They listened to Elaine Osbourne during the drive back. The tape was of good quality, her voice strong and clear. As they pulled into the high school parking lot, the tape ended.
Wondero grabbed the box of letters and photographs, and got out of the car. Bridgewater started to do the same, and Hardare tapped him on the shoulder. He didn’t know why, but something told him that the tape might come in handy down the road.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep the tape,” Hardare said.
Bridgewater popped the tape out of the player. He passed it back between the seats, and Hardare saw the sadness in his eyes.
“She was a wonderful woman,” the principal said.
“I’m sure she was.
They both got out of the car.
Chapter 22
The Message
Jan Hardare watched the sunrise, hating herself.
Her husband could escape from anything, ropes, chains, the insides of safes, burning houses packed with dynamite, straitjackets while doing somersaults 20,000 feet in the air, even from a swimming pool filled with man-eating sharks, and here she was, his wife and able-bodied assistant, sitting tied to a chair bolted to the floor, and unable to slip even a single knot.
A punishing wind blew through the room, and she licked her badly chapped lips for the hundredth time since awakening. The gaping hole in the wall offered an obstructed view of the burned-out and abandoned tenement buildings that dotted the landscape. She was many stories up, the view reminding her more of downtown Beirut than anyplace she’d seen in L.A.
The sun was splitting the horizon when a pair of men’s voices traveled up from below. She considered calling out for help, then heard the voices turn ugly. They were fighting over a drug deal, and Jan decided she was better off keeping her mouth shut.
After a while the voices went away, and Jan felt her heart pounding in her chest. Out of sheer desperation she began to rock back and forth in her steel chair, testing each leg to see if it were securely bolted to the concrete slab floor.
She spent the next hour straining every muscle in her body trying to escape. If there was any slack in the rope, or if she could somehow create some slack, then she could begin the torturous process of releasing herself. That was how Vince did it, and often was black and blue over half of his body the next day. Except in this case Death had done a sailor’s job in tying her down: she was not going anywhere without some help.
She was beaten and it depressed her. Her family were all military people; all fighters. Ending your life in a losing posture was nothing short of a disgrace. On his deathbed her father had stunned the family by reciting Shakespeare, his barely audible voice holding on until the bitter end.
A mean-looking rat scurried past her. She watched it disappear down a hole, wondering how long it would be before the rest of the rats in the building figured out she was here.
Since arriving at the station that morning, Kenny Kitchen had been on edge. He did a four hour talk show each day, and knew that sometime during that show, Death was going to call, and try and broker a deal with Vincent Hardare to save his wife’s life. It was a dangerous situation, and thinking about it made him sick to his stomach.
He busied himself by picking that day’s music selection. Unlike most disc jockeys, Kitchen still got to choose which music he played on his show, and did not work off a script supplied by the station.
His show went live at ten. At a few minutes past nine, Jayne, his assistant, appeared clutching a styrofoam cup filled with black liquid. Kitchen grabbed the cup and sucked it down.
“You look terrible,” Jayne said.
“I’m not looking forward to this, in case you were wondering,” Kitchen replied.
“Why don’t you go hang out in your office, and relax. I’ll pick the rest of the music selection. I know what you like.”
It sounded like a good idea.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said.
“I’m always right. You’re just slow to acknowledge it.”
Kitchen walked down the hallway to his office and opened the door. He did a double-take at the sight of Hardare sitting at his desk, a paper matchbook levitating above his open palm.
“How did you get in here?”
“Trade secret. Shut the door.”
Kitchen shut the door and entered the office. Pulling up a chair, he sat down across from the magician. The floating matchbook dropped to the desk, and Hardare tossed it aside.
“I need your help,” Hardare said.
“Name it,” the DJ said.
“We found out who Death is. Some sicko named Eugene Osbourne. The LAPD is trying to find him right now. So far, they aren’t having any luck.
“Five years ago, Osbourne did a stint at Atascadero State Mental Hospital. The police talked to Osbourne’s doctor last night. According to the doctor, Osbourne is a control freak, who gets his kicks out of manipulating people.
“The doctor said something else. When Osbourne is challenged, he reverts to a child-like state. The doctor claimed that the best way to deal with Eugene was to constantly challenge him.”
“Like you did the other night on my show,” Kitchen said.
“Exactly.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Here’s my plan. The police want me to play along with Osbourne, in the hopes that it will lead them to finding my wife. I don’t think that’s going to work. My wife doesn’t stand a chance if we let Osbourne call the shots.”
“I’m with you so far.”
“Good. Osbourne is going to call you during your show today, and try to set up a meeting between me and him. The police want you to say that I’ll cooperate fully with his requests. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, the message has changed. I want you to tell Osbourne that he should watch Action 10 News at Noon, and hang up on him.”
The DJ rocked back in his chair. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’ve thought it out. I have to get the upper hand with Osbourne. Otherwise, Jan doesn’t stand a chance.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ve arranged to have an Action 10 news crew televise me live from the Magic Castle. I’ve got a surprise for Osbourne that should scare the hell out of him.”
Kitchen tugged nervously on his beard. “Have you told the police?”
“No, and I’m not going to. I can’t play by their rules anymore.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
They both stood up, and went to the door.
“I’ve thought it out. I can’t play by his rules.”
“Okay. I hope you’re right.”
They both stood up, and went to the door.
“By the way, why did you sneak in here?” Kitchen asked.
“This has to be a surprise,” Hardare replied. “I couldn’t let anyone know what I was up to, except for you.”
The DJ nodded and pumped the magician’s hand.
“Good luck,” Kitchen said.
“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”
Chapter 23
Sophie
Leaving through a back exit of the radio station, Hardare relocked the door with a universal lock pick, one of Houdini’s greatest yet little known creations, then waved down Crystal, who screeched up in the fiery red Camaro she’d rented.
“How did it go?” she asked as he hopped in.
Strapping himself in, he said, “It went great.”
“Nothing’s great right now, Dad,” Crystal said, punching the accelerator. Jan had taught her how to drive, recklessly changing lanes, never maintaining a single speed. “I called Central Casting like you asked me too, and hired ten actors, plus a voice specialist named Alice Garvey. They should be at the Castle now.”