Chapter 3

"I can get you Houdini," said Phil in a shaky voice. He sat at George's desk with the guns of the two hoods pointed at his head. Above him Singleton glowered down. Texas Bunny had fled the room, crying in her soft voice, "I hate the sight of blood."

Outside the show went on, the tinkling music, the occasional splash of an awkward swimmer in the water, or rather gin tank.

"What do you mean you can get me Houdini?" asked Vic.

"Let me finish him, boss," begged one of the thugs. "We've knocked off a half dozen guys for less than this crumb's done to us."

"Shut up. What's this got to do with Houdini?"

"There's a garbage scow going out at midnight," offered the second thug. "His body could be on it."

"Will you mugs shut up?" ordered Singleton. "I want to hear about Houdini."

Phil knew he had to come through this time. In the era of Prohibition, bootleggers were powerful, above the law with their money and well-paid killers. Singleton could murder him and get away with it.

He repressed a desire to shiver and shake. The truth was, he didn't blame Singleton. He'd kill Phil himself if he were Singleton and this stranger came to town, first to lift his daughter's precious maidenhead and then to screw his mistress all on the same night. Phil doubted he could fight his way out like this afternoon since the two thugs were now alerted to his strength and quickness. Even if he upended the desk they'd have a fair shot at him. No, his tongue was his only measure of defense.

"I know Houdini," Phil went on. "He owes my family a favor. We can bring him down here to do one of his world-famous escapes from your tank. Of course you'd have to get rid of the gin. Houdini doesn't drink... or even smoke."

Singleton's interest was caught. He waved aside his boys.

"Let me get this straight, Griffin. You think you can get the great Houdini to come here to this little dump and put on a show for us?"

"I know I could," said Phil, wondering if he could. But he'd try like blazes since it was a game for his life. "Houdini knew my father who was a magician and a big shot in the Society of American Magicians, one of Houdini's pet projects, Houdini is loyal to old friends. He'd help me now that my father's dead. With his fame and money he doesn't need to make a pile on every show he does."

Phil could see the wheels spin in Vic's head. For a man who ached to be accepted by society and respected, the Houdini angle was a golden opportunity. No name was more honored or better known throughout the world. Besides being the world's best magician and escape artist, Houdini helped rid society of spiritual fakes and mediums who preyed on widows and the gullible.

There was no flaw in Houdini's character or way of life. He was a devoted husband to his wife, Bess. Since they were childless, he was fabulous with children. He helped the lesser lights in his profession through the Society, and he helped science with his exposure of religious fakes. In his fifties, he had the body of a twenty-five year old because of his rigorous training and fierce spirit, while his competitive desire matched the current ideal of American society. If he came to New Jersey and performed in George's tank, Vic would be shaking hands with the mayor, senators and congressman and other "big shots" as he called them, in black tie and tails.

"Get Houdini!" said Vic.

"What?"

Singleton gestured at the pedestal telephone on George's desk.

"Put in a call to New York and get him." Like Phil, Vic had read about Houdini's recent feat in New York and knew he was there.

"He... probably won't be home," Phil stalled.

"Put in your call, Griffin. It ain't so late."

Phil had the number in his wallet. He'd figured to make a courtesy phone call to the Houdinis on this trip East, but until now had no plan to bother his powerful and busy acquaintance. But with the thugs standing there with guns and Singleton scowling, he had no choice, so he gave the operator the New York number.

With luck the Houdinis wouldn't be home and he could stall further. But after a couple of rings Bess Houdini herself answered the phone. Phil feared she wouldn't remember his name, but she did. Mrs. Houdini was clear-minded and a strong helpmate to the great magician. So there was nothing to do but blurt out his request with Singleton and his men listening.

"I'll ask Harry," said Bess. "He's right here."

Oh God, thought Phil. He says "No" and I'm floating face down in the Atlantic Ocean by midnight. Phil heard the mutter of voices off the phone, and then Houdini himself came on.

"Hello, Phil, glad to hear from you," said Houdini.

"He-hello, Mr. Houdini," said Phil. To his relief Houdini remembered exactly who he was and his father, too. But maybe that wasn't so odd because at the beginning of his career Houdini did fabulous memory tricks on stage and was not likely to forget names or faces.

"Listen," said Houdini at length. "I'm getting ready to put a fantastic show on the road next month in September. It'll be the biggest, fanciest crowd-puller I've ever sent out. Believe me, it'll be a knockout, the best of my career. We're going to travel across America and Canada and some other places in the world by the end of the season." Houdini's voice sounded proud.

"Glad to hear that." Phil had to smile. Houdini was a showman and a promoter. He knew how to blow his own horn. The difference was that he always delivered what he promised. If he said it was going to be the best and the greatest, it would be. But it was the end of Phil's chances to get him down here in Atlantic City. It was already August and Houdini would be rehearsing like a crazy man to be ready to open next month.

"There's lots of pressure," Houdini went on. "The way I handle that, I like to get away from rehearsals for a couple of days. A break gives me a new perspective. Sure, I'll come down there for a one nighter. This is the perfect time of the year, for a couple of days off for me and Bess in Atlantic City. Good pre-show publicity, too. Count on me, Phil. My manager will set up the details."

Phil sat back in awe. "He'll do it!" he cried to Singleton.

Singleton also looked awestruck. "He... he will?"

Phil went back on the phone. "Thanks a million, Harry. Listen, can you say hello to my promoter? He's grateful. He's a..." Phil suddenly realized that the whole deal would be off if Houdini found out that Singleton was a bootlegger. Houdini was no snob; nobody in show business could afford to be. But he wouldn't work for a lawless type.

"My promoter is a new impresario in show business. Victor Singleton," said Phil decisively and handed the phone to Vic.

Vic stumbled through a few words with the world famous man and hung up. He collapsed in a chair.

"I just talked in person to Houdini!" he exulted. "Me, Vic Singleton, from Jersey City, New Jersey. His voice came right in my ear and my voice went right back into his. God!"

The thugs had put away their guns and moved back, looking dazed. This was totally outside their experience.

"We're not out of the woods," said Phil. "There's a problem. Houdini won't come if he finds out you're a bootlegger."

The look of ecstasy slowly faded from Vic's face. "My God, I never thought of that. Listen, I can't..." Then he stopped. "But, yeah, I see what you mean. I mean, this guy is a friend of presidents, kings, queens, all big shots. He can't afford to deal with scum like me."

"Exactly," said Phil.

"What the hell am I going to do?" cried Vic. "Here's my first chance in my entire life to show off before the world as an important right guy."

"It's tough," said Phil. "There's only one out. You've got to quit the rackets. Now, tonight, forever. From this minute on, you're an impresario, a show business entrepreneur."

Vic jumped up. "Quit the rackets?"

"Haven't you got enough money? Now it's fame and respect you want."

Vic shook his head. "I got to think this one out."

"There's no choice," said Phil. "Either get out, or no Houdini. You'll also have to dump those ten thousand gallons of gin for Houdini's appearance."

There was a diminishing wail as Singleton fled the room, followed by his two men.

Phil sat back in his chair, breathing in triumph. He had no doubt what Vic would do. The man was crazy for social approval and had all the money he'd ever need. It also fit Phil's California project. Once they did the Houdini show, Vic would be at loose ends... and Phil knew where to direct him next. Beautiful.

Yes, he rode the crest. Always before his sex drive had cut into his career, blocking his progress. This time it hadn't. He'd enjoyed two beautiful dolls in one day and ended up with the excitement of the Houdini call. Maybe his luck had changed.

He heard Texas Bunny Long singing in the auditorium. Her voice sounded deep, strong, throaty in the second show. It was twice as good as before. And all on account of her throat being coated with his sperm. Would wonders ever cease in Atlantic City, New Jersey?

It was too weeks later and the dress rehearsal was over. The little aquarium had been repainted outside and in. Phil had gotten rid of all George's hookers and installed sweet young beach girls, easy to pick up on the sands at this time of year. They could all swim like fish. He trained them as well as he could in the gin tank. Tomorrow it would all be pumped out and replaced by fresh sea water for Houdini.

Phil was ready for that. He'd taken over the comic diving part of the show and found that swimming in gin sounded better than it was. The alcohol stung on every little cut, the aroma was overpowering and even a sip burned the throat, despite its being first-class stuff. Nobody would miss it, except the two drunks that Phil had replaced, who were more interested in sneaking out the stuff than performing.

Flair Singleton lent her elegant, tanned body to the show, against her will. Hers was no match for her father's who meant to make the most of his brief fling with Houdini and the big time. After all, he was giving up his bootlegging career for this.

Flair's reward was to get a chance to harmonize with Texas Bunny in one of the songs. Flair had a pretty good voice and liked that. For this show Texas lost her cowboy hat and part of her name. She'd wear a shimmering, silver gown and be accompanied by a trio in white tie and tails. She'd appear as plain Bunny Long. Phil pointed out that the imitation of Texas Guinan that George tried for lacked class, in Bunny's case. There was only one Texas Guinan.

Everybody was happy except George. On that night after the kids were dismissed and Phil and George sat alone in the office George said he'd miss the old show. He looked frowzy in a rented dress suit, compared to his usual sweater and baggy trousers.

"George, you've got to learn class," said Phil.

"Class is like beautiful women," sighed George. "I can't connect. I tried for Flair before you came along and only got laughs. You knocked her off in only one day. I tried to help Texas Bunny with her throat problem. She shucked me off and used the whale sperm Vic buys for her."

He rose sadly. "You lock up, Phil. I'm going out to see if any of my two dollar whores are left in town."

George left but came back almost immediately. "Guess who's standing in full costume by the tank, weeping her heart out. Our singing star, Texas Bunny."

"What's her problem?"

"I dunno, Phil, but in my book that one's a candidate for Nut College. It's your show, you handle it." George slid to the side door, waved and was gone.

A single light shown on the stage and sink. A single figure stood there disconsolately, weeping. Still dressed in her long silver satin gown, with her platinum hair in wild disarray, Texas Bunny looked like a princess who'd been deserted at the Royal Ball.

Phil paused a moment before hurrying to her. Damn, that was one gorgeous creature, especially with all those curves tightly held and displayed in shimmering satin. She told Phil she'd lost her ring. It was a very important ring, since it was a gift of Vic Singleton, and she dared not go back to the yacht without it. He'd think she'd hocked it, or, worse, given it to some male lover. Vic was very jealous.

"Did you look in your dressing room?"

"It's not in there." The soft voice sounded shattered, the brown eyes expressed utter misery. "I looked real good."

"Then it's got to be out here," said Phil. "Did you have it earlier."

"Yes."

"I notice you sometimes wring your hands when you sing," said Phil. "Maybe it slipped off then." He peered about the floor.

"I've looked everywhere, except-"

"Except, where?"

"In my clothes. She turned her back to him. "Feel down me. It might've got into my clothes."

Phil looked down the gleaming figure and hesitated. He was tired, he just wanted to close up and go home. He surely didn't want to fool around anymore with Vic's girlfriend, not after the sperm episode. He had big plans that meant staying in good with the ex-bootlegger. Besides there was no place in that tight- fitting gown you could hide a pin, let alone a ring. He'd seen the ring. It was a lustrous pearl that she wore on her long finger, so at least she wasn't fooling him, because now there was no ring on those slender, white fingers.