Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

„Yeah, Riker here,“ said the voice in the cell phone.

„Riker, is Nick Prado still on stage? Do you have him in sight?“

„Naw, he was gone before I got here. I don’t think – “

„Gone?“

„Yeah, they changed the time slots. He went on when I was still uptown at Faustine’s.“

Damn Lieutenant Coffey. With only one extra man, she could have covered all three theaters.

„Riker, see if you can find Prado backstage. Malakhai is headed your way, and he’s got a gun.“

„Jesus.“

„I’m on the – “ The cell phone went dead. Oh, great, just great. A perfect evening. She tossed it over the seat of the cab. „You need new batteries.“

This was getting too complex, not Malakhai’s style at all. More like Prado’s sense of spectacle for maximum effect, his convoluted planning. It was almost as if the publicity king had orchestrated everything.

Of course, he did.

„Turn this cab around! We’re going uptown.“

„Anything you want, princess.“

The cab pulled over to the curb and she waited while the traffic crawled by. Finally, he made the illegal U-turn, and they were moving north toward Faustine’s.

She leaned close to the back of his head. „Do you have a gun?“

The cabby turned his head to look at her. He was more surprised than afraid, and his New York attitude was rising to the surface from sheer force of habit. „Lady, you’re already loaded for bear with your own damn – “

Mallory held her gold shield inches from his eyes. „When I ask to see your weapons, you show them to me. That’s how it works.“

„A cop. Well, why didn’t you – Aw shit.“ His hands loosened their white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. „Freaking cops.“

He reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. The city lights were crawling by the windows of the slow-moving car. Scattered raindrops hit the glass as the man pulled out his inventory. „I got a lead pipe, a razor, a knife.“ He showed her an aerosol can. „This is mustard spray, but it’s real old stuff.“ He pulled out a second can. „Here’s the pepper spray. But no gun. Satisfied?“

In a city with two lethal weapons per person, you could never find a gun when you needed one.

„Speed up. And you can go through all the red lights. That’s your tip.“ She threw two twenties over the front seat. „That’s the fare. I don’t need a receipt.“

And now the cab accelerated. Money always worked better than a badge in Manhattan.

A young man stood outside the stage exit of Faustine’s Magic Theater. He wore an old-fashioned usher’s uniform and a matching green pillbox hat. As he dropped his cigarette on the sidewalk, his mouth hung open, and he never even considered trying to stop the running woman with the crossbow pistol.

Inside the theater, a man in coveralls was doing last-minute repairs on a newly installed window when she burst through the door with a push that sent the knob into the wall with a crash of breaking plaster. And this man was equally reticent to get in her way as she raced toward the wings of the stage.

Mallory paused by a dustbin, and looked down the dark corridors created by layers of giant plywood screens. There were boxes and cartons everywhere, too many hiding places. She walked past the edge of the closed curtain. Now she had a clear view of a man in evening attire standing before the audience with a microphone in hand. He announced the next performer, Franny Futura.

Mallory was not surprised.

The audience clapped with more than polite applause for the overhyped act they had all come to see. This was a sporting town. Who had not played the conspiracy game of every daily newspaper? True New Yorkers, the audience had probably made book on a man’s life: Would he show or not, was he dead or alive? She could almost see the money changing hands out there in the dark.

Nick Prado was standing in the wings when she came up behind him, soft-stepping across the wood.

A man in coveralls was crouched on the floor nearby, frozen in the act of bending over his toolbox. The streetwise workman rose slowly and backed away from Mallory with no sudden movements, abandoning the toolbox in his haste to avoid witnessing anything that might require a court appearance.

Mallory tapped Prado on the shoulder and stood back out of reach. He turned around, only showing slight surprise.

„Mallory, how are you this evening?“

This might have passed for a normal encounter, except for the crossbow. She was aiming at his eyes.

He was stoned again. His reaction time was too slow. How many pills had it taken to get him through the hanged man routine in the downtown theater?

Prado nodded at the weapon. „I like it. Suits you even better than a gun.“

She glanced at the people gathering behind the curtain. A long black table was being assembled by two stagehands. Another man was moving a large upright rectangle of clockwork gears into position at the rear of the stage.

„So Franny’s still alive,“ said Prado. „Are you crushed, Mallory? I hope you didn’t have any money riding on that theory of yours.“

She looked up beyond the valance of the curtain to the catwalk, a bridge of wooden planks and metal handrails. Her eyes traveled to the vertical rod of steel hanging over the stage. The end of the stalk held a silver crescent razor, a cruel-looking thing, nicked – and familiar. „That’s not a replica. It came from Charles’s basement.“

„Yes,“ said Prado. „A loan from Charles. Franny didn’t want to risk another one of Oliver’s botched tricks.“

„You won’t feel safe until he’s dead, will you, Prado?“

„You think I might’ve tampered with Franny’s act? Can’t be done. He’s not doing it Max’s way.“

„Because he doesn’t know how. Oliver didn’t send him the plans for the pendulum. He gave Futura the Lost Illusion – the platform and the crossbows.“

„My compliments, Mallory. Yes, that was a particular bit of sweetness on Oliver’s part. Franny had such a tired act. The Lost Illusion would’ve made him a headliner. Of course, Franny never had the guts to go through with it. Turned it down. Poor Oliver was such a bad judge of character. He gave everyone credit for his own large heart.“

Mallory nodded. „Oliver was a brave little man, wasn’t he? So it was easy to talk him into doing the illusion himself. I know you arranged the Central Park show – just like you arranged that old man’s murder. You even wrote the invitations. The wording wasn’t Oliver’s style – everyone said so.“

„Franny murdered Oliver.“ His words had a tone of disparagement. „I assumed you understood that.“

„And Louisa?“

„Also Franny’s murder. Emile will back me up. I only carried her backstage, a few spots of blood on my shirt. Franny was covered with her blood.“

Interesting that he was so forthcoming with Futura’s guilt, though she knew he was being truthful. „Scaring Futura, getting him to kill Louisa – that was the only smart thing you ever did.“

Prado didn’t like that. He wanted pure praise.

She relaxed her bow hand to point the weapon at his heart. „You knew Malakhai would come tonight. His second chance – last chance. He has to do this execution while he still remembers why he’s doing it. You stashed Futura so you could go on working the wires, the timing, orchestrating everything.“

„Perhaps you give me too much credit.“ Though his smile said she had not given him credit enough – not nearly enough.

The curtains opened and Franny Futura was joyously grinning in the spotlight. Behind him were six people in scarlet capes, their faces shadowed by hoods. Mallory was intent on bits of anatomy exposed with the movements of these men. The hoods made their height misleading, but they were all close to the same average stature of the magician in the tuxedo, none tall enough to be Malakhai.