The Man Who Cheated Death

Chapter 23 Sophie

Leaving through a back exit of the radio station, Hardare relocked the door with a universal lock pick, one of Houdini’s greatest yet little known creations, then waved down Crystal, who screeched up in the fiery red Camaro she’d rented.

“How did it go?” she asked as he hopped in.

Strapping himself in, he said, “It went great.”

“Nothing’s great right now, Dad,” Crystal said, punching the accelerator. Jan had taught her how to drive, recklessly changing lanes, never maintaining a single speed. “I called Central Casting like you asked me too, and hired ten actors, plus a voice specialist named Alice Garvey. They should be at the Castle now.”

“How did you pay for it?”

“Credit card. I told them they had better send their best make-up artist as well, and a couple of costume people.”

“Good thinking.”

She got onto the Santa Monica freeway and headed north. Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the Magic Castle to find a small, angry mob. A dozen stylishly dressed couples stood, voicing their displeasure to the Castle’s tuxedoed host.

“I realize this is a terrible inconvenience for all of you,” the host said. “But the Castle is closed for the afternoon.”

“But we made reservations three months ago,” a man in the crowd said angrily. “Let us in, or face the consequences!”

An ugly chorus of protests went up. Crystal threw the rental into reverse, rocketed back down the winding driveway, and took a hard left at the service sign.

“Good call,” Hardare said.

They went in through the back entrance, and took a stairway to the restaurant on the second floor, which had been converted into a makeshift dressing room. The ten actors from Central Casting had arrived, and were getting wardrobes and having makeup put on by a pair of attentive make-up artists. Hardare noticed a grandmotherly type sitting in the corner, and introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you,” the woman replied. “I’m Alice Harvey, Woman of a Thousand Voices.”

Hardare knew Alice Harvey by reputation, her voice having appeared on hundreds of commercials and countless cartoons. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice,” he said.

“Not a problem,” Harvey replied. “I’ve listened to the tape of the voice you want me to impersonate, and it shouldn’t be a problem. But I do have a question. The other actors don’t have scripts to work from. Is this intentional?”

“Yes. Do you think I should talk with them?”

“It might not be a bad idea,” Harvey said.

Hardare rounded up the other actors and explained the deal. It was a good-looking group of people, but that was to be expected. This was L.A., after all.

“Good morning, and thanks for being here,” the magician said. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’re working without a script. There’s a reason for that. It’s important — in fact, its essential — that you remain in the dark until the performance begins. Your reaction to what happens must be spontaneous, and unrehearsed. Any questions?”

“You want us to show our true emotions?” one of the male actors asked.

“Yes.”

“Boy, that’s a new one.”

The rest of the group laughed. Hardare felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned to face his daughter.

“You need to meet Sophie Nichols,” Crystal said. “She’s the actress that’s going to play Elaine Osbourne.”

“Lead the way,” he said.

Hardare followed his daughter out of the restaurant, up a short flight of stairs, and down a hallway that appeared to go nowhere. At its end, she placed her hands on an innocent-looking wall and pushed in, entering the Houdini Séance room.

An attractive woman in her early forties sat at the round mahogany table in the room’s center. She wore a smock, and was getting make-up applied to her face by a make-up artist.

“You must be Vincent Hardare,” she said. “I’m Sophie Nichols. How do I look?”

On the table was a photo of Elaine Osbourne that Wondero had taken from the dead woman’s house. Hardare picked the photo up, and compared it to Sophie Nichols. The make-up artist had done a remarkable job of making Sophie look like Elaine.

“You look good,” Hardare said.

“But do I look good enough?” Sophie Nichols asked.

It was a good question. There was only so much magic that blush and mascara could do.

“Maybe we should do a dry run,” Hardare suggested.

“I’d like that, if you don’t mind,” the actress said.

The makeup artist stopped what he was doing, and unpinned the smock. Hardare escorted her to the other side of the table, and had her sit beneath the portrait of Houdini.

“This is your spot,” he said. “Don’t move.”

Sophie Nichols turned into a statue. Hardare lit a candle on the table, and dimmed the room’s lights. Shadows danced across the actress’s face. In the darkness, the resemblance to Elaine Osbourne was even stronger.

“Perfect,” Hardare said.

“And you just want me to sit here during the performance, and silently move my mouth up and down,” the actress said.

“That’s right. There’s going to be a hologram over your head, so you shouldn’t move.”

“A hologram? Can I see?”

“Of course.”

The Houdini Séance room was filled with special effects. Hardare flipped a switch on the wall. A few feet above the table appeared a ghostly hand clutching a butcher knife.

“That’s clever. What else does it do?” the actress asked.

“Just watch,” Hardare said.

The ghostly hand came sharply down, plunging the knife into the actress’s chest, the momentary shock causing her to jump. The knife pulled back, dripping blood.

“You really know how to scare a gal, don’t you?” she said.

“That was the idea,” Hardare said.