Real Magic (29 page)

Duncan stared at the card, the false name, and tried to think of what to do. The fact that the real name led to an empty farmhouse had not changed. Had he lived in the era longer, he would know how to find a man without a computer. But he was a child of the Information Age, not the Jazz Age.

Freddie peeked at Duncan's empty plate. "What did you eat?"

"Eggs. Why?"

"Were they any good?"

"I suppose."

"Yeah, I don't know." He returned to the menu.

Duncan wracked his mind for a simple solution. Despite this change, he was still in tremendous trouble. The false name gave him a slight advantage, but he would have to stay ahead of Walter and Freddie if he wanted to keep that advantage alive. That would be hard with Freddie "assisting" him. Yet even a sliver of leverage could grow into something bigger, something better.

 

Freddie ordered the eggs after all.

Duncan observed him eating — not a particularly pleasant sight; Freddie tended to let his food hang half-out of his mouth before slurping it in. Despite the grotesque scene, Duncan continued to watch, searching for tells that would help. Not gambling tells, but tells that would clue him in to how to control the situation.

"So," Duncan said as Freddie shoveled in another mouthful of scrambled eggs, this time dipped in ketchup, "you've been demoted to babysitter."

Freddie glanced up. "Takes more than a babysitter to do my job."

"Oh, that's right. You're also Walter's thug."

"You trying to tick me off?"

"No, no. But let's be honest, that's why you're here, right? I mean, if I screw up, you're going to hurt me, right?"

"Shut up."

"Isn't that what you do? Isn't that why a man like Walter hires you?"

"Let me tell you something." Freddie pointed his thick finger at Duncan. "A man like Nelson Walter is special. Not just anybody can be him. Why do you think there's only one President or one King in a country? It's because only a special kind of man can do that job. You gotta be smarter than everybody and have the strength to make everybody follow you. You gotta be able to see ahead, know what others are gonna do. Be a real, um, what do you call it? A real strategy man. And, yeah, sometimes you have to use force. That's what I'm good at. I ain't saying I like it or agree with it always, but it's the way it is."

"Does that include the little back room and the golf club?"

"See, that's why Mr. Walter is the King and you're just a peasant. You don't know the hard things a real man's got to do to keep everyone in line. You don't have the guts to do what's needed."

"Still means you're just my babysitter. At least for now."

"You watch your mouth."

"Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you can beat me up whenever you want. Then again, I'd imagine your boss wouldn't like me getting hurt anymore. Not right now. After I find the Door for him, sure. He'll throw me to you like a bone to dog."

"I ain't no dog."

"Of course not. You're an independent kind of man. Loyalty is nothing to you."

Freddie plunked down his fork. "Hey, I been nothing but loyal to Mr. Walter, and I'll be nothing but loyal to him. You think you're going to talk me into betraying him, you're out of your head."

"All I was saying was —"

"You want to help your girlfriend, then you listen to me — do what Mr. Walter told you to do. Find the Door." Freddie gave one sharp nod as if that made his point, picked up his fork, and returned to his meal.

Easier said.

Tapping his chin with the bottom of a spoon, Duncan regrouped. He knew Verido's real name, Dominic Rosini, and he knew that Nelson Walter had the wrong name. He knew that Verido faked a letter to Wilkinson asking for money and signed it Rufus Clubb, and that letter led to an abandoned farmhouse.

A thought struck Duncan and he used all his card cheating skills to look as frightened and unsure as he had been looking since Freddie arrived. He couldn't let on that he knew something far more important than all the rest — he knew magicians. If he wanted to find Verido, he had to start thinking like the man. Instead of a skilled magician from the twenty-first century, he had to think like an old-time magician, one who thrived on the image of mystery, the occult, and the idea that he alone had knowledge of secrets to powers that others only dreamed of.

If Duncan had been that kind of magician and wanted to disappear from the law and the world, how would he do it? A lot of early tricks were based on basic mathematic principles, except the majority of those tricks were the small, up close variety. Erasing a person from the world was a much larger trick and it most readily fit in the category of an illusion.

Big stage illusions relied heavily on all kinds of misdirection — diversions of one kind or another designed to draw the audiences' eyes away from where the trick really took place. So what kind of misdirection would Rosini require? For starters, he would have a false identity that he could utilize when contacting others. One like Rufus Clubb, for example.

Duncan thought over the note Wilkinson had kept hidden in the Door. Wilkinson said that he hadn't spoken to Rosini in years, so why would Rosini make contact suddenly? As Clubb, he had reached out to a man he knew could have been angry at being abandoned, could have turned him in to the police, or could even have concocted a lie to loose tough guys like Nelson Walter on him. What was so important as to risk an already successful escape?

The answer came in a flash — money.

The note had explicitly asked for it and in the hard times of The Great Depression, Rosini may have been in a financial situation so desperate that he saw no other choice. But he had a major problem. The law wanted him in connection to the disappearances during his stage show, and since nobody had turned up, those disappearances were starting to look like murder.

"He never meant to get the money himself," Duncan blurted out.

"Huh?" Freddie said.

Using a false name helped, but that didn't mean he could trust Wilkinson with the rest. The address may actually have belonged to Rufus Clubb, if there ever had been a man with that name, but that was all part of the illusion. If Dominic Rosini wanted to vanish and stay vanished, he needed for Wilkinson to think the money had been sent to the right address. That way, if the police questioned him, Wilkinson could only tell them where he mailed the money to.

Think, think, think.

Stage illusions were not Duncan's forte, but he understood the basic principles. And the most basic part of a stage act, especially one in the 30s, would be having a beautiful assistant — eye candy being one of the best misdirection techniques. So, Rosini required an accomplice. But how would that person get the money from the farmhouse without the police knowing, if they were watching, or the real Clubb, if he existed?

The ideas that came to Duncan all utilized modern surveillance — mini-cameras with a direct feed to a smartphone or a laptop, or even something as simple as night vision goggles. How would a man in the 1930s, one who was a criminal (at least, technically), solve this problem? As Freddie slurped his coffee, Duncan smiled.

"Let me ask you something." Duncan waited for Freddie to set his coffee down. "If you wanted money mailed to a false address so you could get it without anybody knowing, and it was possible that the cops were watching the address you gave, how would you get the money?"

Freddie gestured to the waitress for the check. "I don't talk with you. Understand? Just find the Door so I can go home."

"This is about the Door."

"How's this about the Door?"

"Look, I'm trying to do what your boss wants me to do, and he said you were here to help me. You don't help me, I can't do what he wants. That means we both fail him. You want to be responsible for screwing this whole thing up?"

As Freddie dug out his wallet, he scrunched his face at Duncan. "You say you want money sent to an address for a pick up?"

"Yeah, but nobody can know. Whoever lives at the address doesn't know. Even the guy sending the money doesn't know what's going on exactly, though he might know more of it than anybody else."

"Doesn't really matter. The only way you'll succeed is to have some help."

"I figured that much."

"If you're so damn smart, then stop asking me."

"But how do you use this person? Won't he be caught the moment he starts checking the mailbox of a stranger?"

"Which is why only a stupid person would do that. No, if you want to do something like this, you got to have a guy on the inside."

"Like a cop?"

"If you can get the cop watching the house, that'd make it simple. But cops out here aren't as easy to bend as those in a big city, and those that are already on the take belong to somebody else. You don't get a cop on your side for one job. It's a career move for them. Changes their entire lives. So, unless you're putting them on your payroll, that wouldn't work."

"Then what?"

"I'd find someone who works for the Post Office to help you out. Have him be looking for the false address with a specific return address, then he intercepts the letter and the police can sit on the house all they want."

"Because the letter never gets delivered." A great illusion. "That's how he did it."

"Did what?"

Duncan shot out of the booth. "Come on."

"Hey, I'm not done eating." Freddie hurried to catch up. "What's going on?"

"We're going to the Post Office."

 

Freddie did the driving.
At least some good came from having him around — Duncan had no desire to get behind the wheel in the near future. But Duncan's good luck was short-lived. When they reached the square, brick building with a painted sign that read
US Post Office — Lancaster
, they found the doors locked and the lights off.

"What did you expect? It's four in the morning," Freddie grumbled. "I knew I could've finished my food."

"I thought they worked all night."

"Maybe in Chicago or New York, but out here, they'll start around five, maybe five-thirty, if Johnny and the boys drank too much."

"And Johnny runs the route?"

"No. But he'll help us. Now, I'm still hungry and I'm tired. We got at least an hour until anybody shows. So shut up and close your eyes." Freddie slouched down and tipped his hat over his face.

An hour. A long time to wait. An eternity. Duncan's instincts fired up. No need to waste this time. He had no solid idea of what lay ahead, but after years of card games, he knew how to plant a seed for later use.

"How'd you end up in this racket anyway?" he said.

"Go to sleep," Freddie said from beneath his hat.

"I'm serious. A guy like you could be doing a lot better than being Nelson Walter's monkey."

Freddie whipped his hat off. "I am my own man. You understand that? I chose to work for Mr. Walter and I can leave whenever I damn well wish. I'm no monkey."

"Then why do it? I don't mean the illegal stuff. I get that. Heck, I haven't worked on honest day in my life either. But Nelson Walter? You shouldn't be stuck in the middle of Bumpkinville, Pennsylvania. A guy as tough and smart as you should be connected in Chicago. That's where I see you."

"Yeah, well, life don't work out the way you want it, and it ain't worked out for Mr. Walter either. But I don't betray people who been good to me just because times get bad."

"Loyalty is an admirable thing. Provided the man you're loyal to deserves it."

Freddie squinted as if Duncan's words had soured his mouth. "You tell me. My pop lost a lot in the Crash but not everything. We could've made it. Instead he kicks my ma and me to the curb. Probably wanted to get rid of us since I was born, and now he had his excuse. My ma tried to get a job but that was a joke. It wasn't long until she became a whore and ditched me, too. Hell, I was sixteen, so why not? What did she need me hanging around for? I lived in the streets for a week or so. Then Mr. Walter found me and took me in. He took care of me, he provided for me, and he never once thought about tossing me away. So, you tell me. Who should I be loyal to?"

"I understand. I do. And when it comes to doing the things you've done to me, I don't begrudge you one bit. But what about women and children? I mean, do you really think you should be loyal to a guy who's roughing up Lucy just to get to me?"

"Nobody's roughing her up. You got my word on that. Vincent's another story, but she'll be fine."

"If I don't come through, he's going to take her into that back room. You know it."

"I won't let that happen."

"You won't have a choice."

"Listen, Mr. Walter can go overboard sometimes, I know. But that doesn't mean he ain't worth everything I do for him. He's lived a hard life, too. He knows how important it is to have people around you that you can trust. You know, you're playing this all wrong. Mr. Walter isn't just using you. He likes you. Likes the way you do those card tricks. I think he'd much rather you went along with us, became part of the group. And I don't think it's too late, neither. You do what he says, and you'll see. He'll reward you fine."