Dangerous Hardboiled Magicians

by Mel Gilden

  “I just hoped to keep you a little off-balance.”

  “You had me guessing, that’s for sure. I’m just dying to hear your motive.” I snapped my fingers. “Or did Vic Tortuga send you?”

  “Good writer,” Dad stated.

  Disgust crossed Lyda’s face. “He doesn’t know where I am. And he doesn’t know anything about the Blue Diamond.”

  Blue Diamond? Dad was about to ask the obvious question, but he thought better of it. “Um,” was all I said.

  Lyda stared at me until a grin split her face. She had a nice grin. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

  I nodded. “Just this once. Enjoy it while you can.”

  She shook her head. “And to think I was following you to—” She stopped and shook her head again.

  Dad put down his beer. “The guy in the red satin jacket had something that looked like a blue diamond.”

  “I assume you’re talking about the guy who hit me,” I said.

  Dad nodded.

  “Eddie ‘The Ender’ Tips,” I went on. “Any minute now we’ll be getting around to Ms. Firebough’s professional connections.”

  She attempted to cover her discomfort by taking a big swig of her drink.

  “What did Eddie do with this blue diamond?”

  When Lyda said nothing, Dad explained. “After he knocked you out, Eddie shoved me into a room not much larger than a broom closet—it may have been a broom closet for all I know. He took this blue diamond thing from his pocket, pointed it up at a corner of the closet, said a couple of words I didn’t catch, and a blue beam shot out. When it was gone, kind of a lens was left behind, as if the air had somehow thickened.”

  “Ah,” I said with satisfaction.

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that my theory about Eddie is probably correct. He’s the guy who’s been going around town stealing the souls of guys who look like me.”

  “He found me pretty quick,” Dad pointed out. “I hadn’t been on the ground more than five minutes.”

  “You don’t look like any of the guys whose pictures I’ve seen in the paper,” Lyda said to me. She glanced at Dad. “You don’t even look much like your father.”

  “I’ve had a little work done,” I said, unaccountably embarrassed.

  She gave me a sidelong look through her lashes. “I’d like to see the original some day.”

  I nodded, thinking that she was not the only one. But I wasn’t ready to have the simple spell removed from my face. Not yet. I had too much to do.

  “Would anybody like to hear the rest of my story?” Dad asked.

  Lyda and I looked at him expectantly.

  “I didn’t think I would like what was going to happen next, but I never found out for sure because at that moment a silver-haired movie star entered the broom closet. When she got a good look at Eddie, her disguise popped like a long electric spark, revealing Ms. Firebough, here. Eddie took one look at her, threw his hands into the air, and shrank to a point of light that faded over the next few seconds. Ms. Firebough and I went to look for you. The rest you know.”

  We were all quiet while commuters hurried by out on the concourse.

  “Do I have to convince you I’m intrigued?” I said. “Tell me about the Blue Diamond.”

  “Misty showed it to me a week or two ago,” Lyda said. “It makes those space puckers, as you call them. Misty called them knots. That’s why I didn’t know what you were talking about when you mentioned ‘space puckers’ at Vic’s house.”

  “What did Misty use them for?”

  “Nothing yet. When I talked to her, the knot was just a scientific curiosity.” Her eyes got large and frightened. “Do you think Eddie is stealing souls and using the knots to dispose of them? Is that what happened to Eulalie?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “But she doesn’t look at all like those other guys or your father. She’s not even male.”

  “I haven’t worked that part out yet,” I admitted.

  “I seem to have fallen a little behind here,” Dad said. “Would one of you care to explain how anybody could steal a soul?”

  I explained all I knew about keres, about how their job was to take the souls of people who had died according to universal plan, about how if one of them took a soul on his own initiative the soul would hurry to reattach itself to the body it came from unless it could be disposed of quickly in some permanent way—using one of Misty Morning’s knots, for instance.

  “And he finds guys who look like you—how?” Dad asked.

  “As I said, he’s a keres. He has talents unknown to magicians.”

  “That’s quite a fable,” Dad said.

  “That’s the story as I know it,” I said. “Take it or leave it.”

  “All right, then,” Dad said. “Maybe whoever is stealing souls—Eddie, say—isn’t stealing all of them for the same reason. Trying to shoehorn all the crimes into the same box is preventing you from seeing the separate truths.”

  “Which are?” I asked.

  “As far as you know,” Dad said, “you have no connection with Eddie ‘The Ender’ Tips. Why Eddie is stealing the souls of men who look like your unenchanted self remains to be revealed. But the other truth.…” He stared at Lyda Firebough, and I soon joined him.

  “Did Eddie know Eulalie Tortuga?” I asked her.

  Lyda shuddered as she sighed. “He knew her,” she said. “He was in love with her, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him. She and Vic had just broken up, and she might have thought she could still win him back. Hah!” The exclamation exploded out of her. It was nasty. “I had a little crush on Eddie myself,” A tiny smile came and went like waves on a still pond. “I guess I’ve always had a weakness for the bad boys.”

  “Eulalie’s rejecting Eddie would explain a lot,” I said.

  “I hope you catch him and arrest him,” she said. “If he’s a keres, it might not be possible. But if you can get him, I hope you do.” She sounded bitter now, bitter as day-old coffee at the bottom of a pot. “I could have supplied the magic during Prohibition. We didn’t need Merlin. But my magic wasn’t fancy enough for Eddie. And none of them, not Eddie or Louie or Merlin, lifted a finger when the police picked me up. When Eddie saw me in the broom closet just now, I guess I surprised him. I guess he thought I might still be a little angry.” She laughed ruefully. “I know I was surprised when I got a close look at who had bundled your father into that broom closet.”

  “If he has the Blue Diamond, Eddie probably killed Misty, too,” I said. “But did he just kill her for the dingus, or because he had some personal argument with her the way he had one against Eulalie?”

  “I don’t think Eddie knew Misty,” Lyda said.

  “Then he didn’t have one of her famous house keys.” I pondered. “Not that he’d need one. As a keres he could get in and out of anywhere—he wouldn’t need to leave by the front door, disguised or not. But if he didn’t know Misty, he probably didn’t know about the Blue Diamond, either. Unless you told him about it.”

  “I didn’t. I have no idea where Eddie lives or how to contact him. Until I saw Eddie today, I hadn’t had anything to do with him since the old days. I had no reason to.”

  “Then it was all coincidental. Eddie or somebody else killed Misty, and Eddie did his job. Maybe he showed up a little early and saw Misty playing with the Blue Diamond. The possibilities occurred to him, and he took it when he took Misty’s soul.”

  “It might have happened that way,” Dad agreed.

  And, I continued in my head, if any of this conjecture was worth the hot air that saying it took, everything must have happened after Eddie attacked me at Harold Silverwhite’s laboratory or he would have taken my soul when he had the chance. If. And his motive still seemed a little unclear, too. By the time Eddie had the Blue Diamond I looked like somebody else and he couldn’t find me again. As good a reason as any for keeping my disguise for a while.

  “Let’s put that
aside for a moment,” I said. “Earlier you were about to explain why you were following me.”

  “I thought you might lead me to the Blue Diamond. And I guess you did.” Lyda got philosophical and took a slow sip of her drink. “I just wanted Misty to get credit for inventing the thing,” she went on, “whatever it turned out to do.”

  Dad looked at her out of the tip of his eye. “And make a buck or two on the side?” he suggested.

  “Is that so bad? Being Vic’s girlfriend is hard work. There are fringe benefits, of course, but it doesn’t really pay very well.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” I said. “Despite what a good writer he is.”

  Dad scowled at me.

  “A detective more suspicious than I am might suspect that you killed Misty to get the Blue Diamond for yourself. The police said that anyone with two hands and a voice could have done it.”

  Lyda seemed so surprised I was almost sorry I had brought it up—almost. “Well, if I did, I botched the job. I didn’t get the Blue Diamond—Eddie seems to have it.”

  “Fair enough,” I said and took a drink. I hated a case where everybody knew everybody else—there were too many suspects. “Do you know Misty’s mentor, Lord Slex?”

  “Who?”

  Her ignorance was a relief, but no surprise. “What about Louie ‘The Mouth’ Stuckler?”

  “I figured we’d get around to him eventually,” Lyda said. “As you may recall from Vic’s lecture in his living room the other night, Louie was the fourth person in our happy bootleg quartet. When I got arrested, he didn’t help me either, but I don’t hold it against him. He did the best he could. He wasn’t very bright, but he was a much nicer guy than Eddie. And he wouldn’t need a key to Misty’s apartment, either. He’s a keres, too. He has a cauliflower nose, just like the guy you mentioned at Vic’s.”

  I almost fell off my chair. “Is that so?” I said. “You might have said something earlier.”

  “When we talked at Vic’s, you asked if Misty had any enemies that I knew of. I knew Louie wasn’t an enemy, so when we got distracted by other things I kind of let it go. As far as I know, Louie and Misty never even met. And if he heard about the Blue Diamond, he didn’t hear it from me.”

  “If they never met, why was he following her around?”

  “He was following her around?”

  I told Lyda and my father about meeting Louie at Stilthins Mort and then outside Misty’s apartment.

  “It makes no sense to me,” Lyda admitted.

  “Do you know where I can find him?” I asked.

  “Sort of. I know he lives in an abandoned amusement park.”

  I stood up. “Thanks for your help, Lyda.”

  “That’s it?” She sounded surprised and a little hurt.

  “What more should there be?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” she said. “See ya round, shamus.”

  Dad and I watched her walk away, her black boots ticking against the marble floor.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “I’m the wrong person to ask. Even your mother mystifies me.” He shook his head, stood up, and drained his stein. “Let’s go see Louie.”

  “You’re not coming with me,” I said as I picked up his bag.

  “Of course I am.”

  “We’re already late. Mom’ll be out of her mind. Besides, I have a few things to do first.”

  The security woman fell in a few yards behind us. She seemed to be just dawdling along, but she had no trouble keeping up with us.

  “Call your mother on your cell phone,” Dad said.

  “You can’t come with me,” I said as we marched down the concourse toward the waning daylight. “It’s too dangerous. What if Louie and Eddie are working together stealing souls?”

  “What if they are?”

  We reached the doors that led outside. I looked over my shoulder as Dad and I pushed through the spell. The security woman had stopped just within the concourse and was watching us the way she might watch rain fall. Apparently her interest, and probably the interest of Mr. Perisegian, ended at the door.

  The argument I had with Dad continued until we found my car. It continued as I negotiated the ramps and tunnels out of the airport. It continued as we rolled up the San Diego Freeway slowly enough for sight-seeing. By the time I got him home, I’d convinced Dad that leaving town for a while would be a good idea. Even if he wasn’t afraid of what a keres might do to him, his safety would comfort Mom. Comforting Mom was an argument for which he had no defense.

  “Stay to dinner,” Mom suggested at the front door. “We’re having chicken.”

  “Yes, do stay,” Dad said and smiled innocently.

  “After I solve this case,” I said, “I’ll spend the day.”

  Mom nodded sadly, but I don’t think she was convinced.

  I backed out of the driveway feeling as if I was abandoning her. I liked my parents, but if I didn’t live my own life they would be delighted to let me help them live theirs. Maybe they understood intellectually my need to make my own decisions, but letting their little sonny-boy go was always difficult for them—and going was always difficult for me. Still, by the time I got to the freeway, I was all right again. I had business at the Magic Vault.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE MAGIC VAULT

  The freeway was pretty sluggish at that hour, so getting to Venice took a little longer than I expected. When I got there Enough Rope was dark. I tapped on the door and Ms. Rule emerged from the gloom to let me in. She was wearing jeans and an Enough Rope t-shirt. Her attire seemed a little informal for one of the Fates, but I was no expert on what goddesses wore in their time off.

  As before, Astraea emerged from behind the beaded curtain. With all the light behind her she looked even more like an angel than usual. She wore a silver dress with blue highlights, her blue stilettos matching the highlights. The dress was long, but slit nearly to her hips on both sides.

  In a moment we were back out in my car. Her grandmothers had not suggested a curfew, which was just as well. Murder investigations keep their own hours.

  During rush hour, which seems to add about twenty minutes at each end every year, there is no good way to drive from Venice to Hollywood. We had plenty of time to talk but not much to talk about.

  “Did you do what you needed to do?” I asked.

  “It has been done. And you?”

  I told her about the phone calls I’d made that morning and the legwork I’d done that afternoon.

  “What about Merv Lupinsky?” Astraea asked.

  “He could work for PrestoCorp a long time without running into Misty,” I said. “It’s a big place. Besides, if she was just selling them patents, she probably didn’t go down there much.”

  “You believe their connection is coincidental?”

  “I don’t know enough yet to believe anything. That’s one of the reasons we’re going to the Magic Vault this evening—to visit with Harold Silverwhite. He knows people who know people.”

  “And Lord Philpot will be there, too?”

  “Yes, if we’re lucky. He may not show up.”

  “Would that mean he was afraid of you?”

  “Not necessarily. It might mean he has better things to do than talk to a cheap shamus.”

  “Cheap shamus. Is that you?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  With the perseverance of pioneers crossing the plains, we eventually closed in on Hollywood. We passed the small mansions on Franklin—a street that was attempting, like an old dowager down on her luck, to maintain her dignity—and turned left into a driveway that took us up a steep hill to a very polished-looking monkey who relieved me of eight bucks, buying me the privilege of having my car professionally parked.

  The carhop almost broke his neck pretending he was not watching Astraea walk from the car to the massive front door of the Magic Vault. The doorman, a man no bigger than a bread truck, smiled and welcomed us as he pulled open the vault-like doo
r with a stainless steel handle the size of a baseball bat. Inside, the lobby was decorated to within an inch of its life by magical artifacts from all through history—many of them looking like instruments of torture. In the center of the big room was a well from which smoke rose and then disappeared as it twisted toward the ceiling.

  “Good evening,” said a pretty woman wearing a rather old-fashioned gown. “Is this your first visit to the Magic Vault?” She smiled as if she meant it. She was good.

  “I’ve been here before.” I said.

  “Very good,” she said. “Give your password to the man at the door at the bottom of the stairs. And have a lovely evening.” She was now smiling at the giggling couple that had come in behind us.

  Astraea glanced at me with concern.

  “Come on,” I said and without thinking took her hand. Without thinking, I guess, she let me.

  I escorted her down a curved staircase to a heavy wooden door. I knocked twice, three times, then twice again.

  “What—?” Astraea began, but was interrupted by a square panel in the door sliding open. A pair of dark eyes under bushy brows glared out at us.

  “Swordfish,” I said, and wiggled my eyebrows at him, Groucho-like.

  The panel slammed shut and the door swung open on creaky hinges, releasing hot jazz, the rumble of conversation, and the smell of expensive alcohol—all air-conditioned for the comfort of polar bears. I led Astraea inside.

  The main room was the size of a skating rink, and wide doorways hung with red velvet led to smaller rooms at the sides. Tables were scattered about and people in evening dress were scattered about the tables. A few of the customers wore wizard’s robes. Everybody seemed to be having a good time. The bustling waiters wore tuxedoes with gleaming white aprons pulled up snug under their armpits. Grim-looking men, also in tuxes, stood in corners watching everything, and occasionally reached into their coats—a performance designed to suggest they were checking to make sure their gats were primed and ready, but they were probably just scratching.

  “What sort of place is this?” Astraea asked.

  “It’s a magician’s bar designed to look like a shuffleasy, one of the illegal magic clubs that opened during Prohibition.”