Dozens of gangsters sheepishly holstered their weapons and dealt with their angry spouses with severe, whispered threats.
Victor made an adjustment on the arm of his chair and the loudspeaker voice softened. “Could I have the honor of Salvatore Bonadello’s presence for one moment?”
Sal said, “Let’s—whatcha call—indulge the little guy.” We started walking toward Victor and Hugo.
“I need to check my makeup,” Kathleen said, just the way we’d rehearsed. “Can you point me to your powder room?”
“Powder room?” Sal said. “Now that’s class!” He pointed the way and Kathleen headed there.
“At first I thought she meant gunpowder,” Sal said, studying her ass as long as he could before she disappeared from view. “That there’s a winner. I envy you, wakin’ up to that every morning.”
Victor’s speaker voice said, “Will you all please give a warm welcome to my manservant, Merlin.”
No one moved to make a sound. Once again, all eyes were on Sal. He looked around the room and shouted, “He means clap your hands. Show some class here!”
Sal began clapping his hands. Others, clearly befuddled, reluctantly joined in.
From behind the assembled guests a woman screamed. Everyone spun around. Then the scream circled the room through the speakers and the guests saw that Victor had created a diversion so the magician could appear.
Merlin began approaching Sal. Big Bad produced a .357 magnum and held it at Merlin’s face.
Merlin regarded the gun with more than a little trepidation. “I was told there’d be no guns?”
Sal said, “I’m gonna let the gun stay where it is. Just in case.”
Merlin assembled his courage and said, “Very well, but please be careful. Can you give me a dollar please?”
“The fuck?” Sal said.
Sal looked at Victor. “It’s my friggin’ party,” he said. “It don’t set well givin’ money to this guy here.”
“Just one dollar,” Merlin said. “I can assure you, you won’t be sorry.”
“I better not be.”
Sal dug into his pants pocket, produced a wad of cash big enough to choke a wide-mouth frog. He flipped through the bills until he found a dollar, which he peeled off and handed to Merlin. Merlin’s right hand was empty—I was watching it—then suddenly it held a felt-tip pen.
I’ve seen good before. Merlin was great.
“Please sign the dollar, so we’ll know it’s yours.”
“I already know it’s mine, shithead!” Sal said. But he signed it anyway.
Merlin took the bill and held it high over his head as he backed up a few steps. Sal told Big Bad, “Keep an eye on this friggin’ guy.”
Big Bad nodded and kept his gun sighted on the magician.
Merlin produced an envelope, again seemingly out of mid-air, placed the dollar in the envelope and tore it. When he did that, Big Bad cocked the trigger.
A very nervous Merlin probably never had to work under this type of pressure, but he managed to complete the trick. He folded the envelope several times while tearing sections of it. Then he unfolded the perfectly intact envelope and held it high above his head, waiting for applause.
There was none.
Sal said, “Where’s my money? These guys’ll tell you, you don’t want to owe me money.”
Sporadic nervous chuckles broke out from various areas of the room.
Merlin handed the envelope to Sal. In it was a certified check for one hundred thousand dollars.
