Though he had never used the word beauty to describe another male, it was in his mind. Malakhai’s dark blue eyes were young and incongruous with the long mane of white hair. Riker had seen this phenomenon before in the faces of ballplayers from another era, boys of eternal summer, and he called it magic.
Mallory’s eyes were drawn to the bar, where Malakhai was drinking alone. He had not looked her way since his arrival, but she was constantly aware of him. And so were other women. She was not the only predator in this room.
Emile St. John stood alone on the bandstand, his hands waving to conduct a floating black silk scarf across the small stage. The material was rounded out in the shape of a globe. When he pulled away the silk, the audience gasped to see a dove flapping its wings against the interior wall of a clear balloon. St. John lit a cigar and touched it to the rubber. The balloon popped with a bang, and the dove vanished.
Charles leaned across the table so Riker could hear him above the sound of applause. „My cousin Max got a thousand doves for his funeral.“
„Well,“ said Prado, „Oliver botched the trick, so he only gets one. And if he hadn’t died in the act, he wouldn’t have gotten that much.“
„So that was good timing on Oliver’s part?“ Riker’s smile was wry.
„Timing is everything,“ said Prado, missing the sarcasm. „Oliver bailed out before life went sour. Now me – I plan to die when the world has exactly six minutes of joy left. And that can’t be far off.“ He raised his glass in a toast. „Many die too late and some die too early. Still the doctrine sounds strange – “
„Die at the right time,“ said Riker, completing the line. „Nietzsche, right?“
Three heads turned to stare at the shaggy detective. Startled, Charles looked up through the wide front window, craning his neck to catch the moon over Columbus Avenue, perhaps to reassure himself that it remained in orbit and at least one aspect of the universe was in normal working order.
Nick Prado smiled over the rim of his wineglass. „So, Riker, what brings you out tonight?“
„Police business.“ Riker nodded to Emile St. John as the man pulled up a chair to sit beside Prado.
„What’s happened now?“ asked St. John.
„Oliver Tree’s death was reopened as a homicide case.“ Riker turned to Nick Prado. „But you already knew that, sir. The mayor’s publicist told you this afternoon.“
Judging by Emile St. John’s expression, this was obviously news to him. And now St. John’s wary eyes settled on Prado, who was grinning in an attitude of touche.
„Oh, call me Nick. So you’re investigating Oliver’s death.“
„Mallory’s the primary on this case.“ Riker lifted his glass, not a stickler for police regulations against drinking on duty. „But you knew that too, sir – Nick.“ Riker was searching the faces lined up at the bar. „I thought Franny Futura might be here tonight. He left his hotel in a big hurry. A gypsy cabdriver settled the bill, and a bellhop loaded the bags into the trunk of an empty junker.“
Prado sighed. „Ah, poor Franny. Not a stylish exit.“
„Well, his credit rating wouldn’t support a stretch limo,“ said Riker. „Any idea where he went?“
Mallory watched the magicians trade looks. St. John was hearing this story for the first time, but Nick Prado was not.
„No? Okay, next question. That name of his.“ Riker bent over his notebook and flipped through the pages. „Franny Futura. It doesn’t go with the French accent. He made it up, right?“
„No, Oliver made it up,“ said St. John. „Franny was just sixteen years old when Oliver rechristened him.“
„What’s the guy’s real name?“ Riker’s pencil hovered over the page.
„Francois something,“ said St. John. „Nick, his last name was close to Futura, wasn’t it?“
Prado shook his head. „I only remember that Futura was the worst possible way to mangle the original pronunciation. Oliver renamed him in a stage introduction. It was a joke, a little revenge. Franny was always correcting Oliver’s bad French. But then, Franny got a nice write-up in the morning paper and decided to keep his new name – so as not to waste the review.“
Riker turned to a clean page in his notebook. „So those two didn’t like each other much?“
„Oh, but they did,“ said Emile St. John. „They were best friends. I’m not sure they kept in touch after the war. Franny never played New York. He’s been waiting for this chance all his life. Don’t worry. He’ll turn up for the performance.“ St. John spoke to Riker but he was looking at Nick Prado, and the message was clear: Franny Futura would appear on opening night. And as if a silent bargain had been struck, the other man made a barely perceptible nod.
Riker caught that. He was also staring at Prado. „Is this a publicity stunt? I don’t like to waste my time.“
„No,“ said Prado. „But I might be able to do something with it. Another witness to the balloon assassination disappears under mysterious circumstances. You’re a genius, Riker.“
Mallory turned toward the bar. Malakhai was gone, and a row of gardenias grew in a straight line along the mahogany surface. She spotted him at a table on the other side of the bandstand. He was in conversation with a young brunette one third his age, and she was clearly the aggressor in this flirtation. Mallory watched the woman go through stages of the mating dance, leaning forward as she played with a strand of her hair, then lightly touching his arm as she laughed.
Malakhai turned to catch Mallory’s eyes on them. He smiled and rose from the table. As he walked across the dance floor, Prado was rising from his chair and moving away, quickly crossing the room.
Mallory reached up to her hair and pulled out another unwanted flower as she kept track of the magician. In his wake, all the women he passed on the dance floor sprouted flowers. When he was standing by her chair Charles introduced him to Riker, then excused himself to fetch another glass and a fresh bottle of wine from the bar.
Emile St. John was out on the dance floor, twirling a partner close to his own age. They were moving to a swing tune from the forties with dance steps half a century old. Malakhai sat down at the table and nodded toward the dancers. „I could teach you how to do that.“
„My father taught me how to dance,“ said Mallory. „It seems I have less and less to learn from you. And I’m tired of all the lies.“
„I never lied to you – not outright.“ Malakhai rested one hand on her arm. She looked down at it. He took her point, and his hand pulled back. „I think the best lies are told with the truth, and maybe a bit of distortion and misdirection.“
Across the table, Riker was unconsciously nodding, recogni2ing his partner’s own style of deception.
„Right,“ said Mallory. „A conventional liar needs a good memory. You don’t have that anymore.“
Now she was aware of the young brunette closing in on their table. The woman bent down to show Malakhai all the cleavage of a low-cut blouse. Her voice was breathy as she invited him to dance. The moment Malakhai left the table, Nick Prado came running back.
Mallory exchanged glances with Riker, and he nodded. There was another weakness in the ranks of the magic men.
When the music ended, Emile St. John pulled up a chair and sat down. „I still can’t get over the dancing laws. What’s happened to this town?“
Prado tilted his head to one side, considering this. „I think I like it better this way. More laws to break.“ He smiled at Mallory, who was the law. „Did the mounted policeman cancel his litigation? I understand you were cleared of the balloon shooting.“
„Naw,“ said Riker, speaking for his partner. „The lawsuit is still on, but the wording keeps changing. Now Henderson blames the mayor for letting dangerous cartoons run loose in the streets. So the mayor ordered Macy’s to retire all the big balloons. If they don’t, he’s gonna cancel their parade permit.“ He lifted his glass. „And then the city will be safe for Henderson – idiot-proof.“