I moved my tongue to the tooth that had bitten down on the pebble. It felt like something was stuck between the teeth. I felt with my finger. Nothing was stuck. A piece of my upper right molar was missing, leaving a jagged remnant. It didn’t hurt. I knew I’d have to take care of it. I hadn’t been to a dentist in at least twenty years, but I’d find one when I had time. Shelly was not an option.
My plan was to go to the hospital and talk to Gwen Knight. Phil’s was to go home, spend the afternoon with his family, have dinner with them, and put on a tux.
We both had to wait. There was a knock at the door. Before we could answer Calvin Ott, a.k.a. Marcus Keller, stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.
Chapter 9
Put a dozen pennies, each with a different date, in a hat. Turn your back and tell someone to pick a coin, hold it to his forehead, and put it back in the hat. Have them shake the hat. Turn around. Take each penny and put it to your forehead until you come to the penny the person has selected. Show them the penny they have chosen. Solution: Chill all the pennies. The penny the person selects and puts to his or her forehead will be warmer than the others. Go through the pennies. The warm one you press to your forehead is the one selected. Note: The trick works best if you do it rather quickly so the coins do not have time to warm to room temperature.
Ott was wearing dark slacks, a blue blazer, a white shirt, and a red tie. He was also wearing a smile. In his right hand was a black pebble-leather satchel with a gold clasp.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully, placing his satchel on the conference table.
“You look like Calvin Ott,” I said.
“Keller, Marcus Keller,” he corrected, still smiling.
“But you don’t sound like the Ott, excuse me, Keller we disagreed with last night,” I said.
“It’s a new day,” he said, snapping the gold clasp and opening the satchel. “And I’ve come to present you with an offer.”
“Get out,” Phil said.
Phil did not like games. Phil did not like banter. Phil most definitely did not like Calvin Ott.
Ott paused and looked at Phil.
“I have a civilized offer,” he said.
“You’re a weasel,” Phil answered, taking a step toward him.
I sat back down in the chair at the table where I had sat a few minutes earlier.
“Not very colorful,” Ott said with a smile. “Not very creative. Weasel, weasel. How about marmoset? Or reptile. No, you should be more specific. Cobra?”
“To increase the possibility of your survival,” I said as Phil took another step toward Ott, “I think you should close your bag, pick it up, go out the door, and call for an appointment.”
“You don’t want to hear my offer?” he said with less of a smile now that Phil was about four feet away from him and definitely not smiling.
“Not particularly,” I said.
Actually, I did want to hear what he had to say. He was our prime suspect in a murder and an attempted murder. He was the one who had threatened our client and was planning a surprise party for Blackstone. He was the one with the big fat ego that might make him say something that would help us and hurt him.
Phil was now almost in Ott’s face.
“Look,” Ott said with something that was supposed to be a let-bygones-be-bygones little laugh. “I’m not a bad person. I’ve got a mother, a sister. I give to charity. I follow the war news. I read
Phil said, “Out.”
Phil’s right hand was now around Ott’s tie.
“When you tickle me,” said Ott, “do I not laugh?”
“How the hell should I know?” said Phil.
“Well then, when I tickle you, do you not laugh?” asked Ott, trying to decide whether it would be a good idea to reach up and try to remove my brother’s hand from the red tie.
“He doesn’t laugh when you tickle him,” I said. “Never did.”
This was definitely not going the way the great Marcus Keller had planned. Good entrance. Nice bit with the satchel. Good line about an offer. But he had the wrong audience.
“When you torture him, does he not cry?” Ott said, looking into Phil’s eyes.
“I doubt it,” I said. “Now take me. You torture me and I make a funny sound. Something like uhh-uhh. Drawing in my breath. Not loud. Do you cry when you’re tortured?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” Ott said, looking at the satchel.
I reached over for the satchel and looked inside. It was filled with green bills in neatly wrapped bundles.
“Phil,” I said. “Let’s listen.”
“It’s some full-of-shit trick,” said Phil, eyes fixed on Ott who must by now be thinking that he had made a very big mistake.
“Sure,” I said. “But the money’s real.”
“He’s trying to pay us off,” Phil said.
“No,” said Ott, his voice a little reedy like a clarinet played wrong. “May I speak?”
Phil removed his hand from Ott’s tie. Ott adjusted the tie and said, “If you prevent me from doing what I have planned for the dinner tonight,” he said. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars. This ten thousand dollars.”
“If we stop you from killing Blackstone?” I said.
“I didn’t say anything about killing Blackstone,” said Ott.
“You threatened him,” Phil said.
“No, I …”
“Why?” I asked.
“Why?” Ott repeated.
“Why do you want to give us all that money to stop you?” I said.
“I don’t,” said Ott. “I’m offering it. I’m confident you won’t collect it. I intend to let every magician who will be at the dinner, newspaper, every radio station know that I’ve made this challenge. But my goal isn’t to pay you ten thousand dollars. My goal is to make that strutting, pompous Blackstone look like a fool. This offer will give the moment of his humiliation publicity and poignancy. He won’t be able to live it down.”
Ott was looking from me to Phil now, his eyes darting. He was smiling again. He was most definitely a little nuts.
“How do we know you’ll pay if we stop you?” I asked.
“With all that publicity? I wouldn’t dare not pay. I’ll have this satchel with me. Stop me, and I’ll present it in front of everyone in the hall.”
“Deal,” I said.
“Toby,” Phil warned, looking at me.
I didn’t say anything, but he knew what I was thinking. He had three kids, had just started a new career with a brother who lived on the edge of poverty. He shook his head and backed away from Ott.
Ott closed the satchel and snapped the gold clasp shut.
“Tonight,” he said, satchel in hand.
With his free hand, he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out his white handkerchief and waved it in the air. Then he snapped the handkerchief and a small bird flew out from under it. The bird flapped past Phil, made a small circle, and perched on my desk.
Ott nodded as if he were waiting for applause.
