The Bullet Trick (26 page)

Inside there was a fusion of damp, floor polish and books that hit me a smack of nostalgia for a time I’d almost forgotten. The foyer was as dark as I remembered, a notice-board on the wall covered in a confusion of posters and notices for classes, assignments, student theatre shows, political meetings and books for sale. I had a sudden memory of saturating campus with starry homemade advertisements for my new brand of magic. The scent of nostalgia was overlaid by the smell of turps and paint, the stairway swathed in spattered dustsheets, and suddenly it made sense why Johnny had given me this address.

A man in white overalls was balanced near the top of a long ladder in the stairwell reaching up towards a barely accessible slant of the underside of the stairs. I walked up towards him, the steps creaking under my weight; I could feel a corresponding creak in my chest that hadn’t been there when I’d used these buildings fifteen years ago. The painter peered down and I said, 'Can you tell me where Johnny is, mate?'

The man’s roller continued moving white on white across the wall; he was doing a fine job.

'Johnny?'

'Aye, he said he was working here, I think he’s probably one of your guys.'

'Oh, John.' The man pointed his roller upwards. 'Second floor, first room on the right, clap the door afore you go in: they might have the ladder in front of it.'

'Cheers.'

I kept on climbing. Johnny’s dad had been a painter decorator. I wondered if the firm had fallen to him now. Johnny had been smart enough to do whatever he wanted, but hash and booze had always threatened to hold him back. I’d been no better, spending the best part of my grant in the union bar before leaving halfway through my third year. I reached the second floor, turned right and rapped on the large dark-varnished door. A voice shouted, 'Aye, it’s clear.' And I went through. A broad-set, balding man was poised on the top of the ladder at the far side of the room painting the walls a sunshine yellow that looked washed out in the dim light. His apprentice was crouched on the floor, touching up the skirting near the door.

'I was looking for John.'

The older man stopped mid stroke and stared down from his ladder.

'You’ve found him. What can I do for you, son?'

I glanced at the nameplates on a couple of the doors until a uniformed attendant with a bundle of late-afternoon post tucked under his arm asked if he could help me. I saw myself as he must see me, a scruffy middle-aged waster skulking round a university campus, and gave him a grin to liven up his nightmares.

'Aye, is there a good pub round here?'

The guard directed me to one of my old student haunts, staring at me as if storing up my description for later use. I felt his eyes on my back as I walked down the stairs and supposed he’d reach for his radio as soon as I was out of earshot, alerting the rest of the security squad to the potential menace in range. I looked back up at his worried face peering down from the top of the stairwell and held my right hand up.

'May the lord hold you and keep you.'

Making a sign of the cross with my index finger just to freak him out. Then the front door opened behind me letting in a blast of sudden spring air.

'William!'

Johnny’s greeting caught me mid-genuflection.

The guard shouted down, 'Everything OK, Dr Mac?'

Johnny gave the grin that I bet swelled his lectures with swell young female students and nodded up at the guard.

'Fine thanks, Gordon, I’ll look after Mr Wilson.' My old friend turned to me. 'You’ve still got good timing.' Johnny’s hair was slightly wet, his face flushed. He smelt of something fresh and sporty. 'I just dropped by to dump this.'

I glanced at the sports bag he was carrying, suddenly feeling tongue-tied, and reached into my pocket for the fifty pounds he’d lent me, handing it over awkwardly.

'I wanted to return this.'

'Aye, thanks,' Johnny rubbed his fingers through his damp hair. 'I hope you didn’t mind…'

'No,' I tried for a smile. 'It helped to know someone had faith in me.' The weight of the hours I’d spent in the Mitchell that morning, searching out old newspaper accounts of crimes and cruelties, suddenly weighed on me. 'I was just going for a pint, d’you fancy one?'

John hesitated.

'I do but I can’t.'

I remembered the way that Eilidh had looked at me in the police cell.

'Fair enough.'

'No, it’s not that. It’s just I promised to get home early. Listen I’ve some beers in the fridge, why don’t you come back with me?'

'I’m not sure that Eilidh would be so pleased to see me.'

John ran his hand through his hair again.

'Don’t be daft. If you hadn’t dropped by I would have got your number from her and called you.'

'Ach I don’t know, John.'

'Well I do. I need a favour and you owe me at least the one.'

John’s flat was just off Byres Road, a quick fifteen-minute walk from his office. He was waylaid twice by students and each time used me as an excuse to move on.

'Looks like you’re a celebrity, Dr John.'

He laughed.

'They always get friendlier towards the end of term — exam time.'

I said, 'I’m impressed.' Realising I meant it. 'What happened?' John looked at the ground as he walked.

'Nothing much. I discovered that I quite liked philosophy, screwed the nut, passed the exams, applied for a postgrad. And the rest is history.'

'You were free of a pernicious influence.'

'Don’t flatter yourself.'

He turned into a close.

'Here we are.'

Johnny’s flat looked big enough to accommodate six students. But any resemblance to the semi-slums we’d once shared stopped there. The hallway was painted a tasteful parchment shade that made the best of its high ceiling, the walls were hung with bright prints and the floor carpeted with pale sea-grass matting. He led me through shouting, 'That’s me back.'

A smartly dressed woman in her sixties stepped briskly into the hallway.

'Wheessht, I’ve just got her down.'

Johnny lowered his voice.

'Whoops, sorry.'

The woman smiled expectantly at me, perhaps imagining I was a scruffy visiting philosopher.

'This is William, an old friend from university.'

The woman’s face lost some of its welcome.

'I think maybe Eilidh mentioned you.'

I nodded.

'All good I hope.'

And the old woman gave me a sharp look that told me not to take her for a fool. She turned to John.

'Grace’s had her feed, so she should sleep for a while yet.'

'Thanks, Margaret.'

'A pleasure as always.' She took down her jacket from the coat stand. 'Sorry to be in such a rush: book group night.'

John handed her a smart leather bag that had been left by the door.

'I remember. Have a good time.'

'Oh, it’s always interesting, even when you don’t like the book.' Margaret finished fastening her coat and gave John a quick peck on the cheek. 'You take good care of my grandchild.' She knotted a small silk scarf round her throat, tucking it into the collar of her coat. 'I’ll see you tomorrow. And goodbye Mr…'

'Wilson.'

'Yes, I thought that was it. I’ll probably not see you again so I hope things go a bit better for you.'

I bent into a slight bow.

'Thank you.'

She gave me a nod that said she’d do for me if she saw me again and I smiled to show that I understood.

John closed the door behind her. 'Sorry ’bout that.'

'You can’t get the staff these days.'

He smiled, relieved I hadn’t taken offence.

'Come on, I’ll get you a beer then I’d best check on the wean.'

The kitchen was large and homely with a scrubbed-pine table at its centre. I sat there nursing the bottle of weak French lager Johnny had given me, trying not to listen to him talking to his sleeping daughter on the baby intercom. When he came back he was smiling.

'How old is she?'

'Ten months.'

'Congratulations. Next thing you know you’ll be getting married.'

'You always had an uncanny knack for prediction. Date’s set for July. Have a seat. My affianced won’t be in for a while yet.' I resolved to be gone before Eilidh came home. Johnny reached into the fridge, helping himself to a beer. 'What are you up to right now?'

'Nothing much.'

'Nothing much or nothing at all?'

'Why d’you want to know?' I took out my cigarettes then hesitated. 'Is it OK to smoke?'

'Eilidh’s not so keen on it in the house.' I slid them back in my pocket. John looked at me and laughed. 'You’ll get me shot, William.' He reached into a cupboard and selected a saucer. 'Here, use this.'

'Sure?'

He opened the window above the sink.

'Course.'

'Want one?'

'More than my life’s worth mate. Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. Are you working?'

'Why’re you so interested?'

'Apart from the usual social niceties? I might have a gig for you.'

Johnny leaned back in his kitchen chair and started to tell me what he had in mind.

Berlin

THE SCHALL UND RAUCH’S joiner had made a fine job of the task I’d set him. The box was perfect; a shiny metallic blue, decorated with a zodiac motif of constellations and multi-ringed Saturns that would shine from the stage and draw the audience’s eyes from other distractions.

Sylvie stood on stage in the empty auditorium next to Nixie the hula-hoop girl, while I explained how the trick would work.

'OK ladies, this is a classic illusion, I am going to slice my elegant assistant Sylvie here in half, and you, Nixie, are going to be the legs of the operation.'

Nixie looked bewildered, Sylvie translated and the hula girl’s giggle followed a beat after.

'OK,' I wheeled out the box and lifted its lid, 'Sylvie this is where you go, head and hands sticking out the wee holes in this end, feet poking out the other.' Sylvie and Nixie looked at the box. 'OK?'

Sylvie nodded.

'OK.'

'Right, Nixie.' I smiled at the blonde girl. 'Unfortunately, you’re not going to get the benefit of the audience’s applause, but you are going to get the satisfaction of knowing you’ve been instrumental in successfully pulling off one of the classic illusions in the conjurer’s calendar.'