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“FBI?” The kid’s smile faltered.
“Agents Dreyfus and West. Are you Ian Boz?”
Jason sighed inwardly. Dreyfus was so young—practically as young as the kid behind the counter.
“N-No. I’m Terry. Terry Van der Beck.”
Dreyfus said in her most official voice, “Is Mr. Boz in, Terry?”
Terry’s green eyes rounded in dismay. “Sure. I-I’ll get him.”
He left the counter and vanished into the back room.
“Are you really not going to tell me how she caught that bullet in her teeth?” Dreyfus said.
“It’s against the magicians’ code to reveal a secret.”
“It’s not against the FBI’s code!”
Jason laughed. He moved away to examine a row of framed posters.
He whistled softly.
“What is it?” Dreyfus came to join him. “Did you find something?”
Jason nodded at the row of posters featuring such notables as Marshall the Mystic and His Hats, Ionia, L’enchanteresse, and Prince Ali Raji Oriental Magic—with the confusing tag: African Magician. Magic had changed a lot through the years, but one thing that had not changed was its diversity.
“I think these are legit.”
She said skeptically, “Legit?”
“The real thing. Not repros.”
“Oh.” She leaned in to study the price tag on the 20 x 30” half-sheet lithograph of a young woman in a red gown, reaching out to a tuxedoed man standing amidst a crowd of gentlemen. The bold typeface heading read: CAN YOU LIFT HER? And below: Twenty men try it every night— & fail.
“$4500! They’re priced like they’re the real thing. That’s for sure.”
Jason moved on to a 1925 poster of a winged devil cranking the handle of a small box from which ghostly figures and tiny turbaned people spilled out. The giant floating head of a magician frowned disapprovingly on the whole operation. The header read: CHEFALO – MAGICIAN & ILLUSIONIST. Typeface at the bottom of the poster proclaimed: ASSISTED BY THE MAGDA-PALERMO MIDGETS!
A bargain at $3500. He took out his cell phone and snapped a photo. He moved down the row of posters, taking photographs of each one.
Here was an obvious potential fence for the Khan collection. Too obvious? Maybe.
There were advertisements for Jansen, Chung Ling Soo—incidentally, a victim of the bullet catch—Mrs. Eva Fay, oh, and who could forget that “Jolly Prince of Funmakers,” Mr. Herbert L. Flint.
“Why so many devils and demons?” Dreyfus whispered—as though fearing the devils and demons might hear her.
“It’s code. The magicians have learned the arcane secrets of the spiritual world.”
“Why not angels and saints, then?”
“Angels and saints wouldn’t be nearly so interesting. This knowledge is forbidden knowledge.”
“And what about the flames?”
“A lot of early illusions revolved around fire. Fire breathing, fire swallowing, fire bathing, walking through fire, flames shooting from the magician’s head—”
“Now you’re joking.”
