The Amazing Harvey (25 page)

“Later, okay?”

“C'mon.”

“Sorry. I really gotta talk to Mom.”

I hurried through the house, then out the back door. Mom was on her knees in the garden. She was daubing black paste on a twig that was tied to the gnarled branch of a bare-limbed shrub.

I said, “Mom?”

She looked up, sprang to her feet, ran to me, and grabbed me under my arms in a bear hug. Mom squeezed my ribs so hard that my hands involuntarily went out to the sides.

I closed my arms around her and hugged.

Has she always been this short?

I said, “You shouldn't have put up your house.”

She looked up with shiny eyes. “That woman told you?”

Yikes!
“No, no.”
Think, think.…
“The, uh, bail bondsman told me.”

Mom went back to squeezing my chest. “You weren't supposed to know.”

“And you weren't supposed to do that. But thank you. I'll pay back every penny.”

“Shut up.” Mom's chest heaved against mine. I could feel my shirt getting wet against her face.

I looked over my shoulder. The three foster kids were in the back doorway, spying on us. When they saw me looking, they giggled and disappeared.

I said, “Mom…”

She let go and stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Yes?”

“I want to … I mean…” Maybe I'd better ease into this twin thing.

I gestured toward the twig she'd been daubing. “What were you doing down there?”

She looked at the shrub, then back at me. “Grafting a plum tree. You cut a notch in the bark of a root stock, then slant-cut the branch from a young tree, tie them together, and paint the joint with a grafting sealant. They'll grow together and I'll get a strong plant. You hungry?”

“No.”

She bent down to pick up her knife and the bottle of dark paste she'd been daubing. When she straightened up, she said, “What's eating you? I mean, besides the arrest.”

“Isn't that enough?”

She tightened the cap on the paste bottle. “Yes. But it's not all that's on your mind.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I'm your mother, and mothers know these things. Spit it out.”

I shifted my weight. I glanced at the back door. The kids' heads disappeared.

I stared at the branch she'd been grafting and said, “I got to thinking about my DNA at the crime scene. I mean, how it could have gotten there.”

She put the knife in the pocket of her jeans. “And…”

“See, magicians sometimes use twins in their act. So I thought, well, maybe I might have a twin. That would explain the DNA.”

She screwed her mouth to the side, like she wasn't sure if I was joking. “A twin?”

“Yeah.”

“Let's see.…” She squinted her eyes and put the tip of her index finger against her lips, in a mock thinking gesture. “I'm sure I would've remembered a second kid coming out.”

“Mom, I'm serious.”

She furrowed her forehead. “No, Harvey. You don't have a twin.”

I cleared my throat. “Am I adopted?”

Her head jerked back. “What did you say?”

“Am I—”

“You think I wouldn't have told you something like that?”

“Well, I … I dunno. I mean, yes, of course I'm sure you'd have told me, but maybe you were worried about my feelings or something?”

Mom shook her head.

I said, “It doesn't matter if I am. I love you. But if I was separated from a twin—”

“It's been two generations since they separated twins for adoption.” Her eyes teared. “You think I lied to you all these years?” The bottle of paste fell out of her hand.

“No, no, of course not.” I retrieved the paste bottle and handed it to her. “It's just … just that I'm getting desperate.”

Mom snatched the bottle from me. Still frowning, she said, “It took me two years to get pregnant with you. Two years.”

“Mom, I'm—”

“Come with me.”

She stomped into the house, scattering the foster kids like frightened geese. I followed behind. When we got to the kitchen, Mom motioned her head toward the table. “Sit.”

She left the kitchen.

I sat down slowly.

From her bedroom, I heard some clanking. A few moments later, Mom came back with a gray metal lockbox and clunked it hard on the table. She stuck a key in the lock and turned.

Mom opened the lid with a squeal. The insides smelled like old paper. She pawed through, took out a few photos, and shoved them at me.

I looked at the top picture. Mom, with her legs in hospital stirrups, her face beaded with sweat. A doctor was pulling a mucus-covered baby's head out of her. She said, “Harvey Allen Kendall, age ten seconds.”

I dropped the picture. “Eeeew. Yuck. Mom, that's gross.”

“You believe me now?”

I pushed the photo away. “I believed you before.”

Mom threw the pictures into the box and slammed the lid.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

 

After Mom dropped me off at my apartment house, I trudged up the stairs. Were the steps always this hard to climb?

In my mind, I still had a vivid image of my gross birth photo.

Do those things fade with time?

Who shows something like that to their kid?

As I walked down the hall to my apartment, I wondered if I'd find a sheriff's lock on the door. Don't they, like, have to take you to court before they can evict you? Is there an excuse for being in jail?

I unlocked the door, shoved it open, and started to walk in.

I stopped in the doorway.

The living room floor was covered with open books, CDs, clothes, and couch pillows. Looking through the bedroom door, I saw that my bed had been stripped and the linens were in a messy pile on the floor. My dresser drawers were pulled out.

Guess the cops finally got around to searching my apartment.

Shit.

I let out a sigh and took a step inside. My magic trunks were open. The tricks were strewn on the carpet. Did you figure out the secrets, you assholes? If you damaged one single trick, I'll sue the shit out of you. I took a few steps toward the kitchen. The cabinet doors were ajar. The shelves were empty. Dishes, silverware, and cereal boxes were scattered on the counter.

I turned and walked slowly through the living room. Is this what a battlefield feels like after a war?

I went into my bedroom and saw Lisa standing on the dresser. When she saw me, her eyes went red. She screeched and tried to fly to me, flapping off feathers as she fluttered to the carpet. I picked her up and stroked her chest. Her expression was a mixture of
Thank God you're back
and
Where the hell have you been, you sonofabitch?

I put Lisa on my shoulder. She sidestepped close to my neck. I sat on the bare mattress and looked around. The open dresser drawers were empty. Everything had been dumped on the floor.

They poked through my most private things? Even the ancient condoms? Did you get a good laugh when you saw they hadn't been used for years? My head throbbed.

I really ought to clean this up.

I put Lisa on my finger, laid back on the bed, and closed my eyes. I'll just rest for a few minutes.…

*   *   *

I dreamed I was swimming in dark water. In the distance, something was chirping. It grew louder. I tried to swim toward it. Can't see. Am I moving? Am I going backward?

I opened my eyes. The chirping was my phone's electronic ring. Lisa was standing on the mattress near my head, pecking at the ticking. I picked up the bird, groaned off the bed, and answered the phone.

Hannah said, “How are you doing?”

“Fabulous. Best day of my life.”

Silence.

I said, “When I got home, I found my apartment had been redecorated by the Los Angeles Society of Interior Cops.”

She blew out a breath. “I've seen their work.” I heard Hannah shuffling papers. “I'm meeting your friend David Hu as soon as he gets back in town. We need his alibi to have any shot at reasonable doubt. I want to make sure he's solid.”

“He will be.”
I sincerely hope.

Hannah said, “I hate to bring this up now, but I got a call from the DNA lab. They said your bill hasn't been paid.”

I grimaced. “I know. I'm a little short.” I started pacing.

Hannah let out a breath. “I'm willing to ride with you on my fees, but we can't put on much of a defense if we can't pay the lab. They may not tell me the results if there's an outstanding bill. And if they find a glitch in the DNA, we'll need someone from the lab to testify, which won't be a small number.”

“I'll take care of it.”

“How?”

I raised my voice. “I'll take care of it.”

She hung up.

I looked at the dead phone.

Called Hannah back.

Got her voice mail.

After slamming down the phone, I checked my answering machine.

No messages.

Over two days?

My agent, Marty, knew where I was, so I guess he wouldn't have called. Wouldn't Carly call to see how I'm doing? She probably doesn't know I'm out of jail. Why didn't she leave a message, you know, for when I was back?

I checked my cell phone. No voice mails. No missed calls.

I dialed Carly's number. When the voice mail answered, I said, “I just wanted to say thanks for calling my lawyer. I'm so sorry you had to see that. It was all a mistake and I'm at home now. Please call me.”

I called Marty's cell. He answered right away.

I said, “What's up with the Vegas gig?”

I heard the sound of traffic in the background.

I said, “Marty?”

He spoke evenly. “Do you, by any slight chance, remember that you got arrested while Bernie was watching?”

“Hang on. Lemme see.… Oh yeah. I
did
get arrested, you flaming asshole.”

“Getting hauled off by the cops didn't exactly inspire his confidence.”

I shook my head. “It was just a misunderstanding. Besides, what's that got to do with the Vegas gig? Bernie said he loved me.”

“He did. He's just a teensy bit concerned that if he books you into one of his rooms, you could become, shall we say, ‘indisposed'?”

“That's ridiculous.”

“No, it's not. How'd you like to run a theater and wonder if your headliner is going to the slammer?”

I shifted the phone to my other ear. “It's not like I'd just disappear overnight. Even if I got jail time, which is highly unlikely, he'd have plenty of notice.”
I think.

“Yeah, well, that's nice. Unfortunately, there's a shitload of magicians who aren't involved with the criminal justice system. Harvey, the Vegas gig is dead until this thing is settled.”

I sat down so fast that Lisa dug her claws into my shoulder. “Marty, I need the money.”

“And I could use the ten percent. Sorry. I tried. I really did.”

I slammed down the phone.

I felt my heartbeat in my ears.

All right.
Think.

I rubbed my eyes.

How do I beat this thing?

Shit.

Even I'm starting to wonder if maybe I sleepwalked and killed her.…

I stopped rubbing my eyes and saw flashing pinpoints. I blinked them away and looked around my messy apartment. Man. They even dumped out my overdue bills. Next to that pile was the crumpled eviction notice.

The Vegas gig is on hold. The school system obviously has me on their
Ten Most Un-Wanted
list. I can't take any more money from Mom. It'll take me years to pay back the hundred grand.

I blew out a ruffled breath through my lips. Only one way to raise the money.

I stepped carefully through the crap on my living room floor, got down on my knees, and dug out my address book. I stood up and opened it to the
G
's. Stared at the page. Can I do this?

I punched in the first six digits of the phone number.

Put my finger on the last one.

Started to push it.

Hung up.

I looked at Lisa and said, “You got any ideas?” She cocked her head.

I dialed the number.

One ring.

Should I hang up?

Second ring.

Maybe he won't answer.

Herb Gold picked up. “Yeah?”

“Herb, it's Harvey. Tell Copperfield I'll sell my crystal trunk.”

I heard a band saw in the background. “Sorry, kid. I know that's tough.”

“Tell him I want a hundred grand for it.”

Herb laughed. “Just a hundred? Why don't you go for half a mil?”

I sat on the arm of my couch. “I'm serious.”

“Sorry, this is Herb Gold. Did you mean to call the nut ward at L.A. County Hospital?”

I stood up. “I need a hundred grand.”

“And I could use a nine-inch dick.”

I scrunched the phone between my shoulder and my ear. “Herb, I'm not just selling the trick. I'm selling my shot at the big leagues.”

“Kid, he offered twenty-five. That was a stretch.”

“You said thirty.”

“I said I'd
try
for thirty. He offered twenty-five.”

“Well, the price is a hundred.”

“So in other words, you don't really want to sell.”

“Tell him that's the offer.”

I hung up.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

 

Throughout the evening, I tried Carly every couple of hours.

Next morning, I called her as soon as I woke up. No answer.

Maybe she's out of town. I'm sure she'll call as soon as she gets the messages.

Wouldn't she have her cell with her?

Maybe she left her cell at home. Maybe it's got a dead battery.

*   *   *

When I got to Hannah's office the next morning, she was typing on her computer. I started filing.