Sleepless City (The Mystery Squad)

Sleepless City

Cheap food, cheap booze, and cheap magic; just another Monday night at the Magic Moments. On stage framed by red velvet, a magician in a mismatched tuxedo announced himself as, "The Ravishing Roe." A dove fantastically flew from his sleeve. The poor bird fluttered around the vacuous theater, up and over the rafters, swooping down over the sparsely attended chairs and barstools, before landing on an empty table and poking at a basket of stale bread. A dearth of tourists watched on while, at the bar, two men hunched over empty glasses.

The magician pointed at one of the two: John Baxter, in pink. "You there," the magician said, "I need a volunteer." But Baxter was in no mood. "Not today," he said, waving him off. Baxter's lawyer, Lance Donovan, stood excitedly. Baxter pushed him right back down.Enough,Baxter thought.

The magician, disappointed by a second refusal, was nevertheless approached by genuine volunteer: a fat, happy tourist with a double chin and a camera. The Ravishing Roe summoned a deck of cards then had the tourist to memorize the three of clubs. After reshuffling, the magician drew the queen of hearts and said: "Is this your card?"

The tourist's smile faded.

"We're broke," Baxter said to Lance at the bar. He lifted his drink, downing the last few, precious sips. "Christ, we, uh, we need a case."

"No kidding," Lance said. "I can't believe my dad won't pay our rent." He was only half there, distracted by the performance. The magician was working through the deck, hoping to chance on the right card.

"Another round?" the bartender asked.

Baxter held out an empty wallet, then shook his head. Without mystery solving, he'd have to start picking pennies off the subway, or slinging dirty dish rags for tips, or whatever else. That's no life for a detective. He deserved better. No, who was he kidding? He didn't deserve a Goddamn thing. Lance too considered his financial plight. Living the rugged life, braving the night streets alone, cutthroat, or with a band—that experience was would be invaluable to his acting career. He'd make the perfect Bernardo from West Side Story.Handsome. Suave. Dangerous. He started singing to himself. "When you're a Jet you're a Jet all the way..." Then, out of the blue, the bartender made to refill their glasses. "Buddy," Baxter reminded him, "we can't pay."

"It's on the house," the bartender said. He introduced himself as the longtime owner of the Magic Moments, Michael May. "You two are my only decent customers these days. Truth is: I don't know how much longer I can stay open. I thought the magic tricks would bring in the crowds, but well, you see how that turned out."

On stage, the magician was frantically drawing card after card. "No? Okay. Is this your card?" The tourist was groaning.

"I swear, I should've stuck with disco," the bartender said. "Even that would be more lucrative than... than whatever this is."

"Not hiring, then?" Baxter said. "Told you, I'll do anything. I'll sweep floors." But the bartender, May, simply laughed him off. Now, the magician had gone through every single card. He threw his arms up. "How!" The tourist removed the three of clubs from his pocket and dropped it on the floor. Stomping off the stage, he said, "Nice trick, asshole."

At the bar, Baxter and Lance watched on. Disappointed, but with a full drink in hand. Baxter raised his glass. "Better luck next time," he said, and the magician left the stage.

"He wasn't bad, performance wise," Lance said a little later.

"No," Baxter said. "Least, uh, least he's got work. Amazed we've made it this long. Guess we had more savings than I thought. Have to be almost gone now though."

"Savings? Ha! We don't have any savings."

"Huh? The hell have we paid rent?"

"Oh, I know people."