Magician

by Timothy C. Phillips

  “So you want to know how I did it. Everybody wants to know how I do my tricks. I’m pretty good, huh? But I guess you’re pretty good, too, because you and your friend found me. I hate to dwell on that, but after all of this time! Imagine my surprise.”

  Fain looked away, pursed his lips for a second, then smiled and looked down at me.

  “It was easy. Most tricks are, once you know the secret,” he said with a strange light in his eyes. “Georgia and I, we had an arrangement. She was going to meet me. She had another set of shoes ready.”

  He saw something in my eyes and laughed.

  “Don’t believe me, eh? No matter. It’s true. We had a relationship. It was something you wouldn’t understand. She was the one I’d been looking for. So I planned it with her. I told her I would take her away from there. She wasn’t happy.” He seemed rapt by his own voice. I struggled desperately to free myself from the bonds. It was no use. They were very tight.

  “You were dressed as Jokey, I know that much. You knew he always went to take his insulin around noon. Maybe you were watching. But how did you get out?”

  Samson Fain laughed again.

  “Yes, You are very good indeed. I had long since mastered old Joe’s make-up, and his costume. He was an old fool. They all were, they should never have gotten rid of me. Me! I was the best, a hell of a lot better than those old losers. As far as the Champion house that day, you’re right. I just walked right in. All of the kids were sitting in that little side room, watching television. I was scared out of my mind, but no one said a word. There was one little blond boy I’ll always remember. He locked eyes with me as I came in, and I was sure I was busted. But he turned and went right back to watching the TV. I could have shit my pants.”

  “How did you get her out of there? Did you carry the body out?”

  “Don’t be an asshole. She walked out on her own. I told you. There was no abduction. She changed shoes and walked out. Took her picture right outside the door. All in two minutes. She wanted to come, you understand? That’s all it took, two minutes, tops.”

  “Not true,” I said. I suddenly understood Fain’s real need, why he did what he did. It was because no one wanted him, and he wanted them to. It was important for him to make someone believe.

  “She didn’t go with you. You lied to her, and lured her outside. Then you knocked her out. What did you use, chloroform?”

  Fain shook his head, and his face darkened, the beast coming back to the surface now. “You smart son of a bitch. Yeah, okay, I told her I had a special gift for her outside. I gave her the flower, the ring. That’s why she came out; that’s why she sent the little boy away. I told her it was a secret. Kids will do anything when you tell them that. She had changed her shoes; she was following my instructions. I chloroformed her after the picture was taken, and slid her into this very van. Right where you’re lying right now. I was in and out of the Champion house, though. No one knew anything, and I had what I came for. Me and the little girl, gone forever.”

  “And you do that with the other ones. You lie to them to get them to help you. That’s your secret. You’re no magician.”

  “Ah. Temper, temper. You know a lot. More than anyone else ever has. Congratulations. But now it dies with you.”

  “But what happened to her? Where is Georgia Champion?”

  “That’s enough. Some things, you don’t ever get to know.” He reached in and dragged me from the van, and I went down on my knees in the hot sand. Fain reached down and ripped open my collar and stuck the blade of the hunting knife to my throat. The point caught on the steel chain I wore around my neck. From it dangled a silver poker chip, pierced by a single bullet hole.

  “Now what in the world is this?” Fain asked in a bemused voice. He toyed with the charm, picking it up by the bullet hole with the point of the knife.

  “That’s my good luck charm,” I answered hoarsely.

  “Too bad for you I’m not superstitious,” Fain said with a smirk.

  Suddenly blood sprayed into my eyes, and Fain fell to his knees and flopped over onto his side, a large gash in his right temple. Tiller was standing over him, a shovel in his hands, the ropes slack around his wrists.

  “Abracadabra, asshole,” he said weakly. “My big trick,” he said, and his smile was so weak it was frightening.

  Fain was lying very still.

  “Tiller. Give me that knife.”

  With a groan, Tiller picked up Fain’s knife and handed it to me. I grunted and leaned against the van, scraping the blade edge against my bonds. Tiller appeared to lose consciousness again. The knife was very sharp, and in a few seconds I had the ropes around my wrists sliced in two. There were deep furrows in my wrists; my left hand felt like it was asleep. I took the knife in my right hand and sliced the bonds binding my feet.

  I grabbed Tiller and dragged him to the front of the van.

  “Come on, Tiller. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  I pushed Tiller up into the van, and slammed the doors and ran around to the driver’s door. The keys were gone.

  “Damn it.”

  I went back around to where Fain lay, and rifled his pockets quickly. I found the keys in the front pocket of his pants. Away in the desert, I saw a plume of dust. It was Conrad, in the four-wheel drive. He might be bringing others. We had to get out of there.

  I climbed into the Van and started the engine. It roared to life. I pulled out and down the ramp, and headed out into the open desert. I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t care.

  “We . . . have to get Fain . . . ” Tiller mumbled.

  “Sheriff Payne and his men can collect Fain.”

  “Where . . . ? Where are we going?”

  “Don’t know,” I panted.

  I’m getting the hell away from here.

  I spun the wheel wildly a few times to escape running over rocky outcroppings in the dirt. I kept looking behind us. The four-wheel drive had gone up to the mine entrance, where Fain lay knocked out. It wouldn’t be long and they’d be coming after the two of us.

  * * *

  Deputy Cale was supremely pissed. He had lost track of Longville the day before when he’d been called to move some escaped cattle off the road. Since then, he’d periodically driven the roads in search of the small blue rental sedan that he’d seen them in a few days earlier. He hadn’t had any luck. So when the call came over the radio that a motorist had reported a blue sedan stuck in a gully, Cale had jumped at the chance to answer the call. It wasn’t what he expected, though. The motorist who had reported the car had been westbound on a dirt access that ran away from Highway 191 at a right angle. The car was several miles out in the rough. Whoever was driving had driven away from the main road.

  Cale walked around the wrecked car. It was up on its side, so whoever had been driving had exited by climbing up and out the passenger door, and then . . . He squatted and looked closely at the ground. They had walked out through the desert.

  “Now who would do something like that?” Cale asked the empty air.

  Or Why?

  He walked further out into the sand. There was another set of tracks there. Maybe Longville and his friend had been following someone.

  “Baker 11 to S.O,” Cale called into his hand held radio.

  He’d call it in, then follow those tracks. And then, by God, he’d get to the bottom of this whole damned mess once and for all.

  Chapter 28

  I had no idea where I was headed. I was driving as fast as I dared, but the four-wheel drive had already appeared in the rearview mirror and was growing rapidly larger.

  I looked over at Tiller. His eyes were open, but his head bobbed with every bump we went over. He was in bad shape, that much was obvious.

  “Hang in there, Tiller. I’ll get you to a hospital.”

  The rear view mirror was telling me a story I didn’t want to hear; the Red Four-wheel drive was almost upon us.

  I tried to zigzag.

  I tried to sere w
ho was driving the chase car; it had to be the dwarf. A shot rang out, and the driver’s side mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Tiller shook groggily awake again.

  I looked desperately at the older man. “Tiller. Buddy, hang in there. I need a little help here. I don’t know where I’m going.”

  Tiller raised a shaky hand and pointed. His voice was a bare whisper. “Go that way.”

  “What’s over there? Tiller?” But it was no use, he was out again. Trusting Tiller and whatever luck I had left, I turned the wheel in the direction the stricken man had pointed, and floored it.

  The van leapt over a small rise and landed heavily. Another shot hit the back door of the van and whistled through the interior of the van, the bullet screaming past my right shoulder before blowing the windshield out. That was too damn close for comfort!

  The sound of the four-wheel drive’s screaming engine right behind me was enough to let me know that we had been overtaken, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  The van lurched over another rise in the road, and I was suddenly looking at the town of Inspiration. We were rapidly approaching the parade ground. There were people out there, too. A lot of them.

  “Hold together baby!” I urged the van. I pointed it toward the center of town, and laid on the horn. The people were staring, some pointing. As we drew rapidly closer, I could see them start to scatter.

  Good. Run. And keep running.

  We were almost there when the next bullet hit. The rear right tire blew, and the van began to fishtail crazily. Ahead of me, I saw people dropping cotton candy and screaming as they dove for cover under rides and vehicles.

  Fain’s next shot went high and missed completely, but the damage was done. I slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel, trying desperately not to kill anyone, including Tiller and myself. The van immediately tipped over toward the passenger side. I grabbed Tiller and pulled him up, to where the seat belts held him in. Dirt spewed in, choking me, filling my eyes.

  There was a tremendous impact as the four-wheel drive grazed the van, spinning us around. I watched, awestruck, as the four-wheel drive sailed by, airborne. Fain was no longer in the back, I noted absently. With the same detached air, I also noticed that the vehicle landed on all four wheels, a marvel of modern engineering.

  Then I noticed that it was headed for a fuel island to one side of the grounds, and there was no way it would stop in time.

  I grabbed Tiller in a fireman’s carry, and ran away from the van as fast as my shaken condition would allow. I counted the seconds, gritting my teeth and praying with every step that I would be able to make another one. I ran twenty yards, thirty, drawing on a resource of strength from somewhere deep within me. Behind me the world exploded, and the ground shook. I was flattened by a shockwave, and then there were other explosions, as oil and gas containers went up in flames.

  There was a trailer nearby and I rolled under it, dragging Tiller with me. Then there was a rain of smoking metal and wood, deadly mindless missiles that fell haphazardly, some sticking into the soft sand, some landing on combustible material and starting small fires. Black smoke rolled over us, stealing our breath, making us gasp for air.

  A hideous scream filled the air and I turned to see Conrad running, engulfed in flame. He went about twenty feet and fell down, clawing at the sand. Flames greedily devoured his small body.

  I crawled over and felt Tiller’s pulse, and was relieved to find that there was still one there. He looked pretty bad, and I was sure that I didn’t look much better.

  The few people remaining in the area were quickly leaving it. I heard cries as people tried to summon help from within town to cope with the disaster. Blazing fuel cans were coming to earth like meteorites, starting additional fires in circus tents all over the fairground.

  I grabbed my injured friend and dragged him away from the fire, toward the center of town. Then I looked back toward the flames.

  I couldn’t believe what I saw. Fain was walking steadily toward us. He was covered in soot, but he did not appear to be burned. He seemed to emerge from the fire, another terrifying illusion from his long résumé.

  I looked at the still nearly unconscious Tiller, and said softly, “Don’t look now Tiller, but here comes the bad guy.”

  Fain pulled a length of metal pipe from the ground as he strode closer. If it was hot to the touch, he gave no sign.

  I found a board in the rubble nearby. There were nails in it. That might help. I stepped away from Tiller and into the middle of the road. Fain and I faced each other for a second.

  “Well, here we are, the Good, the Bad, and unconscious,” I said. “Come and get it you crazy bastard.”

  With a roar, Fain came at me. He swung the pipe with all his might, but I managed to duck and roll under under it. I brought the broken board up hard between Fain’s legs. He grunted in pain, but swatted downward with the pipe, sending a blinding flash of pain through my injured shoulder. Gasping, I dropped the board and ran toward a large tent that was already on fire on one side.

  I ran inside the tent. Fain, limping slightly, stopped just outside. “You can’t get away! Come on out, and let’s finish this!” he called out. He edged closer to the opening of the tent, and peered inside. “This won’t work, mister private eye!”

  Finally, out of frustration, Fain yelled and charged into the tent, the pipe help out in front of him with both hands, like a battleaxe.

  I ran to the back of the tent, and rolled out from under the side, just as the tent started to collapse.

  “Hey—” Fain’s next words were muffled as the burning tent collapsed on him. Smoke filled his eyes, and took his breath. The fairground was dotted with fires, and burning debris from secondary explosions was still flying through the air.

  I ran back to where I had left Tiller, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He was sitting up against a big trailer tire. “I think we’d better get out of here,” he rasped. I looked around. The fairground was a lake of fire.

  I looked down at Tiller. “Can you walk?”

  Tiller rose shakily to his feet, leaning against the tire for support. “Can you?”

  We leaned on each other and started limping toward town. Tiller stopped after a moment. “Hey, you hear that?” Off in the distance I heard the wonderful sound of a siren.

  I looked at Tiller and nodded. “Hallelujah, brother!”

  We went limping toward the town arm in arm, leaning on each other for support. The air was full of the roar of fire and the smoke was oppressive. I was about to give Tiller a few words of encouragement when Fain hit us from behind.

  All three of us went sprawling.

  I rolled and sprang to my feet at the same time Fain got to his. He roared, a pure animal sound of rage, and charged at me, his eyes filled with hate. I was standing there, my hands empty, when I realized I still had the hunting knife I’d scooped up from the floor of the van.

  I yanked it from my belt as Fain came on, and held it out in front of me. It was all I had the strength left to do. Fain saw it just as he bore down on me, but it was too late. His momentum sent me flying again. My head struck the wall of a trailer, and I fell back, dazed. Fain grunted and sank to his knees, then with a supreme effort, struggled to his feet.

  Fain was standing in front of me, silent and still. He did not come at me, this time. Instead, he looked down at his midsection, where the hunting knife protruded, and let out a long, low sound. He took one, two, three deep breaths, and pulled it out; the blade made a wet sucking sound as it exited the wound.

  “So that’s where I put that thing!” he growled. He shook himself. “Okay, mister private eye. This is our last dance. He held the knife up, and it was black with blood that beaded and ran down his arm. “It’s going to take more than a little old knife to do me in.”

  The Jeep hit him squarely, knocking him fifteen feet from where he was standing. The vehicle slid to a stop in the sand, sending red dust up to mingle with the black petroleum
smoke. Traci jumped out and ran over to me. “Roland, are you all right? Oh, please be all right! I should never have let you out of my sight! Look at you!”

  “Traci. I’m . . . I’m not that bad.”

  A siren blared, and a police cruiser covered with dust pulled in from the opposite direction.

  Deputy Cale emerged from the vehicle, slamming the door.

  “Lady, are you crazy? You just ran that man down!”

  “Him! That’s him!” Traci shouted, pointing at Fain.

  Cale turned toward Fain, his eyes getting wider. For the first time, it dawned on him what was going on.

  “Holy shit, he’s alive. I never would have believed it. That big bastard is still alive.” He ran back toward his squad car, and reappeared with a shotgun, which he leveled at Fain. “Okay, big boy, stay right there and don’t move!”

  I struggled to keep my eyes open. I willed myself to speak. The world was getting hazy. I raised my arm and pointed, out, over the desert.

  “You have to go out there,” I said, my voice a ragged whisper.

  Traci was kneeling beside him. “What, Roland, what is it?”

  “The girl is over there, in an old ghost town.” My eyes were closing despite my best efforts, but I could hear their voices.

  “What’s he saying?” Cale asked her, without taking his eyes off Fain.

  “There’s an old ghost town out beyond the mesa,” Traci told him “He’s saying that we need to go check it out. I think he’s saying that there’s a girl out there.”

  “Ghost town? Which old ghost town?”

  “That one, straight over there, I think . . . the one the kids call Kashmir.”

  Another voice joined them, a deep baritone. Sheriff Payne was there now.

  “Not Kashmir, it’s called Cauchemar. We’ll take care of them. Cale, good work. Take Deputy Wade and go check out that ghost town.”

  “Will do, sheriff.” Cale and another man piled into the dusty squad car and drove away. I summoned enough energy to open my eyes again. There were more police piling out of cars, and I heard an ambulance come wailing into the area. Payne was standing over me. “The ambulances are here. You and your friend are going to be fine. Damn good work, Longville. Hell on the carnival, though.”