Shell Game

by Carol O’Connell

  „Hopefully,“ said Charles. „No fakes if that’s what you mean. But we can’t shoot with them today. They need a good cleaning and new strings.“

  Riker sat on the bottom step of the platform and looked up at Mallory. „So you figure one of those old guys for a suspect?“

  The clockwork gears were still moving. Tick, tick, tick -

  „They were at the Central Park magic show, and the parade too.“

  „So was Charles,“ said Riker, smiling.

  – tick, tick -

  „Charles is excused.“ But Riker was not.

  „Okay, Mallory.“ His tone was entirely too condescending. „Now what about the gunman in the crowd, the balloon killer?“

  – tick -

  Mallory turned on her partner. „What do you care, Riker? You and the lieutenant think I lied about that shooting. That’s why Coffey won’t let me do the interviews. And you don’t even bother to tag the evidence.“

  – tick, tick, tick, tick -

  For a large man, Charles Butler could move with surprising stealth. He was melting away, slipping back inside the platform, where the atmosphere was less disturbing and possibly safer.

  „Hold on, Mallory.“ Riker rose to a stand. „You’re way out of line.“

  – tick, tick, tick -

  Her own voice was devoid of inflection. „I was a fool to tell you I shot that rat. You handed Coffey ammunition for his nutcase lecture. Did you guys practice that routine?“ Her hands were rising, and his eyes got a little wider. Maybe he thought she meant to strike him.

  – tick, tick -

  Arms raised above her head in the prisoner’s posture, she turned her body in a slow revolution to show him that she was not concealing a weapon. „When you report back to Lieutenant Coffey, tell him I’m not wearing a gun today. All the rats can rest easy.“ The implication was clear – she included him among the vermin.

  – tick -

  Riker was about to say something, but then thought better of it, closing his mouth in a thin tight line. He turned his back on her and rounded the dragon screen, heading for the way out.

  She heard the sound of something being kicked out of the way in the darkness beyond the accordion wall. Judging by the crash, Riker’s foot had sent its target a good distance. He rarely lost his temper. And his anger had never been directed at her, no matter how many tests she had devised for him during her childhood and in more recent times.

  She had finally found Riker’s trigger.

  – tick, tick, tick, tick -

  Chapter 5

  Though Rabbi David Kaplan cut a figure of lean elegance, he didn’t look the part of a gambler, not by his turtleneck sweater or the loaf of bread in his hand. The close-trimmed beard made him too distinguished, and the sweet tranquillity in his eyes belied the fact that he could hold his own in a round of cutthroat poker. In his first act as a good host, the rabbi had confiscated Charles Butler’s necktie, arguing that a man could not concentrate on his game if he did not breathe properly.

  The tie was hung on the coatrack alongside Mallory’s holstered revolver. How odd to see that deadly thing in David Kaplan’s house.

  At the end of the foyer, Charles glanced into the living room. Its sole occupant was an elderly stranger in a black suit, who had been allowed to keep his necktie. A gray topcoat was folded on the visitor’s lap, and a homburg hung on the hook of one gnarled finger. As the old man rose from the couch, his sad eyes focused on Charles, and he was clearly disappointed, obviously expecting someone else. Slight and frail, he seemed to hover over the carpet, delicate as a dry dead leaf that had not quite settled to ground. His face had the ashen cast of illness, and his eyes were the color of dust.

  „That’s Mr. Halpern,“ said the rabbi. „He wants a few words with your friend when he arrives. It’s very important to him. I hope you don’t mind?“

  „Not at all.“ Because Mr. Halpern wore a necktie, Charles had already deduced that he was not here to play poker. After the introductions were made, he lingered a moment to give the old man a polite nod. „You’re sure you won’t join us?“

  Mr. Halpern made a slight bow with good manners from another age. „Thank you, but I prefer to wait here.“ He held up his hat and coat to show that he would be leaving shortly.

  Charles followed the rabbi down the hall and into the den, where he was surrounded by the colors of leather-bound books shelved on every wall. Near the door, a tea cart was laid out with all the ingredients a sandwich maven could ask for. The usual crew had already assembled, and Charles was still overdressed among the sweaters and sweatshirts, jeans and khakis. He removed his suit jacket, unbuttoned his vest and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.

  Dr. Slope was working at the cheese board, his serrated knife flying in the act of creation, slashing yellow slices and white ones. The medical examiner had a good face for poker, a stern composure that could not be cracked by a royal flush. His friends called him Edward. He was not a plausible Ed, not a man that one could comfortably abbreviate. The doctor inclined his head in a greeting to Charles as he piled the cheese on his plate.

  „Hey, Charles!“ Robin Duffy’s eyes were full of delight, as if they had not seen one another for years, though last week’s game had been at Robin’s house. The retired lawyer was a small graying bulldog of a man, and a deceptive opponent, wearing the same agreeable expression for good cards and bad. Every laugh line in his face said, I’m so happy to be here.

  Mallory stood behind Robin, pulling money from the pockets of her blue jeans and her cashmere blazer. She was putting in a rare appearance at the insistence of Rabbi Kaplan, valiant guardian of that place where her soul resided – though Edward Slope often argued that the rabbi was gatekeeper to an empty room.

  And now Charles had his first unobstructed view of the new addition to the rabbi’s den. The ancient folding card table had been retired, and in its place was a massive piece of furniture with thick legs tapering to lion’s claws. „David, it’s beautiful.“

  „A gift from my wife.“ The rabbi ran one loving hand along the curving mahogany edge, fingers gently grazing the green felt circle covering the surface.

  In the simple act of pulling up a chair at the table, Mallory determined where everyone would sit. How predictable that she would position herself facing the door. She never left her back exposed. Dr. Slope sat down on her left side. He always liked to be within needling range of her, no matter what the setting or occasion. On her right was Robin Duffy, her adoring admirer. Rabbi Kaplan took the chair opposite the doctor and Mallory, so that he might act as referee.

  Charles sat down in the single chair between Robin and the rabbi, for two guests had yet to arrive, and they would want to sit together.

  All around the table, beer bottles were settling to coasters alongside plates of sandwiches and ashtrays. And now he noticed something else had been added to the game – real poker chips of red, white and blue instead of the usual mix of coins.

  Mallory read his face. „Yeah, just like the real cardplayers.“ She turned to Edward Slope, not bothering to temper her sarcasm. „I’m guessing.“ She held up a white chip. „This is worth a nickel, right?“

  Dr. Slope smiled as he leaned toward her with a return salvo. „Got any plans for your winnings? Why not have the giant puppy stuffed as a trophy?“

  Robin Duffy glowered at the doctor. „You can’t prove she shot that balloon.“

  „Spoken like a true lawyer, Robin. Hey, I was there when she blasted it out of the sky.“ Dr. Slope quickly stacked his poker chips in reckless little towers.

  The doctor’s stacking style and Charles’s degrees in psychology told him that Edward Slope was not at all conservative in his game. The careless arrangement of his chips said, I came to play. But then, Edward said the same thing aloud each time he sat down at the table.

  The rabbi was lining up his plastic tokens in neat columns, the hallmark of an inhibited bidder, yet he ran the best bluffs in every game.

 
; In respect to cards, Charles’s education had been a waste of time. His first game with these men had shattered his belief in an orderly universe governed by laws of cause and effect. Despite his extensive knowledge of body language, his high IQ and flawless logic, he never won. But he kept returning to the poker table, week after week, in the spirit of a whipped dog conducting a science experiment.

  He had never played against Mallory before. Long before he met her, she had abandoned this game with her foster father’s oldest friends. Charles stared at the perfect columns of her chips, so carefully aligned they might he solid shafts of plastic. If he were meeting her for the first time, if he did not know how many guns she owned, he would judge her an insecure player.

  „I saw you on TV, Edward.“ Robin Duffy gathered his chips in loose piles of denominations. „The balloon autopsy wasn’t too professional, but real funny.“

  „I know a bullet hole when I see one,“ said the medical examiner.

  „My wife thinks you shot the big puppy, Edward – just to make the kid look bad.“ Robin’s jowls gathered up in a wide bright smile for Mallory. Each time he looked at her, he seemed amazed, as though she were still growing up before his very eyes.

  And now Charles understood why the rabbi had insisted on Mallory’s attendance; it was for Robin’s sake. Since the death of her foster father, she rarely made the trek to this Brooklyn neighborhood, and the old lawyer had missed her sorely.

  Charles popped the cap off a bottle of beer, the standard beverage for every game. So it was odd to see the lone sherry glass set before one of the empty chairs. And wasn’t the lighting a bit dimmer than usual?

  Well, this smacks of collusion. A stage had been set.

  When the doorbell rang, Rabbi Kaplan said, „Mr. Halpern will get it.“ Though the rabbi could see the front door if he only turned his head to one side, he kept custody of the eyes to allow the elderly man a private moment with the new arrival.

  Not Mallory. She was looking straight down the hallway.

  Charles had to lean over the table for a clear view.

  Fragile Mr. Halpern opened the door to a tall figure in a long dark coat. A wide-brimmed black hat shadowed the visitor’s face. With only this dark silhouette, anyone could tell that the new arrival was Mr. Halpern’s opposite in every way, not the least bit delicate, conveying solid mass and strength even while standing in quiet repose. As he entered the foyer, light struck the strands of long white hair edging across his broad shoulders. The two men spoke in low tones that did not carry down the hall to the den. After a few minutes, they were shaking hands in farewell.

  Charles believed the elderly Mr. Halpern was crying as he passed over the threshold and into the night, slowly, gently closing the door behind him.

  Mallory was still watching the stranger as he removed his hat and coat, hanging them on the rack by the door. She was nodding almost imperceptibly, perhaps approving the superb tweed blazer and the blue silk shirt. The man’s collar was open by two buttons, marking him as a subscriber to the rabbi’s theory of poker and breath-restricting neckties.

  Everyone at the table looked up as Malakhai appeared in the den. This man could never simply walk through a doorway, but always made a rather grand entrance. It was not affectation, but unavoidable, as he increased the energy level of a room to the tenth power. He smiled, and though his face bore deep lines of experience, something survived of the wild and handsome erstwhile boy. He had not yet given in to time, not bowed to it with a curved back nor any other sign of impairment. The long white lion’s mane was aglow, a trap for lamplight. His eyes were quite the opposite, large and gunmetal blue, dark places where light could not exist.

  Charles looked at the faces of the men seated around him. Just for a moment, he thought they might applaud this famed magician merely for showing up at the table.

  Everyone but Mallory stood up as Charles made the introductions to this old friend of the family. After presenting Kathleen Mallory, he winced as Malakhai asked, „May I call you Kathy?“

  „No,“ she said.

  Charles rushed in, speaking quickly. „It’s nothing personal. Everyone calls her Mallory, just Mallory.“

  „I don’t,“ said the rabbi and Robin Duffy in unison.

  Edward Slope resumed his seat and pushed the deck toward Mallory, ready for the game to begin – on several levels. „You have to pick your moments, sir. Only call her Kathy if you want to break her concentration. Otherwise it loses the annoyance value. Right, Kathy?“

  She ignored him and shuffled the deck.

  And now Charles apologized for neglecting the rule of ladies first. He ntroduced an empty space in the air beside Malakhai, claiming there was woman standing there. „And her name is Louisa.“

  The rabbi inclined his head and smiled, speaking to the air. „My pleasure, madam. You haven’t changed at all.“ He turned to Malakhai. „I saw your last performance.“

  „That was more than twenty years ago.“ Malakhai turned his head to the space beside him and appeared to be listening. He smiled at the rabbi. „Louisa thanks you for remembering us.“ And now he spoke to the entire gathering. „My wife plays a wicked game of poker. She’ll sit in for a few hands – if no one objects.“

  „Your dead wife? I don’t think so,“ said Mallory.

  „Kathy!“ The rabbi’s voice had the note of a warning bell. „This man is a guest in my house.“

  „So?“ She turned to Malakhai. „Nothing personal. It’s bad enough I got roped into playing with these amateurs. I draw the line at dealing cards to spooks, okay?“

  Though Rabbi Kaplan had suffered worse insults on his poker prowess in silence, he was obviously about to upbraid her again. His mouth was open, but nothing came out. Perhaps he was waffling between her offenses: the refusal to acknowledge a woman who wasn’t there, and her use of the word spook as a possible slur. In a further convolution of ethics, could he counsel her to avoid offending a guest by sanctioning the lie that a dead woman could competently play poker?

  Charles leaned behind Robin’s chair and whispered to Mallory, „Did I mention that Malakhai helped my cousin design the pedestals for the crossbow illusion?“

  „Pull up a chair, Louisa.“ Mallory’s ethics were miles more flexible than the rabbi’s. „Everybody, ante up.“

  While the white chips were being tossed into the center of the table, Malakhai held out a chair for the phantom Louisa. After taking his own seat, he purchased poker chips and set them up for two players. Charles noticed the stacks were different patterns for husband and wife. Malakhai made a tidy square of four columns, while Louisa’s chips mirrored Edward Slope’s in recklessness.

  After everyone had made a contribution to the pot, Mallory dealt out cards to each player, facedown, until she had completed six hands for the living and one for the dead. „The game is five-card draw. Deuces are not wild if it rains, and jacks are not wild, whether the moon is full or not. Real poker – got that?“

  While the players were perusing their cards, Charles noticed the smoke wafting up from the ashtray in front of Louisa’s chair.

  „I’ll open.“ Edward Slope tossed a blue chip in the center of the table. And then he stared at Louisa’s cigarette. The filter was stained with lipstick. And now the ashtray moved slightly, as though someone had jostled it.

  Very smooth, as always.

  Charles nodded to Malakhai, who was folding his cards to drop out of the hand. And now the other men were smiling at the ashtray, almost shyly, as if this were a flirtation of sorts. If Mallory noticed the diversion, she gave no indication.

  It was Louisa’s turn to bet, and two blue chips flew into the center of the table of their own accord. Malakhai smiled at Edward Slope. „Louisa will see your bet and raise you.“

  Charles admired the master’s timing. Malakhai would have to pick a moment when everyone was looking elsewhere before he placed the chips at the edge of the table and shot them into the center. One mistake and a delicate illusion would be ruined
.

  When Louisa’s bet had been matched, it was time for the draw. Edward Slope rapped on the table to announce that he would stay with his dealt hand, but Malakhai requested a card for Louisa. His wife’s cast-off playing card slid across the table toward Mallory, slowly gliding along the green felt, as if pushed by an unseen hand.

  Mallory stared at the felt surface, no doubt looking for the string that made the card move. It would be only a hair’s width and as green as the tabletop, invisible in this low-key lighting. Charles knew there would be a hook at Mallory’s end of the table so the card could slide toward her, but he didn’t bother to look for the string’s anchor. It was probably a thin wire painted to match the wood at the edge of the table. This was more evidence of collaboration between Malakhai and the rabbi, for such preparations were always done in advance.

  Mallory picked up the card and examined it. Of course the dot of adhesive would have remained with the string when Malakhai snapped it back.

  After a moment, the magician leaned forward. „My wife wonders if she could have her card soon. You’ll forgive her impatience. She’s accustomed to Las Vegas tables, where the action is a little faster.“

  There were grins all around the table. Only Mallory was not charmed with the dead woman. Her smile was forced when she looked up at Malakhai. „Nice work.“ She tossed a card toward the empty chair, and gave two cards to the rabbi.

  „I’m out.“ Charles folded his exceptionally bad hand and stole a look at Mallory. Her face was masklike, impossible to read.

  Her voice was dead calm when she spoke to Malakhai. „So how does the crossbow trick work?“

  The magician smiled as if this were a great joke. „I’d never give up one of Max Candle’s illusions.“

  She turned on Charles, and now he had no difficulty in reading her. Her eyes were drilling into him, and her voice was decidedly testy. „What’s the deal here?“