Magician (16 page)

“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit. We’ve got the son of a bitch.”

But I shook my head. “No, not really. He isn’t wanted, remember? We’re also in here illegally.”

“Look, Roland, we’ve got evidence right here that links the bastard to Georgia Champion’s disappearance. This photograph was taken right after Kenny Joiner saw her. It corroborates his story, and explains the shoes that were left at the scene.”

“Now we have to wait here, until he shows up.”

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot. Take a look at this.”

Tiller held out a yellow sheet of paper. I took it from him and saw that it was a hand-printed flier for a magic show, obviously Xeroxed.

“I found this in the kitchen, stuck on the fridge.”

I looked at the names of the magicians who were to perform on the program.

The Great Zambezi

Narada

Mysterio

The Oak Room Lounge,

7:30 p.m.

“This is dated for tonight!”

Tiller nodded. “Yes, and he might be there.”

“Tiller, he might even be one of the acts! We can connect him to Georgia Champion, maybe get the locals to pick him up.” I fell abruptly silent. Tiller had a strange look on his face.

“Well, that’s what I thought at first. Maybe you better take a look at this.” Tiller held out a thin brown book, a personal planner. “Check out today’s date.”

I flipped to the date. There was written in what was unmistakably Fain’s careful hand:

Brotherhood of Magicians meets 7:30

The Great White Lodge

“These events take place at the same time. Which one is he planning on going to?”

“Maybe he’s either going to this show, or he’s part of the show, then he’s going to the meeting later,” Tiller mused. “When I write something in my personal planner, it’s sort of an official reminder to myself. But the things that make it to my fridge, I’m damn sure trying to remind myself to do.”

“Maybe. It’s possible Fain doesn’t operate the same way. What if we go to one place and he goes to the other?”

“Well, there’s two of us and one of him. You take one, I’ll take the other. That way, we’re sure to find him.”

“Sure, Tiller. You take the magic show. If he’s there, you put the cops on him. I’ll go to the Brotherhood of Magicians, and do the same.”

“It’s early yet. Do you want to go now?”

I thought for a second. “Well, I think the best plan would be to stake out both places, and the sooner the better. We’ve got this place, and now we know about two others. If he doesn’t show at either of these places,” I shook the flier and personal planner at Tiller, “we can still come back here and stake him out.”

“Sounds like a plan. For now, I vote we get the hell out of this apartment. I’m getting the creeps, and I could use a bite to eat before this all goes down.”

“Fine with me. Same here. But let’s take all of this stuff with us.”

I looked around the apartment one last time, then walked out, closing the door behind me.

Found you, didn’t I, Magician.

Chapter 20

Tiller stepped out of the restaurant, picking his teeth.
Now, that, Tiller old fellow, was a steak.
He had dropped Roland off earlier, further uptown, where the Brotherhood of Magicians held their meetings. The plan was to be in place early, in case Fain decided to put in an appearance at one place, before moving to the other.

Tiller pulled the program from his jacket pocket and opened it. The three magicians who were to perform that evening were all from the Four Corners area.

Tiller’s mind churned:
It’s a cinch that if Fain’s not one of them, they know him. If not by his real name, maybe as Christian Cain, or maybe some other.

Tiller planned to approach each conjurer individually, and pretend he had seen Fain’s act at an earlier date, and was interested in finding him for possible employment. Then he’d pump them for information. If Fain was in the show or the audience, he’d have him arrested based on the evidence of the photo album and the box of jewelry, which he had in his possession. It seemed like a good, simple plan.

Tiller sighed. He’d go kill some time at the library, and dig for some more clues on Fain. Then, he’d go see a magic show.
I don’t know how much these guys make, but it sure seems like an iffy way to make living. Of course, some people might think that about police work.

* * *

The Great White Lodge was just that. It was totally out of place in its surroundings, a strange, incongruous structure. It was of course, solid white, and shaped vaguely like a pyramid, its walls sloping as they went up. Two vast oaken doors were the only apparent entrance. The doors were eight feet tall and flanked on either side by sphinxes with female faces and breasts. Some passing Michelangelo had drawn nipples on the breasts with a red crayon.

What next,
I thought, shaking my head. I pushed against the doors. They were quite heavy, but unlocked. I walked into a cool, gloomy interior. I heard vague activity. Once my eyes were adjusted to the gloom inside, I saw that I was in a narrow hall, that opened onto a large central room.

The hall was lined on either side with portraits, pictures of people in purple and black robes. All held things in their hands: upturned top hats, crystal balls, doves, mirrors. I cautiously approached a woman, standing with her back to me, setting up candles on a table. She had shoulder length straw-colored hair in a pageboy cut. She whirled suddenly and scowled at me, like I had disturbed the casting of some arcane spell.

“Who are you? This is a private building.”

“I’m sorry to startle you. My name is Roland Longville. I was just trying to find a friend of mine, who’s a member.”

The woman was probably fifty. Her eyes were red, and she looked slightly confused. Her voice was slightly slurred, also. To my nostrils wafted the vague odor of gin.

“Oh . . . .” She seemed to lose her train of thought for a second. “What did you say your name was?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Roland. Roland Longville.”

“And you’re a magician?”

“No. My friend, Christian Cain, he’s a magician.”

“Oh, I get it. Well, I think I might have heard that name. What’s his act?”

Careful, she might be tipsy but she seems like a suspicious character.

“Well, I haven’t seen him in a while. He’s originally from Birmingham. He was doing children’s’ magic shows there.”

 
“That’s nice. Steady work in that. The adults always want something new. Most of us just put an act together and stick with it for the kids. Steady work is a good thing.”

“So, you’re a magician?”

“Sorry.” The look of slight confusion came back. “My name is Joan Young. I’m president of the Douglas Brotherhood of Magicians.”

“Well, I think you would remember Christian if you met him.”

“Do you think he’s one of our members?”

“The last time I spoke with him, he sure seemed interested in the Four Corners magic scene,” I lied.

“Well, tell me a little about him.” She walked to a nearby chair, weaving slightly, then sat down carefully.

“He’s a big man, shaves his head. Like I said, he mostly does children’s—”

“Gray.”

“Excuse me?”

“Gray here knows most everybody in the Brotherhood. Isn’t that right, Gray?”

I turned around. There was a young-looking man standing behind me, as if he had materialized there without a sound. A black carry-all bag was slung over his shoulder. He was well-muscled, and lean and thin, and had bright eyes that had probably given him his name, since they were gray in color.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a pleasant baritone.

“My name is Roland Longville. I was trying to get in touch with an old friend of mine, from Birmingham. His name’s Christian Cain.”

“Oh, I know the guy you’re talking about. Big guy, shaved head?”

“That’s him.” I fought to keep the elation out of my voice.

“Yeah, he was actually supposed to be here tonight, but he called last week to say that he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yeah, he’s working the lights for a show over at the Oak Room Lounge. A friend of his needed some help, I think. Hey, mister, where are you going?”

I took the steps down two at a time; there might not be much time to lose. Tiller would be looking in the audience or on the stage for Samson Fain, and all the while Fain would be above and behind him.
 

As I exited the Great White Lodge, I noticed three Sheriff’s Office cars, parked across the street. A deputy stepped out of one of the vehicles and approached me.

“Hold it right there! Don’t make any sudden moves.” It was another voice, from behind him. I raised my hands very slowly. I recognized Deputy Cale’s voice.

Cale came up behind me and grabbed one of my wrists and pulled it down behind my back. He cuffed it and grabbed the other.

“Mr. Longville, I’m arresting you for interfering with a police investigation.” Cale spoke in a smug tone that made my blood boil. I gritted my teeth.

I’m too close to Fain. I don’t have time for the rap that goes with assaulting an officer of the law. Not now.

Cale guided me to his squad car and opened the door.

“Inside.”
 

I slid in and stared out the window, as the door was slammed behind me.

I wondered what Tiller was doing.

Chapter 21

Tiller went back to the car, shaking his head.
People out here are a damned sight different.

He had seen it all before: women sawed in half, people disappearing from one box and appearing in another, men pulling various things out of thin air. He was really sort of disappointed. He’d expected more, somehow.

Aw, knock it off, Tiller, you’re just sore because Fain didn’t show. In all likelihood, Roland and the police probably took him into custody an hour ago.

Tiller looked around, cautiously. The magicians and their helpers were leaving the lounge by a side door, men carrying large cases and pretty girls in skimpy costumes, just chatting.

It takes all kinds.

It was then he caught sight of a large figure across the street, loading two large speakers into the back of a black van. Tiller’s heart leaped into his throat. The man was dense, six and a half feet. A pale, bald head gleamed in the sunlight.
 

Fain. Mother of God.

Tiller had never seen him, aside from the old photo that Roland had gotten from Fain’s aunt. Furthermore, the way the man was standing, his face wasn’t visible. But it was him. Tiller knew it like he knew his own name.

Holy Mary, Mother of God. Now what am I going to do?

Trying his best to not to look in Fain’s direction, Tiller crossed cautiously to the rental car. His heart thudded in his chest. He wondered if his face was beet red. Fain had parked right behind him.

Or had the van been there earlier? Had it been there all along? Had I just failed to notice?

He couldn’t remember. He cursed himself for making such a rookie mistake.

Well, it’s there now, Tiller old boy.

Fain finished his loading and got into the van. Tiller cranked up and slid the car into gear.

Wherever you’re headed, I’m going there too, big boy.

He thought suddenly of Roland, and their planned meeting in Inspiration.

He knows that I wouldn’t have failed to show without notifying him. I hope.

He looked through the windshield at the van. That was him, all right. Big bastard, too. Roland’s height, but much more dense. There was some fat weight on the middle of him, but his torso and arms looked like iron.

Fain was getting ready to leave. Tiller bit his lip. He couldn’t risk leaving to go to a phone, and he couldn’t very well attempt to subdue Fain by himself. Even if he could, the arrest would never hold up. He was quite a ways out of his jurisdiction. Most problematic of all, Fain wasn’t wanted for anything.
 

Don’t think that I want to take him all by my lonesome. I’ll just follow him and give Roland and the cops a call from wherever it is we end up.

The van pulled out and headed down a side street. Tiller tried shadowing from a street over, but ultimately the streets diverged and Tiller was forced to fall in behind the van. Fain took turns down obviously less-traveled streets.

This is one crafty son of a bitch. Never lets his guard down for a minute.

Soon there were no other cars on the road. The van came to a stop beside a low metal warehouse. Fain got out and went over to the building, and unlocked a side door and entered. Tiller pulled up across the street, where he spied a telephone booth.

Tiller got out of his car, and keeping the van and building in his view, called the hotel. He cursed when no one answered the phone. The message service came on, and he thought quickly.