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“Well, hello,” a forty-something man with a receding hairline, pencil mustache, and a bit of a gut said as she entered. “I hope you’re a groupie.”
“No, I’m NYPD,” she said and flashed her shield. “And you need better come-on lines. Who are you guys?”
A thin man in his twenties spoke up. “We’re the close-up performers. We go on during intermission.”
“Yes, I’m Tony Chiano,” the third man said as he did a rather nice waterfall shuffle, the cards flowing effortlessly from one hand to the other in a beautiful flow.
“And how did you gentlemen get into the theatre?” she demanded, looking from man to man.
“Side door in the audience,” Tony answered.
“Yeah, but if we’re late,” pencil mustache answered, “there’s a door at the end of this hall.”
“Thank you,” Pro said. “Break a wand.”
Pro heard Tony ask, “How did she know that expression?” as she went out.
She went to the end of the hall, and just as “pencil mustache” had described, there was a black painted door she hadn’t seen until she drew near it. It had a crash bar, and she checked to make sure it was secured. She realized the door could only be opened by someone on the inside.
She returned to Dressing Room One and peeked in. “Everything all right, Mister Shaut?”
He was dressed in a formal shirt and black pants with suspenders. He glanced to the door. “Everything’s fine. Did you see if the guys working intermission are here?”
“Yeah, they’re all in Dressing Room Three,” Pro answered. “You have magicians doing close-up during the intermission?”
“Yeah, it’s what makes our show unique. Magic from beginning to end. We’ve become a New York institution.” He then paused and looked at Pro for a moment, then blurted, “But who wants to live in an institution?” He then hooted at his own joke with a big, boisterous laugh. “Sorry,” he said as he calmed down, “that’s a joke I use in my show.”
Pro nodded, now concerned that the entire evening would be filled with sophomoric humor.
“You might as well go out front. No one can get in here without Selly knowing it,” Shaut said, and pulled a bow tie from the pocket of his hanging tuxedo.
“We are talking about a man who can pick any lock, and there is a door at the end of the hall. Are you sure you’re safe?”
“The door on this side of the building doesn’t have a place to put a key—nothing to pick!” he replied. “The door we came in is the only door you use a key besides the theater front door, and we don’t open those until we let in the audience.”
“Couldn’t Max sneak in with the audience?” Pro suggested.
Shaut chuckled. “That’s sounds like something Max would do. But be careful. Your dad is a master of disguise. You might not recognize him.”
“I see,” Pro considered the suggestion. “By the way, after the show I am arresting Miss Adrianna Gray, aka Adrian Novack. It turns out she was harboring Max.”
“What?” Shaut bellowed. “Damn, must have used that room she has hidden behind the bookcase.” He shook his head. “If it weren’t too late, I’d throw her out of the show and let you arrest her right now.”
“I was tempted, sir, but protecting you is my first priority.”
“That’s the problem with that broad: her brains are in her tits.”
Pro frowned. “Sir, I don’t find that helpful—or appropriate.”
“Sorry,” he prattled. “Just sometimes, I don’t know what she’s thinking. You have every right to arrest her, but she is the first act closer. I would consider it a favor if you could wait until the end.”
“I can’t leave without you, sir.”
“I want to tell you how much I appreciate you watching out for me, detective.”
“All part of the job,” Pro confirmed, and stepped out into the hall as she closed the door.
She leaned against the door for a minute. It might be worth losing her job if she could get away from these insane performers.
