Sleight of Hand - By Phillip Margolin Page 0,4
Carrie,” Benedict said. “I thought I saw you at the Rankin, Lusk bash. You must know a lot of that crowd. Don’t they represent Horace?”
“What do you want, Charlie?” asked Carrie, who was too deep in her cups to worry about being polite.
“You look down in the dumps, so I thought I’d try to cheer you up.”
“Thanks, but I’d rather be alone.”
“Okay, I get that, but I did have a business proposition for you.”
Carrie tilted her head to the side and studied Benedict. “What might that be?”
“One of your puppies, Mary Maguire, is prosecuting Kyle Ross, Devon Ross’s son.”
“No deals, Charlie. That little fucker tried to seduce a thirteen-year-old girl by giving her cocaine. Then he offered a bribe to a cop. And his father made a veiled threat to Mary. That will all come out at sentencing, and I’m going to ask for the maximum.”
“Whoa, slow down. This is just another case. There’s no reason to take it personally.”
“Well, you can tell your client I do.”
“You’re forgetting how green Maguire is. I may eat her lunch. Then there won’t be a sentencing.”
“Mary’s young but she’s sharp. And you have no defense.”
Benedict pulled a pack of playing cards out of his pocket and fanned them out. While Carrie’s attention was on the cards, he passed a hand over her glass and slipped a pill into her drink.
“Tell you what,” Benedict said. “Let’s settle this like civilized people. You pick a card but don’t tell me what it is. If I can’t guess it, I’ll plead my guy guilty. But you dismiss if I do.”
Carrie threw her head back and laughed. “You’re too much.”
Benedict smiled. “I did that to snap you out of your funk. You looked so sad when I spotted you I knew I had to do something to cheer you up. And I wouldn’t have made you drop the case, because I’d always guess your card.”
“Oh, yeah? Let me see the deck.”
Benedict performed a few exotic shuffles, then extended the cards. Carrie selected one and looked at it. Benedict instructed her to put it back in the deck. Carrie slid the card back into the pack, then drank from her glass. Benedict shuffled the cards before making a few passes over the top of the deck. Then he stared into Carrie’s eyes. The prosecutor took another drink before setting down her glass.
“Is your card the three of clubs?” Benedict asked.
Carrie smiled maliciously. “No.”
Benedict’s brow furrowed. He closed his eyes and placed his fingertips on his temples. When he opened his eyes, he looked uncertain.
“Was it the jack of diamonds?”
“You’d better practice a little harder, Charlie,” Carrie said.
“Damn. I thought I had this trick down. What was your card?”
“The seven of hearts.”
Benedict sighed. Then he looked confused. “Hey,” he said. “There’s a card under your glass.”
Carrie looked down. Sure enough, a playing card was facedown on the table underneath the glass that held the remnants of her bourbon. She turned it over. Benedict grinned from ear to ear while Carrie stared dumbfounded at the seven of hearts.
“How did you do that?” she asked. Her speech was suddenly slurred.
“A magician never tells how he did a trick. But I’ll show you another one.”
Carrie closed her eyes and leaned back. She looked pale.
“Are you okay?” Benedict asked.
“I . . .” Carrie started. Then she stopped in midsentence.
Benedict walked around the booth and helped Carrie to stand.
“Whoa, you’ve had the proverbial one too many.”
“I’m okay,” she said, but she swayed unsteadily on her feet.
“You’re in no condition to drive.”
Carrie protested feebly. Benedict found her stub for valet parking. He laid a twenty on the table and helped Carrie out of the bar.
Benedict parked Carrie’s silver Porsche in front of his condominium and helped her walk up the steps to his front door. The three-story condo was faux Federalist in style. An attached two-car garage, accessible through an alley in the back of a row of similar condos, housed Benedict’s Mercedes.
In contrast to the nineteenth-century exterior, the interior of Benedict’s home was starkly modern, with hardwood floors, glass-topped tables, and ivory-colored walls decorated with abstract art. Carrie was unsteady on her feet, and Benedict steered her into his spacious living room before easing her onto a sofa.
There were no interior walls on the main floor. The dining area abutted the living room, and an island topped with black slate separated the kitchen from the dining room.
“Why wasn’t Horace with you?” Benedict asked as he put up a pot of coffee in the kitchen.
“Horace