with me.”

  He looked at the weapons in the crate. He had never so much as held a real pistol in his hand.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. “We’re not equipped to use them. We’ll only end up getting hurt.”

  “You know what will get us hurt?” Chaplin asked. “An eight-foot-tall man who can squeeze our heads like juicy grapes. Frankly, I’d rather get shot by you.”

  “Mr. Chaplin is right,” Bess said. “If he’s as dangerous as you say, we’re going to have to be dangerous as well.”

  “We?” Houdini said to his wife. “Absolutely not. You are getting on the first train back to New York in the morning.”

  “I’ve been by your side since the day we met,” Bess said. “What makes you think this is any different?”

  Houdini could not let Bess help him fight Atlas. He would target her—try to hurt her to get Houdini to give up the Eye. And if anything happened to her…

  Life without Bess would be no life at all.

  Houdini had to make her leave, at any cost.

  “I’ve been unfaithful,” he said to her.

  Bess stared at him, blank-faced. She seemed not to understand, as if Houdini had muttered something in an alien language.

  “Did you hear me?” Houdini asked. “I’ve betrayed you. Not twenty-four hours ago.”

  Chaplin let out a low whistle and focused intently on the ground between his feet. Bess simply stared at him. He may as well have told her that gravity now worked in the other direction.

  “But you couldn’t—” she started, but she was interrupted by a man’s blood-curdling scream.

  Houdini and Chaplin ran to the window just in time to see a guard booth in the distance go spinning upward into the air, as if caught by a whirlwind. It was weightless for a split second before it went crashing back down toward the ground. Houdini saw the terrified face of a guard still inside it.

  “What on Earth was that?” Chaplin asked. “A tornado?”

  Houdini shook his head; he knew exactly what it was. He pulled Chaplin from the window and flipped off the lights.

  “There’s no way he could have gotten here this fast, not unless…”

  He looked at his wife, her unreadable eyes still latched to him.

  “He’s been following Bess.”