Honest illusions(BookZZ.org) (15 page)

He didn’t make the mistake of competing with Luke. He doubted it would be wise to openly antagonize the person Max considered a son, but the enmity Sam nursed for Luke saw him through the menial, boring days. The fact that the antagonism was shared made it all the better. Neither could have said why, but they had detested each other on sight. One let his feelings bubble to the surface, the other secreted his away, hoarding hate like a miser hoards gold.

Sam looked for the day when he made that gold pay.

In the meantime he was satisfied with his toehold, and with the fact that they were about to spend a week in L.A.

Max was pleased with the upcoming trip as well. They would have the opportunity to perform at the Magic Castle, attend a dinner party hosted by Brent Taylor, movie star and amateur magician, and Max would have the pleasure of showing his family some of the glitter of Hollywood.

He also intended to take some of the more expensive glitter back east with him. Beverly Hills, and its mansions filled with treasures, was going to add to an already lucrative gig.

He had two houses targeted, and would choose between them after he had arrived in Los Angeles and had cased the areas firsthand.

They took over several rooms at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It amused Max to watch Luke charm the bellman and the chambermaid with a few pocket tricks. The boy had learned, he thought. And learned well.

He arranged an elaborate lunch at Maxim’s, treating his family and all the members of his troupe down to the lowliest back-door boy. Afterward he sent Lily and Roxanne shopping.

“Now then.” Max lit a post-meal cigar. “Mouse and I have some business to attend to, but the rest of you have the day free to explore, sightsee, whatever strikes your fancy. I’ll need everyone bright-eyed for rehearsals at nine A.M. tomorrow.”

While the others left, Luke shifted chairs to sit next to Max. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course.” Recognizing both nerves and determination, Max lifted a brow. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t think it’s a problem.” Luke took a deep breath and dived. “I want to go with you.” He shook his head before Max could speak. He’d been preparing this speech for days. “I know the routine, Max.

You and Mouse are going out to case a couple of houses. You’ll already have most of the important stuff. A copy of the insurance lists, blueprints, the schematics of the security systems, an idea of the basic household routine. Now you’ll do some checking firsthand and decide when and where to hit.”

Max brushed at his moustache. He wasn’t certain if he was annoyed or impressed. “You’ve been keeping up.”

“I’ve had four years to study the routine while I’ve waited for you to let me in.”

Max tapped away cigar ash before taking a considering drag. “My dear boy—”

“I’m not a boy anymore.” Luke’s eyes flashed as he leaned closer. “You either trust me or you don’t. I have to know.”

Max puffed out a breath and held his silence while the waiter cleared the dishes. “It’s not a matter of trust, Luke, but of timing.”

“You’re not going to tell me you’re trying to save me from a life of crime.”

Max’s lips twitched. “Certainly not. I’ve never been a hypocrite, and I’m as egocentric as any father, hoping his son will follow in his footsteps. But . . .”

Luke laid a hand on Max’s wrist. “But?”

“You are still young. I’m not sure you’re ready. To be a successful thief takes maturity, experience.”

“It takes balls,” Luke put in and made Max throw back his head and laugh.

“Oh, indeed it does. But besides that, a certain amount of skill, finesse, coolheadedness. In a few more years you may ripen, but for now—”

“What time is it?”

Distracted, Max blinked, then glanced down at his watch. Or where his watch should have been. “I always said you had good hands,” he murmured.

“Don’t have the time?” Luke turned his wrist. The sunlight glinted off the gold of Max’s Rolex. “It’s

nearly three. I guess you’d better pay the check and get going.” Luke signaled for the waiter himself.

Absently, Max reached inside his jacket for his wallet. And came up empty.

“A little short?” Luke smiled and took Max’s wallet out of his own pocket. “This one’s on me. I happen to have come into some money recently.”

Point taken, Max thought and smiled at Mouse. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off as well? Luke can drive me.”

“Sure, Max. I can go over and see those footprints at the Chinese place.”

“Enjoy yourself.” With a sigh, Max held out his hand for his wallet. “Ready to go?” he asked Luke.

“I’ve been ready for years.”

• • •

Beverly Hills appealed to Luke. Not like New Orleans with its party streets and decaying glamour. That was the only place he would ever consider home. But the wide, palm-lined avenues and fantasy aura of houses tucked onto hilltops in the smog-misted distance was like a movie. He supposed that was why so many movie stars chose that section of real estate to live.

He tooled along, following Max’s directions. He noted the occasional police cruiser. No scratched and dusty cars for the cops here. Each one was glittering clean in the afternoon sun.

Most of the estates were tucked behind high walls and hedges. Twice as they circled around they passed one of the buses that toured movie stars’ homes. Luke wondered why anyone would pay for the ride when all they would really see would be stone walls and the tops of trees.

“Why,” Max asked as he opened his briefcase, “do you want to steal?”

“Because it’s fun,” Luke answered without thinking. “And I’m good at it.”

“Mmmm.” Max could only agree that it was best to spend your life doing something you enjoyed and were skilled at. “The bellman who brought up our bags and was so entertained by your pocket tricks. He had a watch and a wallet. Did you take them?”

“No.” Surprised, Luke turned his head to stare. “Why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you is more to the point.” Max loosened his tie and folded it inside the case.

“Well, hell, it’s no fun if it’s that easy. Besides he was just some guy trying to make a living.”

“One could argue that a thief is also just some guy trying to make a living.”

“If that’s all I wanted, I could knock over some convenience store.”

“Ah, so you’d consider such an enterprise out of the question.”

“It’s low-class.”

“Luke.” Max sighed as he folded his crisp white shirt into the case. “You do make me proud.”

“It’s like magic,” Luke said after a moment. “You want to do the best you’re capable of. If you’re going to dupe somebody, then you ought to do it with some flair. Right?”

“Precisely right.” Max slipped into a short-sleeved polyester shirt in screaming checks of green and orange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just donning the appropriate costume.” Max added a Phillies baseball cap and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. “I do hope I look like a tourist.”

Luke pulled up at a stop sign and took the time to study Max. “You look like an idiot.”

“Close enough. See the tour bus halfway down the block. Pull up behind it.”

Obeying orders, Luke parked the car, but he scowled down at the fielder’s cap Max held out to him.

“Pittsburgh. You know I’m not a National League fan.”

“Tough it out.” Max wound binocular and camera straps around his neck. “This here’s Elsa Langtree’s house,” Max said in a thick Midwestern twang as he pushed out of the car. He added a whistle before jockeying with the other tourists for a peek through the wrought-iron gate. “Man oh man, is she something!”

Luke picked up on the tone and craned his neck. “Hell, Daddy, she’s old.”

“She can retire in my neck of the woods anytime.”

This brought a few chuckles from the rest of the crowd before the tour guide began his routine. Stepping back, Max circled the bus and climbed nimbly on its roof while the rest of the tour listened and snapped pictures. Max used the telescopic lens on his camera to take shots of the wall, the three-story colonial house, its outbuildings, the outdoor lighting.

“Hey, buddy.” The bus driver squinted up from under the bill of his cap. “Get the hell down from there, will ya? Christ, there’s one in every crowd.”

“I just wanted to see if I could catch a look at Elsa.”

“Come on, Daddy. Jeez, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Okay, okay. Oh, wait! I think I see her. Elsa!” he shouted, using the confusion as people scrabbled back to the gate to take the last of his pictures.

While the driver cursed and threatened, Max climbed down. He offered a sheepish grin and an apology.

“I’ve been a fan for twenty years. Even named my parakeet after her.”

“Yeah, she’d be thrilled.”

With obvious reluctance, Max let Luke drag him back to the car. “Wait till I tell the boys back in Omaha. Just wait.”

“Did you get what you needed?” Luke asked.

“Oh, I imagine so. We’ll take a look at one more. Lawrence Trent’s home isn’t on the tour, but he’s reputed to have an excellent collection of nineteenth-century snuff-boxes.”

“What does Elsa have?”

“Besides the obvious feminine charms?” Max adjusted the radio and found some Chopin. “Emeralds, my dear boy. The lady is particularly fond of emeralds. They match her eyes.”

Max was fond of emeralds as well. Once LeClerc had arranged for the pictures to be developed, it was obvious that Trent’s estate would be the easier mark. Max needed little else to decide him. He’d go for the stones.

“Heels, Roxanne?”

Roxanne stood proudly in the wings, teetering a bit on her new inch-high pumps. “I’m practically a teenager,” she told her father.

“I believe we have several months yet before that momentous occasion.”

“That’s hardly any time. And besides, they punch up the costume.” She turned, carefully, in her blue spangled leotard. “And the extra inch gives me more stage presence.” If her breasts were going to take forever to develop, at least she’d take advantage of her height. “Making a good impression here at the Magic Castle’s important, isn’t it?” She smiled winningly.

“Naturally.” And they had thirty seconds to cue. “I don’t suppose you brought along any spare shoes.”

Her smile widened before she kissed his cheek. “We’re going to knock them dead.”

Perhaps it was a trick of those lights, or his own thoughts, but for a moment when the curtain went up he saw her as a woman grown, slim and lovely, glowing with confidence, her eyes glinting with secrets only the female heart ever truly understands.

Then she was just his little girl again, wearing grown-up shoes and charming the audience with her skill with the silks. Moments later the silks were pooled at her feet, and she turned to her father, prepared to be put into a trance for his new levitation routine, a combination of the old broomstick illusion and the floating girl.

The music cued. “Für Elise.” Slowly, gracefully, Max passed his hands in front of her face. Her head swayed. Her eyes drooped closed.

He used brooms with sparkling brushes, wanting beauty as well as drama. The first he placed between her shoulder blades, then taking a step stage left, held out his arms, gesturing. As if weightless, her legs began to rise, straight and extended, until her body was parallel to the stage. He used the other broomstick to sweep, over and under. Her long, already dramatic mane of red hair tumbled downward.

When he removed the only brace, passing both brooms to a waiting Lily, the crowd was already applauding.

To the liquid strains of Beethoven, Roxanne began to revolve. The light changed to gold as her body turned, tilted, became vertical a foot above the stage. He brought her down gently, inch by inch, until her feet touched the stage.

And he awakened her.

Roxanne opened her eyes to a thunder of applause. Already in her mind, there was no sweeter sound.

“Told you, Daddy,” she said under her breath.

“So you did, my sweet.”

Sam watched from backstage and shook his head. It was all a scam, he thought. What pissed him off the most was that no one would let him in on the secret of how it was done. It was just one more thing the Nouvelles would have to pay for eventually.

All he needed was a couple of the steps, then he imagined he could duplicate it, or any of the other tricks, if he chose to. It amazed him, and appealed to his sense of greed, that people would actually pay good money to watch someone pretend he could do what couldn’t be done.

There had to be a way to cash in on it, he considered. He lit a cigarette and watched Luke make his entrance. Big fucking deal, he thought. The bastard thought he was hot shit, standing out there in the spotlight, getting the applause and the attention.

The day would come, Sam told himself, when he would have all the attention. Because when you had that, you had power. And that was what Sam wanted most.

“Mr. Nouvelle.” The moment the performance was over Brent Taylor, the actor with matinee-idol looks and a cream-rich baritone voice, sought Max out in his dressing room. “I have never, never seen better.”

Taylor pumped Max’s hand enthusiastically.

“You flatter me, Mr. Taylor.”

“Brent, please.”

“Brent, then, and you’ll call me Max. It’s a bit cramped in here, but I’d be honored if you’d join me in a brandy.”

“My pleasure. The transformation routine,” Taylor continued while Max poured. “Simply marvelous.

And the levitation was spectacular. I’m anxious for my dinner party so that we’ll have more time to discuss magic.”

“I’m always happy to discuss magic.” He offered a snifter full of Napoleon.

“And perhaps we could also discuss the magic of the small screen. Television,” Taylor said when Max merely smiled politely.

“Yes, I’m afraid I have little opportunity to watch it. My children now, they’re experts.”

“And impressive magicians in their own right. I imagine they’d be delighted to try their luck in a television special.”

Max gestured for Taylor to sit on the small settee and took his own seat in front of the makeup table.

“Magic loses power on film.”

“It can, of course. But with your sense of theater, it could be marvelous. I’ll be frank, Max. I’ve been given an opportunity by one of the networks to produce a series of variety specials. I’d like very much to produce an hour of ‘The Amazing Nouvelle.’ ”