Джеймс Суэйн - The Man Who Cheated Death

Wondero grabbed a pen from the sound technician. Holding it in his clenched fist, he committed an imaginary act of hari-kari. Hardare nodded his head.

“Goodnight sweet prince.” Kitchen put his finger on the button, and Hardare grabbed the DJ’s arm.

“You killed her with a knife,” Hardare said. “You stabbed Lorraine in the heart.”

Silence. Then their caller said, “I’m impressed.”

Wondero waved his arms, wanting Hardare to stall.

Hardare gave him the thumbs up.

Hardare thought back to his encounter in the desert with Death. He’d been able to get under the killer’s skin by taunting him, and he decided to try that approach again.

“Satisfied?” Hardare asked.

“Not really,” Death said.

“You’re hard to please.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You must have had a rough childhood.”

Over the line came the horrifying sound of a woman’s tortured screams. Before the sound technician could intercede, the screaming was abruptly cut off.

“That was a tape I made of one of my victims,” Death said, breathing heavily into the phone. “Want to hear some more?”

“No,” Hardare said, growing unnerved.

“I didn’t think so. Let me tell you why I called. I think you’re a fake. The police are just feeding you information. But I’m willing to give you another chance. Do something really amazing. Wow me.”

“Like what?”

“That’s up to you, Mr. Magico. Goodnight.”

The line went dead.

“We’ll be right back,” Kitchen said.

Wondero entered the sound booth, his mouth twitching in agitation. Rittenbaugh followed him in, his necktie dripping coffee, and squeezed it dry while standing over a wastebasket.

“He was calling from a payphone. We just missed him,” Wondero said.

“What do you want me to do now?” Hardare asked.

“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Wondero said. “Did you hear his voice? He’s totally unnerved. He’s going to slip up, and when he does, we’re going to catch him.”

Hardare nudged Kitchen with his elbow. “Kenny, do you mind if we keep this up?”

The DJ nervously wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “This is getting pretty hairy. This guy is so tightly strung he makes Charlie Manson sound tame.”

“You can’t stop now,” Wondero implored.

“Is Vince’s call. He’s the one sticking his neck out.”

Hardare took a deep breath. Wondero had told him that Death went on rampages, and would kill again soon. He remembered an old proverb from his youth. He who saves a single life, it is as though they’ve saved the entire world.

“Let’s do it,” the magician said.

The detectives left the sound booth. As the sound technician counted down, Kitchen said,” Okay Vince, we pretend that he never called. Understand?”

“Got it,” Hardare replied.

Kitchen flipped his mike on. “We’re back with Vincent Hardare, and I must say I’m impressed; I didn’t think it was possible to read minds over the airwaves, or predict the future.”

“That was nothing,” Hardare said. “Kenny, I want to show you the real power of the human mind. I want all of our listeners to turn up their radios. Do it right now. Fill your apartment or house with the sound of my voice. Make it loud. ”

He paused for a beat, and said, “Now I want everyone listening to say a single word aloud. Believe. Can you say it? Believe. If you believe that by putting your energy into something, it will work, then say that single word. Believe.”

Kitchen gave him a baffled look.

Do it, Hardare wrote on the pad.

“Believe,” Kitchen said into the mike.

“That’s it,” encouraged Hardare. “Believe. Now I want everyone to close their eyes and concentrate. Concentrate on some appliance in your home which is broken. It can be a clock, or a wristwatch, or a timer on the stove that doesn’t work. It can be a radio, or a television set on the blink, or a clogged garbage disposal. Think of a broken appliance and think hard.”

Hardare pulled up his chair, his mouth inches from the mike. “With your eyes closed, think of that appliance, and superimpose a single word over it in your mind. That word is work. Work. In gigantic letters stamp that word over that appliance. Work. You want it to work. I want it to work. Let’s say it together.”

“Work,” echoed Kitchen.

“I’m going to count to five. With each number say work out loud, concentrating on that appliance. Ready?”

He paused and looked through the glass; Wondero and Rittenbaugh were staring at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“One. Two. Three. Four... five. Now shout, Work! Work! Work! Forget about the neighbors. Wake up the kids. Shout it as loud as you can. Work. Work. ”

Hardare leaned back in his swivel chair to watch the clock above them. After ten seconds swept by he said, “We did it. You and I. Those broken appliances are now working. Go ahead; go into the next room. Take a look. See for yourselves.”

Really? Kitchen scribbled.

Really. Hardare wrote.

How?

It works itself, Hardare wrote. Open up the lines.

“Folks, our phone lines are open. Call in, and tell us how this phenomena has affected you.”

The phone on the desk was quiet. No callers. Kitchen glanced at Hardare and saw an odd look on his face. Was this a joke?

“The number is 888-KOLL,” he said, feeling ridiculous. “Call in. We want to hear from you.”

A line lit up on the phone. Then a second, and a third, then all six lines lit up. Kitchen grabbed the receiver.

“Now the fun starts,” Hardare whispered.

“Go ahead,” Kitchen said, “you’re on the air.”

Marjorie Hooks was in the kitchen of her apartment in Lawndale clipping coupons when all the commotion erupted on the radio. At eighty-six she’d outgrown anything resembling a good night’s sleep, and Kenny Kitchen was nice company at this lonely hour. She especially liked the call-ins, the different voices filling her kitchen in a friendly way, like the smell of a casserole on the stove, except tonight’s show had affected her oddly ... Kenny’s guest practically shouting at her, as if he knew she was half deaf. It was unsettling, but Hooks was listening hard. There was a quality in his voice that in a small way reminded her of a preacher. Mrs. Hooks put down her peeler, and when the man said so, shut her eyes.

“Work, work, work,” she said aloud, thinking of all the confound things in her apartment that needed repair.

She opened her eyes. Her body was tingling with electricity like the night before, when she had guessed all the sayings correctly on Wheel of Fortune. Spinning her wheelchair around the table, she squealed across the linoleum toward the living room, passed the ancient stove, and stopped on a dime.

“Oh my, isn’t that something.”

She wheeled closer, her eyes barely retaining their focus on the broken stove clock as the second hand swept around the grease riddled face. The man on the radio had fixed it!

Picking up her telephone, she dialed the station’s call letters.

“Chip. Chip . Do you hear me, young man? I want you to turn off that flashlight and go to bed.” Light flooded into the bedroom as his mother opened the door. “I see you under the covers. Now turn off that light. It’s past midnight.”

“Okay.” He clicked off the flashlight. “Goodnight.”

“You get some sleep, young man. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.” His mother shut the door. Chip held his breath, listening to her slippered feet pad down the upstairs hall.

That was close. He turned up the volume of his portable radio, hoping he hadn’t missed any of the excitement. Kenny Kitchen always had the greatest guests — astrologers, ghost chasers, mountain men on the trail of Bigfoot — and now he had found someone who could read minds. One of the callers had shouted at Kitchen, and Hardare had shouted at the caller, and now Hardare was shouting at everybody — it was great stuff! Then Kitchen came on and gave a number, and Chip couldn’t stand it anymore. Climbing out of bed, he slipped into his bathrobe and slippers, and crept silently downstairs to the kitchen.