Джеймс Суэйн - The Man Who Cheated Death

Rittenbaugh licked the jelly off his finger. “I think you’re wrong, Harry. But if you want me to play along, I’m game.”

“You will?”

“Sure. You’ve backed me up when I’ve been wrong.”

Wondero stared into space. He could not rid himself of the image of Death running amuck in his house, butchering his family. Only now he saw himself standing in the bathroom doorway, blocking the path to his daughter. In his hands was a long gleaming sword, and although it was no match for Death’s shotgun, he was able to take a full swing just before the gun went off, and felt it sever flesh and bone.

The Wilshire Ebell Theater was known simply as the Ebell to the people of Los Angeles, and had been showcased a wide variety of live performances for nearly a hundred years. Wondero drove straight to the theater with his partner, and parked on Lucerne next to the ornate building. Inside, he found the two detectives assigned to bodyguard Hardare and his family in the lobby.

“What are you doing out here?” Wondero asked them.

“Hardare’s doing a dress rehearsal, and doesn’t want to be disturbed,” one of the detectives replied.

“Did you check the other entrances to make sure they were secure?”

“Sure did. The place is locked down.”

“Good.”

Wondero headed into the theater when his partner stopped him.

“He doesn’t want to be disturbed, Harry,” Rittenbaugh said.

“I didn’t hear that,” Wondero said.

Wondero pushed open a swinging door and entered the darkened theater. He had no idea what he was going to say to Hardare, and decided to just wing it. Walking down a center aisle, he heard music, then saw a spotlight come on, revealing an empty stage. The dress rehearsal had started, and he stopped to watch.

There was a puff of smoke in the center of the stage, and Hardare appeared out of thin air. He wore a European cut tuxedo with pleated pants, a white shirt with a starched collar, and black onyx and gold cufflinks that caught the light and made it sparkle in tiny pools around his hands. He looked at ease, at home within his fishbowl, his smile broadening at the rows of seats stretched out before him. He addressed the empty house.

“During the 1920’s, Houdini became engrossed in the spirit world while attempting to contact his beloved mother,” he began. “What he found in his search was something else entirely, and can be viewed here on this stage.”

The spotlight expanded, illuminating the innocent props that Wondero swore had not been there moments before: a black chair with a curved back, a black curtained cabinet six feet high and no wider than a phone booth, and a leather restraining device called a Kansas vest that hung on the back of the chair.

“I need the assistance of a member of the audience. You sir,” Hardare said, pointing at an empty seat in the front row. “Would you care to step forward?”

“Sure thing,” Wondero said loudly. Walking down the aisle, he climbed up the felt lined stairs to the stage. Frozen to his spot, Hardare’s eyes slowly registered on his face.

“For God’s sake, don’t do that,” Hardare said.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Here,” Hardare said, throwing the Kansas vest into his hands. “I needed someone to help me anyway.”

“Can we talk first?” Wondero asked.

“Lets do both. I’ve got two union guys doing the lights and they get paid whether I work them or not.”

Wondero stretched the vest between his arms, and tested the straps to see if they were authentic. A Kansas vest — when coupled with a regulation pair of handcuffs to keep a prisoner’s hands from wandering — could not be escaped from. He fitted Hardare into the garment and did up the back.

“There is a pair of handcuffs on the table,” Hardare said. “Inspect them if you wish, and clamp them around my wrists.”

Wondero looked the cuffs over. “Look fine to me,” and as he turned, slipped them into his pocket while his other hand unsnapped the pair hanging on his belt. He clamped them on Hardare’s wrists, hoping he could not tell the difference.

“Thank you,” Hardare said enthusiastically, his stage persona on full wattage. “Directly behind me is a cabinet. Please open the curtain, step inside, and have a look around.”

Wondero drew the curtain and inspected the prop. With his car keys, he pried at several boards in the floor until he was sure they were not hinged.

“Everything’s copacetic.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give Detective Wondero a big hand for doing such a thorough job,” Hardare said.

The silence was deafening. Sensing he was making a jerk out of himself, Wondero said, “Sorry.”

Hardare entered the cabinet. Wondero drew the curtain for him, and noticed it was missing a foot of fabric at its top, leaving Hardare’s head plainly visible.

“Please step back. Just a few feet.”

Wondero obliged him. The lights on the stage dimmed while a pin light focused on Hardare’s grinning countenance. From behind the curtain a familiar looking silver pen appeared, and danced up to Hardare’s face, where the magician clasped it between his teeth.

“Hey, that’s my pen,” Wondero said.

Hardare parted his lips, and the pen eerily fell in slow motion from his mouth. Seeing it drop was like watching a film one frame at a time, and as the pin light expanded to include the entire cabinet, Wondero watched helplessly as his pen snaked out from beneath the curtain and made its ascent up the front without any visible means of support. On its way up, the pen paused briefly to do a little dance, taunting him, and Wondero forced himself not to lunge forward and snatch it out of the air.

“Here, catch,” Hardare said.

His pen flew a few feet into the air, landing on the stage. Wondero picked it up, examining it in the process. He was clueless.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I’ve got something else of yours,” Hardare said. “Come here.”

Wondero sensed that he was about to be fooled again, and cautiously approached the cabinet.

“Stick both hands through the curtain. Go ahead.”

Wondero stuck his hands in, and a moment later, felt cold steel encircle his wrists. Realizing he’d been had, he jerked the curtain open and watched Hardare walk out, the Kansas vest still firmly secured to his body.

“Christmas,” Wondero said. He tugged at his own handcuffs encircling his wrists. This was as bad as someone stealing his gun. “I can’t reach the key,” he said awkwardly.

“Very well,” Hardare said. “Close the curtain.”

Wondero pulled the curtain closed. An instant later a woman’s red hair appeared at the top of the curtain, and like a ghostly apparition Hardare’s beautiful wife stepped out of the cabinet wearing a skintight black outfit.

“Where did you come from,” Wondero said in astonishment.

“Indiana, originally,” Jan said. She went to her husband’s aid, undoing the leather straps holding him prisoner, and he in turn unlocked Wondero’s handcuffs.

“That was a dirty trick, detective,” Hardare said.

“Sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” Wondero said.

“You don’t like to be fooled, do you?”

“Guess not. I’ve got another favor to ask.”

“Hold on.”

Hardare walked to the edge of the stage, and spoke to the technicians up in the booth. “We’re done guys. Thanks.” He came back to where Wondero stood. “Let’s talk in my dressing room.”

The dressing room was tiny and cramped. A cage with a Dutch dwarf rabbit munching on lettuce sat in the corner. Hardare and his wife leaned against the make-up table.

“Death struck again last night,” Wondero said. “He picked up a prostitute and stabbed her. Luckily, she didn’t die, and was able to tell a police artist what he looks like. I want to release the sketch to the press, only our victim fell unconscious before confirming it.”