Dreyfus bit her lip. She threw him a doubtful look. “Would you want to—”
Jason picked up his coat and rose. “I would,” he said.
Chapter Eleven
A shapely blonde woman in a silver bodysuit and sequined heels stood at one end of the brightly lit stage. She was speaking as she faced the sea of empty tables and chairs. “I want you to watch that marked bullet very, very carefully,” she instructed the imaginary audience. “At no time will that bullet leave The Maestro’s hand until the moment he loads it into the pistol.”
On the opposite end of the stage, an African-American dwarf in navy silk trousers, red smoking jacket, and a cravat, held up a small and shiny object for everyone to see before turning away to tap the bullet against a glass target set up in the center of the stage.
Minerva Khan, the grieving widow, was trying out her act in preparation for Top Hat White Rabbit club’s Friday grand opening.
“Wyoming is not LA,” Arturo the bartender was saying to Jason and Dreyfus as they watched The Maestro and Minerva prepare for their bullet-catch trick. “If this convention is a success, it could completely change Cheyenne’s status in the world of magic. This convention could put us on the map.”
“It is impossible for that bullet to penetrate the glass target without breaking it,” Minerva said from the stage.
“What is she doing?” Dreyfus asked as The Maestro loaded the bullet into a Lugar. “Is that a real gun?”
“Bullet Catch,” the bartender said. “It’s what she’s famous for. She doesn’t perform it much anymore, which is why management is letting her rehearse it here for Thursday’s performance. You don’t want to make a mistake with that trick.”
“I thought the club opened on Friday?” Jason asked.
“Officially. Thursday night is a special Magicians Only night.”
“I see. Who owns the club?” Jason asked.
“Doug Devant. He’s a local magician.”
They watched Minerva and The Maestro for another moment.
Dreyfus said uneasily, “They’re not using real bullets, are they?”
“The bullets are usually real,” Jason said. “It is a trick, though. The most dangerous trick in magic.”
According to legend—and Ben Robinson’s book—at least twelve magicians had died while performing the bullet catch.
“Don’t tell her!” Arturo objected.
Dreyfus rolled her eyes. “Please. I know it’s not magic.”
“It’s still a great trick, and it ruins it if you know how it’s done.”
Silently, they watched The Maestro mount a small blue ladder and aim at Minerva, who had taken her place at the opposite end of the stage. Minerva tossed her hair back and lifted her chin. She raised her left arm.
Despite knowing the different ways the trick could be worked—or maybe because he knew—Jason felt queasy.
Minerva’s arm dropped; The Maestro fired. The glass target shattered. Dreyfus gasped as Minerva staggered back. Minerva steadied herself as The Maestro jumped from his ladder and ran to her. He held up a small silver plate, and Minerva spat the bullet onto the plate. The Maestro picked up the bullet and held it up for the invisible audience to ooh and ahh over.
“How the heck did she do that?” Dreyfus murmured.
“Minerva!” Arturo yelled. “You got company.”
Minerva’s head jerked up. She raised her hand in acknowledgment, then spoke a few words to The Maestro before exiting the stage. A few moments later she joined them at the bar. Her skin was shiny, the hair at her temples damp. She smelled of cigarettes, a lot of perfume, and just a hint of perspiration. Maybe she was old-school when it came to her illusions.
“More police?” she said.
Her husband’s body had only been found the day before. If she was tired of cops now, she was in for a rough few weeks.
“FBI.” Dreyfus held up her identification. “I’m Special Agent Dreyfus, and this is Special Agent West with the Art Crime Team.”