Houdini's Last Trick (The Burdens Trilogy) by David Khalaf Read Free Book Online Page B

where you are.
    “I need some time to think about it,” Houdini said.
    “You’ve got twenty-four hours,” Mayer said.
    “That’s all? I was hoping for a week.”
    Mayer shook his head.
    “The premiere is Saturday evening.”
    “This Saturday? That’s in five days. It can’t be done!”
    Houdini usually took months to perfect his escapes.
    “If anyone can do it, you can,” Mayer said. “I assume you’ll need space and privacy. I’ve already secured an apartment on the studio lot above a sound stage in which you can rehearse unseen. And you’ll get an advance, of course.”
    Mayer slid a thick envelope across the table.
    “Take it,” he said. “No strings attached. You can give me your answer tomorrow.”
    Houdini pocketed the envelope.
    There are always strings attached.
    “Go get dinner at any of the hot spots in town,” Mayer said. “Tell them it’s on me; I have a tab everywhere. Afterward I’ll have a driver take you to your apartment. And for God’s sake, take a shower.”
    Houdini stood and shook Mayer’s hand.
    “I expect your answer by this time tomorrow,” Mayer said.
    “By the way,” Houdini said, “what movie studio is it that you’re trying to sink?”
    Mayer’s mouth puckered, as if he had bitten into a lemon.
    “Some little operation called United Artists,” he said. “It’s Charlie Chaplin’s doing.”
    Houdini nodded and walked through the double doors. They slammed shut behind him, as certain as the opportunity itself.

 
     
     
     
    C HAPTER E IGHT
     
    H OUDINI SAT AT the bar of Musso & Frank Grill, dreaming about the escape he wouldn’t do. In front of him, he watched a sullen-looking bartender polish glassware for drinks he couldn’t serve. The liquor shelves were empty except for a meager cluster of flavored syrups to mix with carbonated water.
    “I’ll take a Limetone soda,” Houdini said.
    The bartender poured the drink in a highball glass and gave it a fancy twist of lime, but then pushed it over to Houdini as if he were disappointed by his own creation.
    The restaurant was one of the most expensive in town, which was a bonus since Louis B. Mayer was paying for his meal. But the reason he chose it was because Musso & Frank, with its dimly lit booths and discreet wait staff, was the social hub of Hollywood’s elite.
    The bistro appeared to be lifted straight out of a posh Parisian neighborhood, with dark wood paneling, white tablecloths, and a priggish maître d' who seemed to take pride in turning people away. The magician was grateful he had showered and purchased a new black suit before going.
    Houdini had positioned himself where he could see guests enter. A man in a tan sport coat had been turned away, but two others in tuxedos were allowed in. A woman Houdini thought was either Lillian Gish or Clara Bow entered with a date. He often got these movie stars mixed up.
    The front door swung open with force, and Houdini jumped in his seat. A dark, thick-set man in a sombrero and riding clothes stepped inside. He looked around as if he were the Cactus Kid sizing up a saloon. The maître d' took one look at the grime on the man’s face and snapped his reservation book shut.
    “Good evening. You must be lost.”
    The man’s skin was tanned from years in the sun and a thick mustache swooped across his face.
    “I look for movie man,” he said. “I am here to make movie.”
    He was from somewhere south of the border.
    “Yes, you and every other person in this town,” the maître d' said. “You want Gower Gulch, eight blocks east. That’s where all the cowboys for hire loiter.”
    “I tell great stories,” the man said. “Must make money for the revolution!”
    “And I must make money to pay rent. Now get along, you brute.”
    The man stood there a minute, his fingers twitching by a gun Houdini hoped wasn’t real.
    “He said beat it!” the bartender shouted from behind the bar.
    After a long, fearless stare at the bartender, the man turned and left