Real Magic (21 page)

"Why wouldn't I believe you? You think you're the first bum to ever get caught in a mess trying to make a buck? Look around you. Who wants to end up on a soup line? Everybody's doing whatever they can to make a buck."

"Yeah, but not everybody has Nelson Walter threatening to break Lucy apart if he doesn't produce."

"That's true. But you're one of the club now. So not to fear, you got me on your side."

"I appreciate your loyalty," Duncan said, and he meant it. He learned long ago the great value of guys like Morty. "I don't know how you can help, though. Unless you know how to do the Door of Vanishing trick."

"Can't say I know that." Morty lit up a cigarette. "There's probably only one guy who knows that — The Amazing Verido."

"You know about Verido?"

"What kind of magician would I be if I didn't know one of the greatest legends of our profession?"

"I think Vincent was trying to figure the trick out. If only he kept notes."

"Notes? Vincent?" Morty chuckled. "That's too much like work. Heck, take a good look at him. He's got his sister doing all the work on a book he plans to put his own name on as the author. I mean, he's a stand-up guy and all, but he ain't going to be making notes for anybody."

Duncan slouched. "There's got to be something I can do."

"Oh, I didn't say you were out of luck. Your pal Morty knows lots of folks. And I happen to know someone who claims to know where to find The Amazing Verido. I always thought the claim was bunk, frankly, but I'd hate to think that if Lucy got hurt, it was on account of me not sharing everything I knew. Don't get too excited, though. Probably is a loon, and we probably shouldn't even bother. Still, there's always a chance, right? Oh, I almost forgot to mention — we'll have to go to a real bad part of town, one of the worst."

"I think Lucy's worth risking the bad part of town, don't you?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I just mean that maybe we should wait for Vincent. I'm sure he'll be back anytime soon. It's his sister, after all. And that way we can go to this place with numbers on our side."

Duncan stood fast and waited for the lightness in his head to subside. "Morty, I'll go alone, if I have to, but I'm not in the best condition at the moment. So make a choice — come with me or wish me luck. Either way, I'm going now."

"Okay, okay." Morty waved his hands as he stood up. "No need to turn this into a big stage show. I'll get you there. You'll need some money though."

"Right, for bribes."

"Bribes, maybe. But, see, my friend works at Lady Lane's Cat House. Nobody does anything there unless you pay."

 

Lady Lane's sat deep in the recesses
of town, accessed via a narrow back alley far removed from the daily life of the regular streets. The fact that a steady stream of gentlemen found reason to stroll down this dark alley bothered many of the proper souls (or at least those wanting to be seen as proper), but that never stopped the strolls from happening. In fact, when Duncan and Morty made their way to Lady Lane's, a portly police officer led the way.

"Getting a lunchtime snack, eh, Morty?" the officer said.

Morty acted confused. "Just going to talk with a friend."

"Me, too. And let me tell you, she's a very good friend."

Duncan smirked as the officer hurried his step. To Morty, he asked, "Been here before?"

Morty shrugged. "Once, maybe. This isn't the way I like to do things."

At the end of the alley was a plain metal door painted black with a tiny square peephole at head height. Morty knocked on the little square and it slid open. A square-jawed, unshaven face filled the opening. The man took a hard look at Duncan, especially his wounds, then shifted his eyes to Morty and nodded.

"Hey, Morty. Who's this?"

"He's Duncan. A friend who wants to talk with Forrest." To Duncan, Morty added, "Okay, I've been here more than once. Maybe three times. That's it."

The doorman eyed Duncan once more before admitting them into the building. Morty led the way up a flight of stairs and into a low-ceilinged, low-lit lounge filled with overstuffed furniture. Three tired women clothed in frilly feathers and little else were draped over the furniture. Duncan caught sight of the police officer exiting down a hall with a buxom girl leaning against him, her hand cuddling his backside. A radio big enough to be considered a piece of furniture in itself sat in the corner playing big band jazz to drown out the squeaking beds, deep moans, and false squeals of pleasure that cut through the thin walls.

Though Duncan had never visited a whorehouse before, he had spent plenty of time in gambling parlors and other places of poor reputation. He recognized the smell of desperation coating the air. He knew the false sense of frivolity that layered the somber loneliness below.

In sing-song unison, the three women said, "Hi, Morty."

Duncan raised an eyebrow, and Morty reddened. "Maybe I've been here quite often. Who can remember?"

One woman wearing a slip that showcased her prominent nipples over her anorexic-thin body sauntered up to them. She glanced over Duncan's bruised face but knew her job well — never point out something the customer might not want to talk about. She rolled her shoulder toward Morty. "You looking for something special or is your friend wanting a gal all to his own?"

Morty shook his head. "Sorry, Mary. We're actually looking for Forrest."

"Oh. A nancy, huh?" The other girls giggled.

"Very funny. Is he in?"

Seeing there was no money to be made, Mary headed back to the couches, making sure the men received a good look at the bottom they should reconsider. Over her shoulder, she said, "You know how it is here. Go talk to Lady Lane if you want to go back."

To Duncan, Morty said, "I was hoping to avoid this. You brought money, right?"

"Some."

"Lady Lane don't let anyone do anything in this place without charging you."

Morty led Duncan down the hall the police officer had used shortly before. A small square opening on the left side of the hall cast out the only light. A narrow counter formed the bottom of the square. Resting his arm on the counter, Morty rapped his knuckles against the wood. "Ms. Lane?"

Lady Lane entered from behind a curtained archway, cigarette poking from the corner of her painted mouth, and glanced at Morty with eyes that had seen plenty of the world's seedier side. She must have been in her late-fifties but retained enough of her beauty that Duncan imagined she might still service select clients should she choose. The way she winked at Morty, Duncan wondered if he could be one of those clients.

"Who's your friend?"

"Duncan, may I introduce you to Lady Eunice Lane. Ms. Lane, my good friend Duncan Rose."

Duncan kissed her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Cute. You going to defend my honor now, too? Don't waste your time. I ain't got any left." She hacked a sound that Duncan suspected was laughter. "So, what're you fellas looking for? Morty knows all the usual girls, and if you can afford it, I got a new gal upstairs that would be perfect for whatever celebrating you're looking to do."

Morty raised a hand to stop her from going into any details. "My friend wants to talk with Forrest."

"Forrest? You a nancy, Duncan?"

"Duncan just wants to talk."

"That knucklehead can't say anything worthwhile."

"Got a few questions for him, that's all. Then we'll be gone."

"You sure? While your friend asks his questions, you could wait with Patty. She hasn't had a customer yet today. You'd be first."

"Please. Just Forrest."

Sighing, Lady Lane put out her hand. "Ten dollars."

"Ten dollars? That's crazy."

"So is wasting my time."

"You want to charge us ten bucks to talk with a guy who —"

"This is my house, Morty. I'll charge you for breathing my air, if you don't watch it."

Before Morty ended up ruining his regular haunt, Duncan placed ten dollars on the counter. "Where do we find Forrest?"

Lady Lane swiped the money with startling speed. "He's in his apartment. Basement."

"I swear," Morty said as he walked further down the hall, "I don't come here nearly as much as they make it seem."

A narrow servant's stairs led down to the basement. Duncan followed Morty. "I really don't care what you do. Everybody's got their secrets. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks. That's a swell thing to say."

They reached a wood-slat door, but before Morty knocked, he turned to Duncan and whispered, "You should know that Forrest isn't really right in the head anymore. I mean, he can think fine and if he knows anything, he'll tell us, but he's a special case here. Lady Lane acts like she don't care about him, but she does. See, he used to be a regular customer here. You think these gals know me well? They all knew Forrest — really, really well. Anyway, as I heard it, one night he's sitting around the lounge, relaxing with a cigarette and a beer after having been with one of the gals, when a group of soldiers on leave come in. They were rowdy and drunk and everything you'd expect. Now I don't know exactly what started it — I've heard everything from that it was an accidental bump in the arm to that Forrest was protecting a girl one of the soldiers was getting rough with — but I do know for sure that these men hauled Forrest out into the alley and beat him bad. Shook his brain loose or something. He was never exactly right again. Lady Lane felt responsible and terrible, so she hired the doorman to stop from letting just anybody in. Then she hired Forrest to be a jack-of-all-trades around the building. Gave him this place to stay, too."

He looked like he wanted to say more but ended up turning away and knocking. When the door opened, Duncan saw a scrawny man wearing stained brown pants and no shirt. Scruff grew in patches on his pale face, and his ginger hair reached out in all directions. He had an odd look to him — simultaneously empty and thoughtful. As if he strained to form a thought but lacked the ability to express it. He took one hollow look at Morty, nodded, and walked back into his apartment.

"Good to see you, Forrest," Morty said, forcing a festive tone as he entered.

Turned out the apartment was nothing more than a single room slightly larger than a maintenance closet. It may have been a maintenance closet at one time. Forrest had a cot to sleep on, a box for his belongings, and a bucket for — well, Duncan did not want to think about things that far. From the ratty condition of the army green blanket on the cot and the stale odor in the air, Duncan guessed there was no maid service.

"How are you?" Morty sat with Forrest on the cot.

"Okay, Morty," Forrest said but it sound like
oo-kahy Mo-ordee
.

Duncan had wondered how they would sweet talk Forrest into giving up what he knew about Verido, but it turned out to be easy. Being the resident charity case at a whorehouse proved to be quite lonely. Forrest eagerly launched into his story with a simple question from Morty.

"Forrest, my friend here was wondering if you knew anything about The Amazing Verido. Do you?"

"Yup, yup, yup," Forrest said, and though Duncan found the young man difficult to understand, he pieced the words together well enough. "I met him. The Amazing Verido."

"You met him?" Morty asked.

"Yup, yup, yup. When I was a little boy. Sweet and innocent like an angel. That's what my Ma would say. I was her little angel. And once, we heard about the traveling show coming to town. We heard about it and I was so excited." Forrest rocked on his hands while he gazed at the wall, peering through it into the depth of his memories. "I loved the magic shows. I loved them." He grew quiet and his bottom lip drooped.

"Forrest?" Morty prodded.

As if nothing had happened, Forrest continued. "Ma said I'd have to work hard all week, do all my chores, and then she'd take me to the show. Just like Ms. Lane. I do all my work each week and Ms. Lane takes me to a show, but Ms. Lane takes me to the pictures. I like
The Thin Man
. You seen
The Thin Man?
"

"Not yet, but I hear it's really good."

"It is. It's really good. Ms. Lane took me to see it because I worked really good." The way Forrest spoke and moved, Duncan thought he might have had been born with some type of genetic issue like Down Syndrome. But then maybe a severe beating to the head could do the same. He had no idea. Forrest went on, "But it ain't live people. It's just a movie. When I was little I saw that show with live people. I worked hard all week and Ma was real proud of me and she gave me a big hug and said we could go see the show. The Amazing Verido."

"That's right," Morty said. "Tell us about The Amazing Verido."

"There were lots of people at the show. Lots and lots. And all kinds of neat stuff — jugglers and sword-swallowers and music. Oh and I got a balloon but I let it slip away and it flew so high. So high. Ma and I watched and watched until we couldn't see it anymore. But I wasn't sad or anything. I was having so much fun."