The Last Illusion

He laughed. “That’s just for this act. It’s really Mike. I’m Irish like you. My parents came over in the great famine.”


“Irish?” I looked at his bronzed torso, then I noticed that his eyes were that alarming blue of the so-called Black Irish, just like Daniel’s, in fact.

He laughed again. “You’d be surprised what a little walnut juice will do and I usually spend my spare time sunning myself on the beach, to keep up appearances.”

“So what are you doing still working here?” I asked. “I thought you’d have left this place when you were hired by a real vaudeville house. Surely that was a lucky break for you, wasn’t it?”

“I’m not stupid enough to give up my job here, especially Saturdays and Sundays when we get the crowds. I do quite well for myself. I’m not just paid to perform, you know. I’m also supposed to keep an eye out for the wrong types. The boss don’t want no one who might cause trouble, you understand. And sometimes I’m needed as a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard for whom?”

“Ah, that would be telling, wouldn’t it?” He grinned and gave me a wink. “Let’s just say that not all the things that go on around here are as wholesome as watching a belly dancer or petting a camel.”

“Criminal activities, you mean?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” he said with exaggerated innocence. “All the bosses around here are as pure as the driven snow.” Then he laughed again. “So tell me about yourself. How long have you been in the business?”

“Not long,” I said. “In fact I’m not really a performer at all. I’m a friend of Bess Houdini. She asked me to take her place until she’s well enough to come back.”

“So what do you do the rest of the time, when you’re not performing?”

“Whatever I can get,” I said. “It’s not that easy for someone arriving from Ireland, as you know yourself. I was a chorus girl a few months ago. I worked in a sweatshop once.”

“So this is a big break for you too,” he said.

We reached the soda fountain and went inside. He ordered me an iced sarsaparilla and assisted me onto the high stool at the counter. I noticed that his hands lingered a little too long on my waist.

“So tell me about the fire-eating and sword swallowing,” I said. “Aren’t they terribly dangerous?”

“Only if someone gives me a push at the wrong moment,” he said. “On the whole it’s no more dangerous than the things those illusionists do.”

“That’s right if this week is anything to go by,” I said. “You heard about what happened to Lily, then.”

“Lily? The girl who got cut up with the saw? Of course I did. It’s because of her that I’m here.”

“You knew her?”

“No, I mean they needed an act to fill in at the last minute, didn’t they?”

“And how did they come to hire you?”

“Let’s just say I’m a friend of a friend. Somebody owed somebody a favor.”

“Lucky for you,” I said. “So will you just be filling in for this week and then going back to your old job?”

He shrugged. “Depends,” he said.

“On what?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?” He leaned toward me and touched the tip of my nose in a rather too intimate gesture. “Aren’t young ladies supposed to be coy and demure?”

“If you’re also Irish you’ll know that we’re seldom coy and demure,” I said and he laughed.

“I like a girl with fire and spirit; in fact I like you, Molly. So how about going out for a little late supper with me after the show tonight?”

Now I really was in a dilemma. Obviously Daniel would be furious if I went out to supper with another man, and it might not be prudent to go out alone with someone who had been regarding me with something close to a lecherous leer—and might also work for a boss with criminal connections. On the other hand it would be a great opportunity to encourage my fire-eating companion to let an indiscretion or two slip from his lips.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, giving him a coy smile. And I decided to take another risk. “Tell me, do you know a man they call Risey?”

“Risey? Everyone knows him. He’s an institution around here. How did you hear the name?”

“Someone at the theater told me that he’d challenged Houdini once, several years ago, and he’d been a sore loser. I just remembered it when I realized it had taken place on Coney Island. He’s an important man around here, is that right?”

“Used to be. I’d say his glory days are over. He owns a theater farther down the Bowery.”

“So did you ever perform in his theater?”

He laughed. “Hardly. It’s a girlie show. I don’t dance the cancan.”

I laughed with him.

“Oh, I get it,” he said.