picketed the theater because Robert Chesterfield had been exposed as Mysterioso. Chesterfield approached the Imperial in disguise, as he had every day of rehearsal, because of the protesters. When he was certain that he hadn’t been spotted, he slipped into the alley that ran alongside the theater.
Henry Schloss, an elderly security guard, looked up when the stage door opened.
“Evening, Henry,” Chesterfield said. “It looks like we’re going to be busy tonight.”
“It sure does.”
“Did you get the tickets I left for your daughter and her husband?”
“I did. Thanks. They were thrilled.”
“My pleasure,” the magician said as he headed down a narrow hall past the dressing room used by his assistants and on to his dressing room, which was adjacent to the loading dock. He had just taken off his cap and jacket and seated himself in front of his makeup mirror when Rafael, gun in hand, stepped out from behind the rack of hangers holding Chesterfield’s costumes.
“Do they still say ‘break a leg’?”
Chesterfield jumped out of his chair. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the loading dock.”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“And you pissed me off by playing hide-and-seek, which was pretty stupid since you had to show up at this theater eventually.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide from you, Rafael. I’m trying to avoid those idiot protesters. How’s your side, by the way? You know I just nicked you to scare you off, right? No hard feelings?”
Rafael smiled. Then he drove his fist into Chesterfield’s solar plexus.
The magician had anticipated the blow. He tensed his stomach muscles to absorb it, but he doubled over anyway to make Rafael think he was in pain. Chesterfield pretended to catch his breath. Then he straightened slowly. “That was completely unnecessary,” he said when he was upright.
“It made me feel good,” Rafael answered.
“What do you want?”
“That’s a rhetorical question, right?”
“There’s no need for all this drama. I intend to pay my debt to Auggie, now that I have steady employment. My agent has shows lined up for me in several major cities.”
“Auggie doesn’t care about the money anymore. He wants to make an example of you.”
Before Rafael could say anything else, the dressing room door opened and one of Chesterfield’s assistants walked in. “Bobby, I…,” she started. Then she saw Rafael and his gun, and her mouth gaped open.
“It’s okay, Sheila. Rafael and I are old friends. He was just showing me a gun he purchased.” Chesterfield smiled at Rafael. “I’m afraid I can’t talk any longer. I have my show to perform, and I need to speak to my assistant.”
“Yeah. The show is important,” Rafael said. “Maybe we can meet afterward.”
“That would be wonderful. And give my regards to Auggie. Tell him I’m thinking of him and I’ll have something for him soon.”
Rafael left the dressing room, and Chesterfield talked to his assistant as if nothing had happened, but he collapsed on a chair as soon as the door closed behind her. There was no way he could keep avoiding Auggie’s debt collectors, now that Horace had gotten bookings for him that would announce his presence online, in the press, and on TV. He’d hoped that he could pay off Montenegro, but that might be off the table if Auggie wanted to make an example of him.
Chesterfield shut his eyes and slowed his breathing. He couldn’t think about Montenegro or anything else now. He had a show to put on and he had to stay focused.
* * *
Robin waved at Regina Barrister and Stanley Cloud as soon as she spotted them in the theater lobby. She’d asked Stanley if he thought Regina would enjoy an evening of magic. After some thought, he decided that it would be good to get Regina out of the house.
“I bought great seats,” Robin said as she handed Stanley two tickets. “We’re fourth row center. We should have a great view.”
“Thanks,” Stanley said as he followed Robin and Jeff down the aisle.
“My pleasure. I’m really eager to see the Chamber of Death.”
“We saw a dress rehearsal at Chesterfield’s home on the coast, the night he disappeared,” Jeff added.
“Do you have any idea how the Chamber of Death works?” Stanley asked.
Robin laughed. “Not a clue. Chesterfield let me examine the sarcophagus before he performed it at the dress rehearsal, and I still have no idea how he got out.”
The press had played up Chesterfield’s murder cases and disappearance all week, and the free publicity had guaranteed a packed house. As she walked to her seat, Robin scanned the audience.