wonderful charm.
“Your name, please?” Max asked a lady seated at the table.
“Anita,” she replied.
“A beautiful name. Have we ever met before, Anita?”
“I think I’d remember if we had.”
“That makes two of us. With your help, I’d like to try a little experiment in thought transference.” Max picked up a large pad of paper from a chair, and held it for his audience to see. “Ladies, I am going to write a long number on this pad. Anita, as I write, I want you to call out whatever numbers come to mind. Sound easy enough?”
“Whatever you say,” Anita replied.
“Wonderful. Here we go.”
Using a black magic marker, Max wrote a long number on the pad that soon ran off the page. At the same time, Anita turned around in her chair so she could not see what Max was writing, and began to call out the exact same numbers that were appearing. It was a miracle for which Peter had no explanation, and by the time they were finished, he was clapping along with everyone else inside the restaurant. Max hadn’t lost his touch. The great ones never did. Moments later, his teacher saddled up beside him at the bar.
“Peter, what a surprise. What are you drinking?”
“I’m not.” He dropped his voice. “Someone is trying to kill us, Max.”
The bar was noisy, and his teacher broke into a smile.
“I slayed them, dead, didn’t I?”
Peter spoke in his teacher’s ear. “Someone is trying to kill us. He already got Madame Marie and her husband.”
“
“I just came from her parlor. She’s gone, Max.”
The bartender placed a shot of bourbon and a beer chaser on the bar. Max downed the shot, chased it away with the beer, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His face was filled with anguish, and he shook his head. “Who would do such a thing?”
“His name is Wolfe. He tried to kill me last night at the theater.”
“He attacked you during your show?” Max asked incredulously.
“He gave new meaning to the phrase ‘Knock ’em dead.’”
“That’s not funny, Peter.”
“And this isn’t either. He was sent by the Order of Astrum to kill our group.”
Max’s head snapped. “Who told you about the Order of Astrum?”
“A police detective. Have you heard of them?”
“Yes, although not in a long time. They’re a cult of dark magicians out of the UK. Have you warned the others?”
“I’ve left messages for everyone but Lester. He doesn’t have a phone.”
“I know where Lester lives. We’ll go there right now, and make sure he’s all right.” Max addressed the bartender. “Good sir, how much do I owe you?”
“Sixteen dollars,” the bartender replied.
A cocktail napkin was taken off the bar and turned into a crisp twenty-dollar bill.
“Keep the change,” Max said.
The world outside the restaurant was loud and unfriendly. Max hailed a cab by whistling so shrilly that he stopped traffic in both directions. They hopped in, and his teacher barked an address to the driver. Soon they were racing across town.
“That was a wonderful trick you did with the woman at the table,” Peter confessed. “You fooled me.”
“That’s high praise, coming from you,” Max said.
“Will you tell me how was it done?”
“You don’t know?”
“I wish.”
“The number I wrote on the pad was the stops on the subway line Anita takes each day.”
“How did you know which line she rode?”
“I overheard Anita talking with her friends. She mentioned living on Christopher Street. The Number One Line services that station. I cued her to start with the next station, which is Fourteenth Street, and work her way up. Since she hears those stops every day, I knew the numbers were burned into her memory. I have all the stops of the subway system memorized. The trick is finding out which line the spectator rides. The rest, as they say, is showmanship.”
“You cued her?”
“Of course I cued her. We spoke earlier at the bar.”
“So she was a stooge.”
“Exactly. I can’t read minds like you.”
“Tell me about the Order of Astrum,” Peter said.
Max stared out the window at the passing scenery. It was still raining, and the buildings had taken on a gloomy gray color that only sunlight would erase.
“We’ll talk about this later, all right?” his teacher said after a moment.
“I’d prefer now,” Peter said.
“This is not the right place. Please don’t challenge me, Peter.”
It had been a long time since Max had raised his voice to him. It made Peter feel like he was a child again, and not a young man battling demons whose origin and motives he did not understand. He nodded his head compliantly.
“Of course, Max. Whatever you say,” he replied.
14
The Coyi Cafe was in an area of the city called Alphabet City, the avenues named after the first letters of the alphabet. The axe was rubbing Wolfe’s leg, and he ditched it in a trash bin.
The cafe had red brick walls and a menu of organic loose-leaf teas from the Far East. Wolfe ordered a cup of Lung Ching tea and a grilled pork sandwich called a Banh Mi. When his waitress was gone, he leaned back in his chair. The place was crowded. Everyone on a laptop or smart-phone. He needed to get one of these people to let him use their laptop so he could get on the Internet, and check his bank accounts. He could have done this with a smartphone, only he didn’t carry a smartphone for fear of it being traced. And his laptop was in his hotel room on the other side of town.
He listened to the people around him. When he put his mind to it, he could hear just about anything, even an insect crawling up a wall. He didn’t think that someone in his profession could have asked for a better gift.
The college girl at the next table was a good candidate. With a laptop open in front of her, she ate lunch while instant-messaging a friend. He listened to her breathing, which told him a great deal about her personal state of mind. Her breathing was slow and normal. Not a hint of excitement or stress was going on in her life as of this moment. Wolfe tugged her sleeve.
“Sorry to bother you. I’m here on holiday, and just got a call from my bank saying I may have been robbed. I need to get on the Internet, and make sure everything’s okay. I know this is a terrible intrusion, but may I use your laptop?”
She studied him for a few moments. Her breathing did not change. That told Wolfe she had bought his story.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Jeremy. What’s yours?”
“Blair. How long will you be?”
“A few minutes at most. I’d like to pay for your lunch.”
