Doug Allyn - Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 104, No. 4 & 5. Whole No. 633 & 634, October 1994

“Is it legal to have gambling ships here?”

“The state approved one of them, and they’re building a huge casino in New Orleans. The Cajan Queen is another matter. A man named Roster owns and operates it. He claims he’s competing with organized crime, running the only honest games in the Southeast. The state’s trying to close him down but it’s not that easy.”

“You got all that from Lieutenant Weston?”

“Most of it.”

“What’s his angle with these twenty-nine minutes?”

“I don’t know,” Nick admitted.

He turned the rented car off the north end of the causeway and they headed for the brightly lit old-time riverboat anchored next to a large parking lot that was already almost full. Nick had to admit the whole thing was quite an operation. They were met at the top of the gangplank by an attractive young woman in a gold-braided naval uniform who delivered her welcoming lines with feeling. “Welcome aboard the Cajan Queen! Is this your first time with us?”

“Yes, it is,” Gloria told her.

“It’s so nice to greet new friends. If you’ll proceed through those doors to the dining room, dinner is ready to be served. After that you’re invited to our hour-long stage show in the ship’s theater. Then you’ll have three hours to wander among the gaming tables if you desire. We close promptly at midnight.”

“Thank you,” Nick told her.

“Have a wonderful evening!”

The food, with a choice of three entrees, was in the manner of pre-cooked airline meals. Judged by those standards it was pretty good and certainly reasonably priced. The food and the show were obviously designed to lure customers to the gambling later on. It wasn’t exactly Las Vegas or Atlantic City, but Nick guessed from the full dining room that they were doing well. The show consisted of a couple of forgettable comic acrobats. No one complained that it lasted only a bit over thirty minutes. By that time they were anxious to get to the gaming tables and slot machines.

“They’re making a ton of money here,” Gloria commented later in the evening, joining Nick with a paper cup brimming with quarters.

Before he could reply he spotted Lieutenant Weston moving down the aisle toward them. He introduced Gloria and commented on the size of the crowd. “It’s like this every night,” Weston assured him. “Got any ideas?”

“Just one. I’d like to meet your friend Roster, the owner.”

“He’s not exactly my friend,” Weston said, letting his eyes scan the room. “He’s always here by midnight to cash up, but sometimes he arrives late— No, there he is, by the roulette table. Come along.”

Abe Roster proved to be a slender, dark-haired man with sharp features and a smooth manner of talking. He stared at Nick Velvet as if trying to memorize every detail of his face, paying scant attention to Gloria. “You’re a friend of Weston’s?” he asked, trying to confirm the relationship.

“An acquaintance. Actually I’m a professional magician.” Gloria raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “Nicholas the Great. I’d like a chance to try out my act for you. It would be a big improvement over the acrobats.”

“A magician.” He glanced now at Gloria. “What do you do — saw the little lady in half?”

“It’s much more original than that. Let me try it on Friday night. I’ll perform free, as an audition. If you like the act we’ll talk about a contract.”

Abe Roster rested his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Look, friend, I know the show’s not the greatest. Neither is the food. It’s the gambling people come for, but I’ve got legal problems. The rest of it is thrown in to keep the politicians happy.”

“Still, it wouldn’t cost you anything to give me a try.”

The slender man squinted at Nick. “Nicholas the Great, huh? Lots of cute girls in tights?”

“A few.”

He turned away, then turned back again at once. “All right, I’ll go for one night, a free audition. Impress me and we’ll see about more appearances. Tell my stage manager what you’ll need as far as props, lighting, and rehearsal time go.”

“Thank you, Mr. Roster. You won’t regret it.”

“I hope not. If you’re a friend of Weston’s I guess you’re all right. One thing to remember — we bill the show as running an hour, but keep it short. I want them on the gaming deck with their money.”

“Don’t worry,” Nick told him.

He walked away and Gloria tugged at Nick’s sleeve. “What’s all this about a magic act?”

“How else am I going to steal twenty-nine minutes, except by magic?”

Friday was already almost upon them, and Gloria got the assignment of hiring four girls and renting costumes for the act. Nick spent all day Thursday on the riverboat, going over his act with the stage manager. He was a sandy-haired young man named Dominick Powell, and as he listened to Nick he simply scratched his head. “I don’t know. I never heard of anything like this.”

“That’s why I do it, because it’s original. When I was a kid I saw a magician borrow a watch from a member of the audience, wrap it in a handkerchief, and smash it with a hammer. Then his assistant brought out a loaf of bread on a tray. He unwrapped the bread and there was a live rabbit inside the loaf. On a ribbon around the rabbit’s neck was the watch the magician had borrowed. I never forgot that trick.”

“But you’re talking about a much bigger trick.”

“I hope so. This is the nineteen nineties. Everything’s bigger!”

“Gambling sure is. I never thought they’d have it all over the country with casinos on Indian reservations and riverboats, with lottery tickets sold out of machines at the supermarket and new states jumping on the bandwagon about every month. There’s too much organized crime getting involved, though. An honest man like Abe Roster doesn’t stand much of a chance.”

“What do you mean?”

Powell shrugged. “He’s been offered money for this place, but he keeps turning it down. Billy Burdeck told him his time is running out.”

“Who’s Billy Burdeck?”

“You must be new to the Gulf Coast. Burdeck controls most of the important gambling between here and Florida. He wants Abe out, one way or another.”

“Well, all that business doesn’t concern me,” Nick told him. “Let’s get on to the lighting for my act.”

Later Nick strolled around the ship, noting especially the lack of clocks on board. Casino operators never liked to remind gamblers of the time. What few clocks there were, in offices and employee locker rooms, would be controlled by a central clock, probably on the ship’s bridge.

As he was coming down the gangplank in the late afternoon he saw Lieutenant Weston sitting in an unmarked police car waiting for him. “Get in, Nick. We have some things to talk over.”

He slid into the front seat next to the detective. “Everything’s on target for tomorrow night.”

“Tell me how you’re going to do it, how you’re going to steal the twenty-nine minutes.”

“Let it be a surprise,” Nick told him with a smile.

“You were talking before about drugging them, knocking everyone out. That’ll never do.”

“I understand that. It’ll be something else.”

“See, here’s the point,” the detective began, frowning as he tried to get his thoughts across in the fewest possible words. “The time has to be taken away from them, from everyone on the boat. The idea of drugging people removes them from the time, which continues as usual. I don’t want that.”

“That’s pretty deep philosophy, but I guess I understand what you’re saying. If I’m successful I’ll be stealing the twenty-nine minutes from them and from the Cajan Queen itself.”