Джеймс Суэйн - The Man Who Cheated Death

“You look terrible,” Jayne said.

“I’m not looking forward to this, in case you were wondering,” Kitchen replied.

“Why don’t you go hang out in your office, and relax. I’ll pick the rest of the music selection. I know what you like.”

It sounded like a good idea.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said.

“I’m always right. You’re just slow to acknowledge it.”

Kitchen walked down the hallway to his office and opened the door. He did a double-take at the sight of Hardare sitting at his desk, a paper matchbook levitating above his open palm.

“How did you get in here?”

“Trade secret. Shut the door.”

Kitchen shut the door and entered the office. Pulling up a chair, he sat down across from the magician. The floating matchbook dropped to the desk, and Hardare tossed it aside.

“I need your help,” Hardare said.

“Name it,” the DJ said.

“We found out who Death is. Some sicko named Eugene Osbourne. The LAPD is trying to find him right now. So far, they aren’t having any luck.

“Five years ago, Osbourne did a stint at Atascadero State Mental Hospital. The police talked to Osbourne’s doctor last night. According to the doctor, Osbourne is a control freak, who gets his kicks out of manipulating people.

“The doctor said something else. When Osbourne is challenged, he reverts to a child-like state. The doctor claimed that the best way to deal with Eugene was to constantly challenge him.”

“Like you did the other night on my show,” Kitchen said.

“Exactly.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Here’s my plan. The police want me to play along with Osbourne, in the hopes that it will lead them to finding my wife. I don’t think that’s going to work. My wife doesn’t stand a chance if we let Osbourne call the shots.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“Good. Osbourne is going to call you during your show today, and try to set up a meeting between me and him. The police want you to say that I’ll cooperate fully with his requests. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, the message has changed. I want you to tell Osbourne that he should watch Action 10 News at Noon, and hang up on him.”

The DJ rocked back in his chair. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. I’ve thought it out. I have to get the upper hand with Osbourne. Otherwise, Jan doesn’t stand a chance.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve arranged to have an Action 10 news crew televise me live from the Magic Castle. I’ve got a surprise for Osbourne that should scare the hell out of him.”

Kitchen tugged nervously on his beard. “Have you told the police?”

“No, and I’m not going to. I can’t play by their rules anymore.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

They both stood up, and went to the door.

“I’ve thought it out. I can’t play by his rules.”

“Okay. I hope you’re right.”

They both stood up, and went to the door.

“By the way, why did you sneak in here?” Kitchen asked.

“This has to be a surprise,” Hardare replied. “I couldn’t let anyone know what I was up to, except for you.”

The DJ nodded and pumped the magician’s hand.

“Good luck,” Kitchen said.

“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

Leaving through a back exit of the radio station, Hardare relocked the door with a universal lock pick, one of Houdini’s greatest yet little known creations, then waved down Crystal, who screeched up in the fiery red Camaro she’d rented.

“How did it go?” she asked as he hopped in.

Strapping himself in, he said, “It went great.”

“Nothing’s great right now, Dad,” Crystal said, punching the accelerator. Jan had taught her how to drive, recklessly changing lanes, never maintaining a single speed. “I called Central Casting like you asked me too, and hired ten actors, plus a voice specialist named Alice Garvey. They should be at the Castle now.”

“How did you pay for it?”

“Credit card. I told them they had better send their best make-up artist as well, and a couple of costume people.”

“Good thinking.”

She got onto the Santa Monica freeway and headed north. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the Magic Castle to find a small, angry mob. A dozen stylishly dressed couples stood, voicing their displeasure to the Castle’s tuxedoed host.

“I realize this is a terrible inconvenience for all of you,” the host said. “But the Castle is closed for the afternoon.”

“But we made reservations three months ago,” a man in the crowd said angrily. “Let us in, or face the consequences!”

An ugly chorus of protests went up. Crystal threw the rental into reverse, rocketed back down the winding driveway, and took a hard left at the service sign.

“Good call,” Hardare said.

They went in through the back entrance, and took a stairway to the restaurant on the second floor, which had been converted into a makeshift dressing room. The ten actors from Central Casting had arrived, and were getting wardrobes and having makeup put on by a pair of attentive make-up artists. Hardare noticed a grandmotherly type sitting in the corner, and introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you,” the woman replied. “I’m Alice Harvey, Woman of a Thousand Voices.”

Hardare knew Alice Harvey by reputation, her voice having appeared on hundreds of commercials and countless cartoons. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice,” he said.

“Not a problem,” Harvey replied. “I’ve listened to the tape of the voice you want me to impersonate, and it shouldn’t be a problem. But I do have a question. The other actors don’t have scripts to work from. Is this intentional?”

“Yes. Do you think I should talk with them?”

“It might not be a bad idea,” Harvey said.

Hardare rounded up the other actors and explained the deal. It was a good-looking group of people, but that was to be expected. This was L.A., after all.

“Good morning, and thanks for being here,” the magician said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’re working without a script. There’s a reason for that. It’s important — in fact, its essential — that you remain in the dark until the performance begins. Your reaction to what happens must be spontaneous, and unrehearsed. Any questions?”

“You want us to show our true emotions?” one of the male actors asked.

“Yes.”

“Boy, that’s a new one.”

The rest of the group laughed. Hardare felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to face his daughter.

“You need to meet Sophie Nichols,” Crystal said. “She’s the actress that’s going to play Elaine Osbourne.”

“Lead the way,” he said.

Hardare followed his daughter out of the restaurant, up a short flight of stairs, and down a hallway that appeared to go nowhere. At its end, she placed her hands on an innocent-looking wall and pushed in, entering the Houdini Séance room.

An attractive woman in her early forties sat at the round mahogany table in the room’s center. She wore a smock, and was getting make-up applied to her face by a make-up artist.

“You must be Vincent Hardare,” she said. “I’m Sophie Nichols. How do I look?”

On the table was a photo of Elaine Osbourne that Wondero had taken from the dead woman’s house. Hardare picked the photo up, and compared it to Sophie Nichols. The make-up artist had done a remarkable job of making Sophie look like Elaine.

“You look good,” Hardare said.

“But do I look good enough?” Sophie Nichols asked.

It was a good question. There was only so much magic that blush and mascara could do.