Real Magic (13 page)

With a sage nod, Duncan said, "I see now. That's why he cheats at cards. To keep paying the bills without having to give up his dream."

"What else is there? He's got a real passion for magic. It's all he thinks about all the time. I can't even recall the last time I saw him without a deck of cards. And what's worse is that people have told him, people who are in the know, who have the right connections and such, they've told him how good he is. They say they love what they see him doing, love his creativity and his card handling and his showmanship. But then they don't book him for a show. It's maddening."

"I'm sure. But this was supposed to be about you, not Vincent. What's your passion?"

"It is about me. We've been looking out for each other forever. I mean, who do you think takes care of paying off the people who figure out they were cheated by him? Who do you think makes sure he stays focused and doesn't give up? I've got my whole life invested in him. Besides, he's my brother. I want to see him happy and successful."

"These are hard times."

"And that makes it both worse and imperative."

"But what if it wasn't like that? What if times were better and Vincent had a better career? What then? Would you still be taking care of a magic shop? Would you —"

"Dancing." Lucy's eyes sparkled. "I always wanted to be a dancer. You know, a showgirl or in the movies or anything like that. That's how I ended up helping Vincent. I was his stage assistant back when he did big stage kind of stuff. Before he discovered sleight of hand."

"Now that is something all about you. Dancing, huh? I wouldn't have guessed."

They smiled at each other. A waiter arrived with salads, and as Lucy dug into the food, she said, "What about you? Tell me something."

Duncan came close to choking. He had been so wrapped up in this charming woman, that he forgot the conversation would go both ways. Except he couldn't tell her anything — at least, nothing she would believe. She would probably have him locked away in an asylum before the night finished, tears running down her face as she convinced herself it was for the best. But he didn't want to lie to her either. Not that it should matter — he'd be gone soon enough and all of this would be a bizarre, faded memory. Yet part of him, that same part that had awakened to the very idea of a real date, that part didn't want to hurt her.

"I'm nothing special," he finally said. "I've traveled a far way, I suppose."

"Travel sounds exciting. Where have you been?"

Duncan rolled his tongue along the backs of his teeth, wincing at the strain of choosing each word as if testing a landmine. "I'm sorry. I'm not really comfortable talking about this — about me."

"Oh." She looked down into her salad. "I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no," Duncan said, but he couldn't take it back either. And with no light to guide him out of the mess he made, he decided to push forth for the information he needed. At least with that, he could be on his way and lessen the damage he might have done. "So what's with the door drawing?"

"The door? Oh, that. It's something I'm working on for Vincent."

"It looks interesting."

Lucy hesitated, debating something within, before putting her fork down. "I'll tell you this much, and I'm only doing this because like everybody else in the club, I know you'll be a member soon. So, it's not really that big of a secret because I can tell other members. But don't you dare let on that I told you."

"Your secret is safe. You can trust me."

"Vincent is working on a book. A book that explains in clear, simple language all about being a magician. And not just the how to do this trick or that trick, but the history and the reality of how hard it is to make a career and all of it. There's nothing like this book out there. I'm helping illustrate the different tricks and edit his grammar, proofread his spelling, and that kind of thing. But I won't divulge any of the particulars until you join the club. Understand?"

Duncan leaned back and sipped his wine. Pappy had introduced him to all the big texts that had been written on the subject of magic —
Expert at the Card Table, Royal Road to Card Magic, Stars of Magic,
and even Professor Hoffman's
Modern Magic
. Nowhere could he recall having seen the name Vincent Day. "I think that's wonderful," he said because Lucy's eager eyes looked like she believed this was their ticket to money and a better life. "You and your brother have my sincere best wishes. I hope you can change things."

"Change things? Like what?"

"Oh ... just ... that your book will help people who think magic is all glamour and success and a blast. It can be, of course, but it's hard work, too."

"Exactly. All these kids come in thinking they can learn how to pass a card or palm one and that's it. Instant fame. It isn't like that at all."

"Never has been."

"And that's why we're doing this book."

"So how's the door fit in?"

Lucy wagged her finger. "I told you — no particulars."

"But the door isn't a trick. I'm not asking for its secret."

"Good, because it is a trick and I haven't the foggiest notion how it's done. I'm only putting it in as a historical reference."

"Well, then tell me. It's not a particular trick that you're divulging."

"Nope," she said, smiling now that she had some playful leverage on him. "You have to solve Vincent's trick first."

Duncan had a playful smile of his own but it trembled away when he caught a glimpse of the man two tables over. A big man with a square jaw and a distinctive, flat-nosed face. Nelson Walter's main thug — Freddie.

He didn't seem to be watching Duncan, though. In fact, a lovely lady with a long cigarette holder and an outrageously large hat sat with Freddie. She looked thrilled to be eating at the hotel, to be eating at all, and Freddie's attention appeared to be entirely on her. Yet Duncan couldn't help but think that it was a ruse, that Freddie attended the restaurant in order to spy on him. Walter said he would be watching. Perhaps he truly was watching.

The rest of the delicious meal (Duncan couldn't recall a better tasting steak in his life) went by with an edge digging in his back. He tried to focus on Lucy's words and questions and chatter, on the way she savored each bite of her steak and saved half to bring home for Vincent, but his eyes darted upon Freddie continually. When they finally received the bill, all seven dollars of it, Duncan squirmed to get it paid fast and be on their way.

The walk back to the apartment lacked the vigor of their earlier conversation, and Duncan had to restrain the desire to peek back over his shoulder numerous times. By the time they reached Lucy's door, Duncan's paranoia had reached a fever pitch. He kept sneaking glances in all directions and stumbling his sentences as he struggled to both speak and search at the same time.

"It's the steak, isn't it?" Lucy finally said. "You said to order anything but you didn't think I'd actually get the steak, huh? I'm real sorry. If you want I can pay you back. I mean, I really can't right now, but I'll pay you back in installments. Would that be okay?"

"What?" Duncan said as snippets of her words penetrated his head. "No, no. You didn't do anything wrong. I had a great time with you."

"Oh, yeah? I just thought ... well, you were a bit distracted and ..."

"Sorry about that. I shouldn't have been so rude."

"No, it's okay."

They continued to sputter out apologies and forgiveness until finally Lucy managed to say goodnight. Originally, Duncan had envisioned a firework-inducing kiss to end the evening, but instead, he watched her awkwardly back into her apartment, leaving him alone and confused in the hallway.

As he climbed down the stairs, he shook his head to clear it. He headed back to his hotel room, no longer worrying about Freddie.
He can follow me all he wants when I'm not with Lucy.
And as he thought those words, it hit him hard in the chest — he really liked this girl. Maybe he could convince her to join him in the future. If he could walk through the door into 1934, surely she could walk back with him into 2013.

Such dreams wouldn't matter if he failed to find that door, though. That had to be the first, most crucial step, no matter the allure that 1934 had gained. And finding that door still meant solving that damn trick of Vincent's.

"Then that's what I'm doing tonight," he announced, garnering an odd look or two from those walking by. He never noticed, though. He already had the cards shuffled in his mind.

 

By two-in-the-morning,
Duncan had to admit that he had come no closer to a solution. He had tried every permutation of the 10/20 force he knew. He attempted to pull the trick off with a Svengali deck. He cut up a piece of cardboard to act as a gaff card and played out the trick with this extra, fifty-third card in the deck.

Nothing.

What crawled along his nerves, what caused him to swear and throw cards around the room, was that the solution had to be simple. He knew this in his bones. Pappy had taught him that most tricks relied on the participants thinking things were more complex than they actually were. Even the difficult tricks were often simple in concept — they only required the dedication to practice an insane number of hours in order to master a small set of skills.

But this trick had been one that, presumably, Morty and Ben and Lucas had all figured out. So all the highly skilled tricks couldn't possibly be the way to go. It had to be even simpler than what he had tried so far. But what could be simpler?

A knock at the door startled Duncan awake. He stared for a few seconds, his brain unable to process what had happened. Slowly, he came to understand that he had fallen asleep, that he had a deck of cards spewed across his chest, and that somebody knocked on his door at four-thirty a.m.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice scratchy and low.

"Open up," the distinctly unpleasant voice of Freddie the Thug said, and he pounded on the door again.

"Hold on, hold on." Duncan shuffled to the door and fumbled with the old lock until it opened. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Walter wants to see you."

"Now?"

"You got your lady friend in there or something?"

"No. And that's none of your business."

Freddie let his shoulder drop onto the door frame, and he crossed his thick, muscular arms. "While you're working for Mr. Walter, everything you do is my business. And I don't like it when dames get caught up in business."

Duncan combed his hair with his fingers as he stepped into the hall. Freddie moved out of the way. It was a small victory, but Duncan took what he could get. When he saw Freddie crook his neck to peek in the room, he said, "She's not in there. Let's go."

"Shame. She's not bad looking."

The urge to defend her honor raced up Duncan's throat like flames on gasoline, and it took enormous effort to keep his mouth shut. Not only did Freddie possess the strength to cause serious injury, but Duncan did not want to alert Freddie or Mr. Walter to Lucy's importance. Better that they think she's a fling.

Once more, Freddie led the way to the elevators, and once more they took an unpleasant ride to the top. When they stepped into Walter's hall, an enticing aroma of eggs, toast, and coffee surrounded them. From the right, a light shone through the edges of a door and the clatter of an active kitchen could be heard. But as with before, Freddie guided Duncan to the left, to Walter's office.

Duncan took his stiff-backed seat and Freddie stood to the side. Duncan looked at the door behind the desk and though he had no desire to picture it, he could not stop his mind from drumming up images of Walter bashing some poor fool's kneecaps with a golf club. The uncomfortable chair only heightened the pain he imagined Walter's victims suffered.

From behind, he heard Nelson Walter's heavy footsteps. Duncan kept his eyes forward. Then he saw stars as he felt a sharp pain on the side of his head.

Walking to his desk, Walter had smacked Duncan hard on the ear. "What the fuck are you doing going out on a date when you should be getting in that club? You think I'm joking around here? You think this is a game?"

The words would have sounded cliché if not for the burning on the side of Duncan's head and the fact that this was 1934. The guys Duncan knew who said crap like this had been mimicking guys like Walter, but Walter, for all Duncan knew, might have been one of the first to utter these mobster lines. Either way, Duncan had heard similar words before and knew what could happen to him if he responded in the wrong way.

Looking at the door behind Walter's desk, Duncan said, "Believe me, I take this very seriously."

Walter leaned over and posted his arms on the desktop — a hulking, perspiring brute. "Do you know what they called me before I moved out to this craphole?"

Though Duncan knew the answer, he also knew to keep his mouth shut.

"They called me 'Thumbs.' And you sure don't want to find out the reason. Not if you like doing card tricks."

"Please, Mr. Walter, allow me to explain."