Daniel and Charles were in their early forties. They were handsome in a crude sort of way, confident, especially in the eyes of the tawdry Vegas crowd.
Daniel spoke to the audience as if he were a trial lawyer cleverly engaging a jury. He waved a long, highly polished sword, using it for emphasis.
"We are performance artists, possibly the best now working in the world. We've played at Madison Square and the Winter Garden in New York, the Magic Castle, the Palladium in London, the Crazy Horse Saloon in Paris. We've headlined in Frankfurt, Sydney, Melbourne, Moscow, Tokyo, of course."
Charles seemed bored by his partner's self-serving speech. He sat down on the edge of the stage and yawned until his tonsils showed.
"They don't care about your pedigree, Daniel," Charles finally said. "Most of these bumpkins wouldn't know Houdini from Siegfried and Roy. Do a cheap trick; that's what they're here for. Tricks are for kids, and they're all kids! Do a trick! Do a cheap, slick trick!"
Daniel suddenly pointed the tip of his sword at his partner. He waggled it threateningly. "I'm warning you, chump."
William looked over at the couple sitting beside him. "This part is pretty good," he whispered, "believe it or not."
He caught the male's eye, but the actor quickly pulled his gaze away. Too late. He had him too. The male wanted to get into his pants. Who could blame him? God, he wanted to feed. Right here, right now.
Onstage, Daniel had begun to yell at Charles. "I've had enough of your high-handed, condescending bullshit, partner. I've had enough of you! More than enough!"
"That's too bad," William mimicked the next few words spoken onstage, "because I've only just begun to torment you, and them! The bumpkins!"
The two actors sitting next to them laughed at William's accurate play-by-play. He had them utterly charmed. Now the male almost couldn't take his eyes off William. Poor, poor Andrew.
Suddenly, up onstage, Daniel rushed at Charles. He thrust the sword right into Charles's chest. Charles's scream was piercing and real. Blood erupted from his chest, spilled and splashed everywhere. The frightened audience gasped, and the room went quiet.
William and Michael giggled, couldn't stop. So did the couple beside them. Others shushed them.
Daniel began to drag Charles's body across the stage, careful to emphasize how heavy Charles was. Very dramatic stuff. He stopped at a small prop that was actually a butcher-block table. He draped the body across the table.
He took an ax, hoisted it high, and chopped Charles's head off.
The room exploded with screams. Some people covered their eyes. "This is not funny," someone shouted.
William roared laughter and clapped and stamped his feet. The loud shushing continued all around him. People were horrified, but they wanted more. The two actors beside him were laughing as hard as he was. The woman playfully swatted William's arm.
Daniel now placed Charles's head inside a wicker basket. He did it very theatrically. Then he bowed. The audience finally got it. They had caught up.
William frowned and lowered his head. "The good part is over. The rest is anticlimax."
Daniel carried the wicker basket back across the entire length of the stage. He walked very slowly. With great care, he then spilled Charles's head out onto a silver platter.
"Just happened to have a platter handy!" William whispered to the couple.
Daniel turned to the audience. "Any of you figure this out yet? No?… Really?… He's dead."
"Liar! No, he's not!" William shouted from his seat. "Your act is dead, but Charles is alive! Unfortunately."
Suddenly, the head on the silver platter moved. Charles's eyes opened. The audience went wild. The illusion was quite stunning and certainly novel enough.
Charles said, "My God, look what you've done, Daniel. All these witnesses saw you. You'll never get away with this, you murderer."
Daniel shrugged. "Oh, but I will. Nobody out there really cares about you, or anyone else for that matter. They don't like you. They don't even like themselves. You deserved this, Charles."
The head on the platter spoke again. "A public beheading? Help me, Daniel."
"What's the magic word, Charles?" asked Daniel.
"Please help me," Charles answered. "Please, Daniel. Help me?"
Daniel carefully placed the basket over Charles's head, then carried it back across the stage and, with broad flourishes and theatrical gestures, reattached Charles's head to his body. Charles then rose up and grasped his partner's hand.
The two magicians stood together and bowed. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are Daniel and Charles, the best magicians in the world!" they shouted to the rafters.
The applause inside the room was loud and sustained. People stood and clapped and cheered. The magicians took several more bows.
"Boo! Boo! They're fakes!" William and Michael hooted from their seats. They saw a couple of hotel security geeks approaching their table.
William leaned toward Andrew Cotton and Dara Grey. "You like magic, theater, adventure?" he asked. "I'm William
Alexander and this is my brother, Michael. Let's go somewhere. Let's get the hell out of here. We'll have some real fun."
The actors rose, and as they were leaving with William and Michael, the security people arrived.
"We want our money back," William said to them. "Daniel and Charles are Jakes."
Chapter 33
"Your place or ours?" William asked the actors, keeping the question as nonthreatening as he possibly could. He didn't want to lose Dara and Andrew now. He had plans for them.
"Where are you staying?" Dara asked. She was incredibly sure of herself, a goddess in her own mind, a diva. Yet another one.
William answered, "Michael and I are at Circus Circus."
"We're at the Bellagio. We're camped out in a suite. Let's go there, then. It's fabulous, the best in Vegas. We have drugs," Andrew said. "MDMA. You like?"
"We have lots of fun toys," Dara said, and gently brushed William's blond hair with her fingers. He could have killed her for the affront. Instead, he took her hand and kissed it. She was so full of life, and rich, warm blood.
The suite at the Bellagio was on a high floor and it looked out across a manmade lake with fountains that shot water hundreds of feet into the air. The fountains were choreographed to a song from A Chorus Line. William thought it was an incredible amount of water to be wasting in the desert. He glanced around the room and was surprised that he didn't totally hate it — there were no nylon rugs or acrylic-coated walls, anyway. Bowls of fruit and fresh flowers had been left out in several places. God, he was hungry, famished, but not for grapes and apples.
Dara slid out of her Bob Mackie party dress as soon as she pranced in the door. The young actress's body was tanned and toned. She shrugged off an expensive bra.
Her small breasts were pert, the nipples erect. She kept on her creamy white thong underwear. And her high heels — Jimmy Choos.
William smiled at the actors — their primping, their practiced, shallow attempts at seduction and eroticism. He thought he wouldn't be surprised if a makeup person popped out of a closet, and suddenly wondered what Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston were like together in bed. Probably a beautiful, blond bore.
"Your turn," Dara said teasingly to the brothers. "Let's see what you have. Strut your stuff. Let's all get in the mood."