Tricks and Traps (Gray Spear Society Book 7) (15 page)

Smythe closed his phone and looked at Tawni and Norbert. "Let's find a good observation point. It's going to be a long night."

* * *

Aaron was standing in the right wing of the main theater of the Huhawira Casino. Stagehands were working in the dim light behind the black backdrop. There was a surprising amount of activity, even when nothing was happening on stage. It was a dance that the audience never saw.
Just like being a Spear
, he thought.

Sheryl was performing her show. He was watching from the side, and the angle made it much easier to see the secrets behind the tricks. From here, some of them looked so simple and obvious he wondered how they could fool the audience. In magic, as in life, point of view was everything.

She wore a silky, white gown suitable for a formal dinner party. A diamond necklace and earrings glittered under the bright stage lights. She obviously wanted to look fabulous on the infamous night of her death.

Aaron was dressed as a cowboy. A tall hat sat awkwardly on his head, and rattlesnake skin boots squeezed his toes. He even had spurs that jangled when he walked. A gun belt hung low on his hips. The costume was old-fashioned, but the gun was modern and exceptionally accurate.

Sheryl smiled at the audience. "Tonight, I'm going to try a brand new trick." Her amplified voice boomed across the theater. A microphone on her ear was wired to a box on her belt. "It's never been seen on this stage before, and I'm very excited to debut it tonight. To help me, I have a special assistant. Please, put your hands together for Gunslinger Gary!"

Aaron heard mild applause.
That's my cue,
he thought.

He boldly walked onto the big stage. As soon as the hot lights hit his face, he froze. He looked to his right, expecting to see the audience, but instead there was just darkness. With the light blinding his eyes, it was impossible to see the dark auditorium. He knew the people were out there though, hundreds of them. All those eyes were staring at him in his ridiculous cowboy costume.

"He's a little shy," Sheryl said. "This is his first time doing this kind of show. Give us a moment, please."

She turned off her microphone and hurried over. "What's wrong, sir?" she whispered.

Aaron was shivering. "I hate bright lights. I hate big crowds. I hate being watched. This is a nightmare for me."

"You have stage fright?" She raised her eyebrows.

"I thought I could fight through it." He glanced at the dark auditorium again. "It's worse than I expected. I don't belong here. People are never supposed to see me."

"You're a commander in the Gray Spear Society, a feared killer among killers, and the only person in this room with a gun. You'll survive."

His face grew warm with shame.

He looked across the stage and saw two paramedics waiting in the wing on the other side. They were Marina and Kamal dressed in blue jumpsuits. Marina gave Aaron an encouraging smile. He couldn't let himself fail in front of her.

"Continue the show," he muttered. "I'll get through this somehow."

Sheryl went back to the center of the stage, turned on her microphone, and said, "We'll start with a shooting demonstration."

A stagehand wearing black pushed a cart over to her. A tall stack of white plates, a pair of safety goggles, and some other items were on the cart. She slipped on the goggles.

"Gary," she said, "are you ready?"

Aaron nodded even though he didn't feel particularly ready.

A net with a fine mesh was drawn across the stage behind her. She grabbed a plate and tossed it high into the air. He reacted instinctively to the moving target. He drew his gun and fired from the hip. The plate shattered, scattering fragments across the stage and onto the safety net. He was shooting a .38 with low velocity rounds tonight, and the recoil was minimal, but the gun still made plenty of noise.

She smiled broadly as she began to toss plates in rapid succession. She was trying to challenge him, and he was up for it. He picked off every plate without wasting a shot. The exercise relaxed him and eased his stage fright.

After the demonstration ended, the audience applauded wildly. Aaron wished they had kept quiet instead. He didn't need to be reminded they were out there.

He swapped the magazine in his gun for a fresh one.

"He's spectacular," Sheryl said, "isn't he? Having him on stage is a unique treat for all of us. Let's see if he'll do one more demonstration. A little encouragement, please."

The audience applauded again.
Just get on with it,
Aaron thought.

She picked up a baseball from the cart. She held it high and said, "Some people play baseball with bats. Gary likes to use his gun."

She lightly tossed the ball at him. He timed his shot so the target was at the peak of its arc. The bullet knocked the ball backwards straight into the net. She turned around and caught the ball on the rebound. She held it up again, showing a bullet hole in the center.

The applause was even more enthusiastic this time, but it didn't make Aaron happy. He really didn't care whether people liked him or not. The only affection he desired was Marina's.

"That's enough playing around," Sheryl said. "Let's get down to business."

A line of strings was lowered from the ceiling, and each string had a rubber clamp hanging on the end. She put a white plate into each clamp and steadied them so they wouldn't swing. The plates formed a straight line.

She stood at the end of the line. The last plate was just a couple of inches in front of her stomach. It would be impossible to hit the plate and miss her.

"You may fire when ready," she said boldly.

There were ways to perform this trick safely. Traditionally, the shooter would use blanks, and tiny explosives would shatter all the plates on cue. Electronic timers would make everything happen simultaneously. Alternatively, a stagehand could strike the targets from above with a pellet gun. The plates were made of unbaked clay and broke very easily.

Aaron took a deep breath. He was going to do this trick the dangerous, stupid way and use a real bullet. He wanted the audience to see the most realistic effect possible. It had to fool everybody, even the crew.

He visualized his target. Sheryl was wearing a metal disk under her gown just below her sternum. The disk was only three inches across, and if he missed, a compelling illusion would instantly become tragic reality. She was placing an enormous amount of trust in him.

He didn't let himself think about it. He smoothly aimed and fired.

All the plates broke at once. Sheryl's eyes bulged, and she collapsed in a heap. She pressed her fingers against her stomach. Blood oozed out, but that didn't mean she was actually hurt. A big pack of fake blood was taped to the metal disk.

Members of the audience screamed.

Marina and Kamal immediately ran onto the stage. They began to go through the motions of checking Sheryl's injuries like real paramedics. Marina gave Aaron a subtle wink.
It worked.

He dropped the gun and pretended to be horrified by what he had done. He ran off.

His escape route had been planned in advance. He dashed through the narrow back corridors of the casino. He only had a minute before security got organized and tried to stop him.

He burst into the parking lot behind the casino. It was a warm, humid night, and clouds of insects surrounded the lights. Instead of running away, he hid in a cramped space behind a dumpster. The stench of rotting food turned his stomach.

Two security guards came out the same door. After a brief hesitation, they split up and headed in opposite directions. Neither of them checked behind the dumpster.

Aaron waited. The quiet darkness was just what he needed to feel right again.

A short time later, an ambulance with flashing blue lights came around the corner of the casino. He emerged from his hiding place and climbed into the back. The ambulance immediately pulled away.

Sheryl was sitting on a stretcher with her legs hanging over the edge. Marina was beside her on a bench.

"Are you OK?" Aaron said.

"Yes, sir," Sheryl said, "but it hurt a lot more than I expected. It was like being punched in the gut."

"That was a light load, too. You're officially dead now. Rest in peace."

"Won't the police wonder what happened to my body?"

"Don't worry," he said. "I have contacts in the coroner's office that will take care of it for me. This won't be the first time paperwork got lost and a dead body went missing. My friends in the force will also stall the investigation into your murder, or assign the case to the most incompetent detective."

"How many contacts do you have?"

"They're spread all over my territory. Of course, none of them know who I really am. I need a whole file cabinet to keep track of the lies and bribes. That part of my job is a pain in the ass."

She raised her eyebrows. "Maybe I could help you. I'm good at lying."

"Indeed." He nodded. "Do you like golf?"

"I've never played."

"I have a regular foursome that includes the mayor of Chicago and the chief of police. You can come along next time. I'm sure they'll find you very charming and distracting. You'll hear the dirt that the public never learns about."

She grinned. "Sounds like fun."

Chapter Eight

Tawni was lying in the weeds, and it wasn't comfortable. Insects were crawling across her skin. She couldn't see them in the darkness, but their tiny legs were impossible to ignore. She had to remain perfectly silent, so she couldn't smack them. At best, she could gently brush them off, but some were underneath her body armor.

The air was thick with humidity. Even though it was night, sweat dotted her forehead. She would've killed for an icy glass of soda.

She raised her head enough to see the pinball machine factory. All the lights were off, but a half-moon provided sufficient illumination. The brown walls of the factory were just as boring as the first time she had seen them. There was no movement.

She turned to Smythe. He was lying beside her, and even though he was just two feet away, he was hard to see. He wore a ski cap and face paint with a black and gray camouflage pattern. A loose cloak with the same color scheme covered his body down to his knees. He was so still she couldn't even see him breathing.

"This is a shitty assignment," she whispered.

He shrugged. "I've had much worse. I spent years in Afghanistan. At least we're not dehydrated, starving, or baking in the sun."

It was a good point. She decided to stop complaining.

Norbert was lying on his back and sleeping. The whole team didn't need to watch the factory at once, so they were taking naps in turns. Tawni had another half-hour to go before she would be allowed to sleep.

A car pulled into the parking lot.

She furrowed her brow. "Late night security?"

"Possibly," Smythe said.

A man got out of the car. He turned on a flashlight and shined it in all directions.

Tawni and Smythe ducked into the weeds until the danger passed.

The man opened the front door of the factory with a key, and he went inside. He didn't turn on the lights.

Another car arrived a moment later and parked next to the first. This driver also had a flashlight. He quickly went into the darkened factory.

"Strange," Smythe said.

A third and a fourth car drove into the parking lot. Those drivers repeated the pattern.

"A secret meeting?" Tawni said.

"Wake up Norbert," Smythe said.

She touched Norbert's shoulder. His hand whipped around and grabbed her wrist with an iron grip. He squeezed hard enough to hurt.

"Relax," she whispered. "It's me."

He released her and opened his eyes. "Sorry."

"Look."

He rolled over and propped himself up with his elbows to get his eyes above the weeds.

Three more cars parked next to the others while he watched. All the new arrivals carried flashlights. They entered the dark factory without speaking to each other.

"Maybe these are the guys that make the monkey machines," Norbert said. "The night shift."

"We have to check it out," Smythe said. "Tawni, take pictures of the cars. Make sure the license plates are in sharp focus. Norbert, sneak in for a closer look. I'll patrol the perimeter and watch your backs. Keep your phones handy. You can use them to track our positions so we don't kill each other by mistake."

A gray duffle bag was on the ground with them. Tawni rooted around until she found a small camera. It was designed to operate in very low light conditions.

She crouched down as she worked her way towards the parking lot. A line of trees and brush provided some cover. She tried to walk silently, but it was hard to accomplish under these conditions. Grass and small sticks kept crunching under her feet. Silent movement was one of the many skills that Aaron was trying to teach her. Even though the man was much bigger than her, he could move like a ghost.

Tawni heard another twig snap, and this one wasn't her fault. The sound had come from behind her. She dropped flat on her belly and squirmed under a bush.

She looked out through the leaves at the landscape. The moonlight passing through the trees cast long shadows. There were too many good places for an enemy to hide. She remained still and watched for the slightest movement. Patience and discipline were major themes in Aaron's lessons.

Finally, she saw a shift in the darkness near a bush. Somebody was hiding there. She took out her phone and opened the tracking app. Smythe and Norbert's positions were displayed over a satellite image background, and neither location corresponded to where she was looking.

Tawni considered pressing the emergency button on her phone. She liked to think of herself as a fearless fighter, but she knew that wasn't really the case. It took at least a year of rigorous daily training to turn a recruit into a fully competent
legionnaire
, and her career had just begun. Honest self-assessment was yet another of Aaron's favorite lessons.