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Jason stared at the silver gun. His scalp prickled.
He bent to pick up the weapon.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
That’s what fear did to you. Colored your vision so that you thought you were looking down the barrel of a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum when in fact you were staring at an 11” Abbott’s New Bang Gun, circa late forties, probably.
He swore quietly.
“What’s the matter?” Dreyfus asked.
He showed her the pistol. Her eyes widened.
“Yeah. Exactly.” He pulled the trigger, and four tiny arms sprang into view above the barrel. Red and yellow discs spelled out the word B-A-N-G.
One of the unexpected perks of unofficially consulting on another agency’s case was Jason was not required to wait around for the cops with Dreyfus or help her fill out reports. In fact, he was strongly encouraged by SAC Reynolds to get his ass out of there.
Jason interpreted that to mean his “unofficial” assistance really was unofficial—something cooked up by Sam and Reynolds all on their own—and would probably be defined by the Bureau brass as unauthorized and unwarranted.
He told Dreyfus he would meet her back at the office when she was finished talking to Cheyenne PD, and headed over to Boz’s Brew.
Terry looked up as the pixie dust door chimes announced Jason’s return.
“Hi! Welcome to the largest selection of oh.” His face fell. “It’s you.”
“Yep. It’s me.”
Jason limped down the aisle to the sales counter where Terry had been screwing D-rings into the back of a heavy-framed photograph of a mustached man in a tuxedo. The man sprawled on the floor, gazed up in wonder at an angel—or more likely a ghost. The ghost was surrounded by floating magical instruments, and intriguingly, a disembodied hand.
The caption at the bottom of the photo read: Spirit photograph of the Dutch magician E. Chambly, ca. 1890. The rivalry between mediums and magicians had been fierce in the early days of Spiritualism. Some magicians incorporated elements of the occult and supernatural into their acts, but others, like Houdini, believed they had a mission to expose the frauds and tricksters.
Jason said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“You kind of already did.”
“A few more questions.”
Terry said reluctantly, “I guess.”
“Where do you store extra stock?”
“The storeroom.”
“What about off-site?”
Terry looked confused. “We don’t have an off-site storage facility. We don’t keep that much extra stock. Everything is pretty much out on the floor.”
“What about large items?”
“How large? Boz is refurbishing a Chinese Water Torture Cell in the back. That’s about the biggest item we’ve handled.”
Jason thought it over. “What about other magic stores? Who are your competitors around town?”
“What other magic stores?” Terry scoffed. “Mostly everything is sold online these days. From props to tricks. There aren’t many places left like Boz’s Brew. Not in Wyoming, that’s for sure.”
“Hm. Good point.” Jason considered Terry’s indignant expression. “Why do you think your boss ran like that?”
“He doesn’t like cops.”
