Real Magic (24 page)

By the time he reached the hotel lobby, Duncan's jaw set square and firm. He strode across the lobby floor, ignoring the cheery
Good Mornings
from the bellhops and desk managers. Narrowing his eyes on the private elevator to Walter's apartment, he passed by Freddie who dropped his morning paper in shock.

"Hey, Rose," he said, but Duncan kept on his course for the bank of elevators. The operator on the far end jumped up from his small stool, adjusted his cap and uniform, and attempted to look professional. Freddie called out again. "Rose? What're you doing?"

Freddie made a crucial mistake — he underestimated the level of anger a man could have when protecting someone he loved. Freddie placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder, no doubt expecting the typical reaction of fear and compliance that went along with that strong, thick hand. Instead, Duncan whirled around and kneed Freddie in the groin.

As Freddie doubled over, Duncan said, "Sorry about the cheap shot, but I don't think I could stop you any other way." To the elevator operator, he said, "You — take me to Mr. Walter."

The kid watched Freddie stumble against the wall, breathing hard and cupping his crotch.

Duncan snapped his fingers in front of the kid's wide eyes. "Hey. You take me to Mr. Walter now or you can be on the floor holding your balls, too."

With a vigorous nod, the kid stepped into the elevator. "Yes, sir. Mr. Walter's floor. Right away."

Stepping into the elevator, Duncan said, "Get some ice, Freddie."

The ride up slowed in Duncan's head. He heard every clink and clank from the machinery. He felt every vibration ripple up his legs. His head thumped with the bump in the elevator as they passed each floor.

Part of his mind screamed at him to stop, turn around, get Lucy, get the car, and just get. Go into hiding if necessary. Forget about Verido, the Door, Walter, everything.

But he had done too much hiding in his life. If he were honest with himself, that's all he had ever done — hiding from family, from responsibility, from accomplishing anything of value. Why else spend his nights screwing over fools and spend his days escaping the inevitable retaliations? It was a way to avoid the real world. It was easy for him because he didn't care about anybody. The closest to a loving relationship he had was with Pappy and that had drifted away with Pappy's sanity.

Except now love had captured him. The real thing. Now he cared. His behavior, the risks he took, the life he led, had real consequences now. Hiding would only destroy what he had begun with Lucy.

"Here you are, sir," the elevator operator said. As he slid open the gate, he lowered his head and in a quiet voice, added, "Please don't tell Mr. Walter I took you up."

"Don't worry. If he asks, I'll tell him I tossed you out of the elevator."

Duncan stepped into the hall. To his left, the office door stood ajar but no lights were on. To his right, he heard the clinking of silverware and inhaled the morning aroma of eggs, coffee, and toast.

He stormed down the hall, following the sounds and smells. The door at the end led into a well-furnished sitting room nearly as big as Vincent and Lucy's apartment. To his left was an archway and through there, Duncan saw Nelson Walter sitting at a table with his wife and son.

Walter wore dress pants and suspenders over a clean, white undershirt. The bit of hair he had stuck out and stubble darkened his face. His wife looked exhausted and his son looked pampered. They all stared up at him.

Walter froze with a forkful of egg halfway to his mouth. His face flashed outrage before pulling back into control. "Mr. Rose," he said, his voice calm, his eggs shaking from his clenched hand. "I didn't realize we had an appointment this early."

"We didn't." Duncan thrilled to hear his own voice calm and controlled.

Walter looked at his wife. Her eyes were stuck on the eggs. He lowered the fork slowly and wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"I'm having breakfast with my family. This is a sacred time for me. That's why I don't schedule anything until later in the day. It's disrespectful to me and my family. But I can see you're upset about something and I consider you a valuable friend, one who deserves a little leeway. So why don't we go talk in my office?"

"I'd rather talk right here," Duncan said, knowing the only thing keeping Walter at bay was the presence of his family. "Did you read the paper this morning?"

Walter indicated the paper at his elbow.

Duncan stabbed a finger toward the picture of Forrest. "Right there on the front page. A good friend of mine knew that guy who got beat up."

"It's a tragedy. I can see why you're so upset. Your friend has my sympathies. If there's anything I can do to help, you let me know."

"I'll do that. But there's a problem."

Shifting in his seat, his face reddening as he crossed his arms, he said, "What problem?"

"You asked me to find some information for you, and I visited this young man, Forrest, as part of that search. This assault happened on him shortly after."

"And you think that had something to do with you?"

"I think you know exactly what that had to do with. I want it to stop. I'm doing everything you asked. There's no reason to have other people messing up my work."

Walter's boy frowned. "What's he talking about, Pop?"

Walter shot to his feet, his chair falling over. In a low growl, he said, "That's enough. You work for me. You don't dictate the terms. Now I'm not saying what happened to that kid had anything to do with you. It didn't. He worked in a disreputable place serving disreputable people. Bad things happen in places like that. But if I had been involved, it would only be a form of insurance. After all, you're not very trustworthy, are you? One look at you tells me as much."

"I'm trying hard to do my part, but I can't when your —"

"Milly, take the boy out of here, now."

"Nobody's leaving here, yet," Duncan said but Milly clearly knew who to consider the real threat. She quickly gathered her son and scampered out of the room. Duncan's body tensed. Only a breakfast table stood between him and an enraged gorilla. "Look, you said that if I —"

"You ever come into my home again, and you won't walk out of here. As for Forrest, you better figure out your real position in all this fast or you won't live long enough to piss me off."

"You said if I got you Verido and the Door —"

Walter picked up a butter knife as if it were a dagger. "That's right. And instead, you're still playing boyfriend to that whore you've got wood for."

"I'll get what you want, but you've got to be patient."

Walter jabbed the knife into the table with such force, the dull blade dug into the wood and stuck. "Get this into your moronic head. The only reason you're alive here is because I think I need you to figure out how this door works. But if I find Verido myself and get the Door and figure out how it works myself, then I won't really need you anymore. And I certainly won't need Lucy or Vincent Day. So stop worrying about what I'm doing, stop wasting time in my home, and stop fucking the girl. Go get me my Door of Vanishing."

Duncan stared at the butter knife. "Yes, sir," he said because there was nothing more to say. He edged out of the room, not willing to turn his back on Walter, and when he reached the hall, he rushed to the elevator.

When the operator arrived, he glanced over Duncan and paled. "Guess it didn't go too well?"

"Shut up."

In the silent ride down, his mind tried to sort everything out. If Walter's men had beaten Forrest, then Walter most likely also got the name Claude Wilkinson. The only way to stay valuable to Walter, then, would be to get to Wilkinson first. Stay ahead of the information so he could find the Door first. Otherwise, he would end up dead. Worse, Lucy would end up dead, too.

 

Duncan leaned back against the Ford's
headrest as Lucy drove towards Gettysburg. She had taken several excruciating hours to get the automobile — one of the "New" Fords, a 1930 Model A. The black two-door sat two, had an off-white cloth top, and a spare tire strapped to the passenger-side runnerboard. While waiting for Lucy, Duncan had paced her apartment, his imagination developing one horrid scenario after another of what had happened to her. After negotiating a deal on the car (involving a promise to have Vincent perform at a birthday party for the fence's kid), Lucy set about finding Vincent and Morty.

She caught Morty leaving his apartment, suitcase in hand. He had read the paper and figured that whatever Duncan had gotten tied up in was bleeding out onto others. "And I don't like blood," Morty said, and hoofed it toward the bus station.

She never found Vincent. Normally this would be fine, but under the circumstances, she worried that he might be unconscious in a hospital somewhere. Or worse.

When she finally showed up at the apartment and rattled off all that had happened, Duncan hugged her, kissed her, and turned her right back to the car. He had packed a bag for her and put what little food he found into a box.

"But I just got here," she said.

"Sorry, but —"

"And we can't leave without Vincent."

"This isn't a permanent thing. We need to get to Gettysburg —"

"Gettysburg? Why?"

Grabbing the keys from her, he ushered her downstairs. After one look at the massive size of the car, he returned the keys to her hand. In 2013, he had driven hatchbacks, compacts, and on a few occasions, sleek but small sports cars like a Porsche 911. This wasn't the time to learn how to handle a boat of a car.

Though the Model A was capable of hitting sixty-five miles per hour, there were no highways yet (that was Eisenhower's deal and he still had World War II to contend with before becoming President), so they never got above forty-five as they traversed the dirt roads and pothole-filled paved ones. Despite their slow progress, every minute brought them closer to Gettysburg and further from Nelson Walter. Duncan hardly felt relaxed, but he was able to close his eyes and feel the warm, summer air blow over him. He could let his mind float, even if only for a moment.

"We've got at least an hour until we get there," Lucy said. "I think it's time for you to live up to your promise."

"My promise?"

"I've been more than understanding, and I've shown you more trust than you probably deserve. But I can't go on with this until you tell me what's going on. You said you would, and we have the time, so out with it."

Duncan sat up and watched the tree-lined road ahead. Of all the balls he juggled in the air, this one required the most delicate touch. Should he fail, it would blow a hole through him that would cause the rest to come crashing down. He had to tell her as much as possible — because he loved her, for her safety, and because he didn't want to lie to her — but he couldn't tell her everything until she saw it with her own eyes. Otherwise, she would think he was insane and would feel betrayed by all that he had said previously. She might even turn the car to the nearest asylum.

"I'm waiting," she said without any playfulness.

Duncan raised his index finger to hold her for a moment longer. Then, after he collected his thoughts, he said, "This door we're going after — the Door of Vanishing — is more than you think. It's not just a trick. It's real."

"Don't play games with me. I want to know —"

"I'm telling you," he snapped. "It's real. Those people that disappeared — that wasn't a trick. They went into the Door and emerged somewhere else. Somewhere far away from here. So far that they'll never make it back. That door is real. I mean — real magic."

"How?"

"I don't know. But it's true. I'm proof of that."

"You?"

"That's my big secret. I'm not from here. I'm from far away, and I came through the Door. I didn't mean to do so; I didn't know what it was. I came here by accident. That's why I've been trying to find it. It's the only way I'll get home."

Lucy stayed quiet for two miles, and Duncan kept his eyes forward. He chilled at the idea of seeing her reaction. When she finally spoke, her words came out measured and soft, and she asked the question he dreaded. "Exactly where is 'far away'?"

"I can't tell you." He watched the bridge of trust between them crumble apart. "I want to. I do. But you have to believe me that if I tell you that, it will cause more harm than good."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know, but it's the best I can do."

She thought on this longer. "If these people, people like you, went through the door and never came back, what makes you think you'll get back to your home?"

"Because they didn't know what was happening. They thought they were going through a trick door and by the time they realized what had really happened, they were lost. Some of them might not even know yet that it was a real trick. Heck, some of them might have figured it all out quick, and they'd be looking for the Door to get back, but they haven't found it. I've been lucky finding you and Vincent. If I hadn't, I could have spent the rest of my life searching for the Door."

"Why don't you just go home another way? Take a train or a boat or something?"