Christopher Welsh 1005 Inland Lane McKinney, TX 75070 (approximately 14,700 words) 407-574-3423 [email protected]

Coffeyville

By

C.E.L. Welsh

Harry slowed his breathing. Across from him, no more than twenty 20 paces away, a man aimed a gun at his heart and meant to fire. Harry wanted to keep his eyes on the gun barrel, that dot of empty blackness that would spit out a metal slug with his name on it, but he knew he should be watching the man's shoulders, his chest, his stomach; —all key areas where a man might tense, moments before he pulled the trigger. He should, but he couldn't. Harry watched none of these areas. Instead, he fixed on the gunman's eyes.

Each of his His eyes where washeterochromatic; each a different color. That alone wouldn't be enough to draw in Harry, to cause him to risk making a mistake at this very crucial moment; it was the quality—the nature—of the heterochromatic eyes that drew him in. The right eye was a pale blue that reflected and amplified the stage lights surrounding them, seeming to shine under it's its own power. The left eye was a dull, steely gray that pulled light in, muting it, and causing the right eye to practically glow in the contrast. In addition, the man's eyes radiated something akin to hate...was it bitterness? Disgust? Whatever it was, the crowd surrounding the men seemed sure that the man with the gun had every intention of firing when the moment was right.

All he had to do was wait for Harry to say it was okay.

-Coffeyville, 1897-

The massive wagon rumbled to a stop on Union Street and the good folks of Coffeyville, Kansas gathered round. Dust settled around the giant wheels. The driver hoped hopped down from his seat to tend to the four draft horses, ignoring the crowd. The wagon was stopped at the bottom of the town plaza, where three streets intersected, and people and horses and the occasional dog or pig passed through. Moments passed as the early August sun went to work on those heads not covered by hat or parasol. Just as feet began to shuffle, a great blast of sound came from under the canvas cover, which proclaimed “Dr. Hill's California Concert Company.”

It was the start of the Company's “entrance music,”, a cacophony of scales and runs that started drawing people in from blocks away. As the music bellowed out the back of the wagon, it seemed to propel two men along with it, both young and strong, one dressed in nondescript work clothes and the other wearing over-sizedoversized evening weareveningwear and a floppy hat much too big for his head. Harry Houdini and Joe Keaton grabbed guide-ropesguide ropes on either side of the wagon and took off running to the front, pulling back the canvas top in the process and revealing a large organ, a man and two women. The man was Dr. Pratt—middle middle-aged, balding and sporting a massive black beard—and he was playing the organ like a man possessed. As his hands leapt up from the keys and crashed back down, he bounced on his bench and nodded his head. With a flourish, he finished the Company tune and immediately sailed into a rousing, popular ditty of the day.

Flanking him were Bess Houdini and Myra Keaton, two pretty young ladies dressed in tights and short clothes more suited for acrobats than daily wear in a rough-and-tumble cowboy town. Both now broke into song, hands clasped together while they smiled and nodded at the crowd, which now numbered two dozen. While Joe stayed at the wagon's front turning somersaults and making prat falls, Harry ran to the back again and grabbed up a tambourine. He began beating it in time to the music as he walked into the crowd. He smiled at the Coffeyville folks, nodding and occasionally pointing at his dark dark- haired, diminutive wife and saying things like, “Ain't she swell?” and “Sings like an angel, don't she? That's my Bessie!”

While he roamed the crowd, he took stock. They were a mixed bunch, young and old, rich and poor, healthy and ill. He turned as a peal of laughter cut through the music, and he saw a handful of ladies enjoying Joe's antics. Nobody could resist a free show and a spectacle, Harry always said, and while he'd done his turn as a geek in many a sideshow, he preferred to let Joe do his grotesque comedy routine. At 23 years old, Harry was determined to turn the last few years of struggling around. The days of he and his young wife catching rabbits for dinner (and living on that catch for more than a week) would be long gone if he had any say. The Houdinis were new to the Company, but already had made a good impression on the owners with their hard work and ability to draw a crowd. Harry wasn't going to play the clown any longer—he had a more elegant show to perform later that night, and a very useful task to do right then.

th A second wagon broke up the crowd, coming up 9 Street where it intersected Union and Walnut and Comment [TAI1]: Today, 9th doesn’t intersect Union and Walnut, but 8th St. does. Don’t ask why I passed right behind the first wagon. This was a wooden-encased affair and the second part of the looked this up, LOL. Company. It halted once it was passed, creating a cozy corner between the two wagons. The crowd, http://tinyurl.com/3uwteq7 now close to fifty 50 people, reformed in the space between them. Comment [TAI2]: I thought the rules for numbers might be different for fiction writing, but apparently they’re not. (Spell out numbers 0 through A pair of doors opened smoothly at the end of the wagon and a young man with long, golden whiskers 9, and use numeric symbols for 10 and above.) stood revealed. He was holding the edge of his waistcoat and smiling a smile so large he went from charming all the way past suspicious and back to charming again. He kicked over a series of steps and then walked down them, stopping halfway. With one foot lower than the other, he threw up both hands just as the music ended and shouted, “Greetings, Coffeyville! How are all you fine folks feeling Comment [TAI3]: Is it okay this dialogue is similar to the tone of your above intro, which reads, today?” “and the good folks of Coffeyville. . .”?

The crowd shouted back gleefully.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Thomas B. Hill, and this here is my California Concert Company! Are they not grand?”

More shouts came from the crowd, accompanied by applause.

“We have a show for you tonight, and every night for the next two weeks, right here at your very own Coffeyville Opera House! It is a show that you will never forget, I promise you. Isn't that right, Joe?” Comment [TAI4]: Delete?

“It sure is, boss!” shouted Joe, his arms around two of the young ladies. Of an age with Harry and just Comment [TAI5]: Change to “The same age as” as fit, his charming smile never failed to catch the attention of the fairer sex. Just as he had been trained to do, he used that to his advantage to draw people in and make them feel good.

Dr. Hill ran back up his stairs and pointed up the street. “Three shows a night, every night, and something new at every show! Joe, there, will have you in stitches from laughing,” here he pointed Comment [TAI6]: Is this redundant since “in stitches” means convulsed with laughter? Or is that with his other hand at Houdini, “and our boy Harry will amaze your eyeballs with some of the best card just Hill’s quirky way of speaking? tricks you ever did see!”

“I sure will, Dr. Hill!” shouted Harry, standing behind a thirty30-something year old man and waving. Comment [TAI7]: Delete since thirty-something indicates age? If you keep this, it should probably be He picked this fellow because, moments before, the man had removed his hat to mop his head, and hyphenated since it’s a modifier: “behind a 30- Harry spotted the sun winking off a head just barely covered in a thin layer of hair, combed over from something-year-old man and waving.” the sides. The man was balding and trying to hide it, so when Harry waved at Dr. Hill, he used a rhyme to reply. That was code for “bald.”. Had the man walked with a limp, Harry would have used a phrase with a number in it, something like, “I know two or three card tricks, at least!” and And had the man shown indication of tooth troubles, Harry would have referenced his wife with, “You'd have to ask Bessie, she's the one who taught me!”

There were a host of codes that he and Joe used to mark the crowd as Dr. Hill continued his speech, occasionally underscored by surprisingly deft organ accompaniment provided by Dr. Pratt. As Dr. Hill went on proclaiming the virtues of the show, Harry would pipe up with a “Yes, sir!” and a “Hear, Hearhear!” while Joe might turn a cartwheel or grab a ladies parasol and balance it on his nose. By the time Dr. Hill got around to pitching his “Patented, Tested and Never Bested, Dr. Hill's Medicinal Thrill, Beet Root and Potato Shoot Cure-all,” he had all the ammunition he needed to go to war.

As he spoke of the liquid's amazing powers, he looked right into the eyes of each person who would most benefit. To Harry's embarrassed thinning man, he spoke of the Cure-all's ability to “liberate constipated hair follicles.” To the well-dressed ladies befriended by Joe, he extolled the medicine’s powers to bring about fertility—or do the opposite, depending on how it was consumed. In this manner, he prepped the crowd so that when he wrapped up his speech with a rousing offer of “fifty 50 cents a bottle, two for a dollar or three for two dollars,” those marked by Harry and Joe were the first to wave their money in the air.

Bess and Myra, practically her twin despite the blonde hair, descended from the giant wagon and Comment [TAI8]: Earlier in the story, should moved into the crowd, armed with baskets of bottles and rolls of tickets for the evening show. Joe you say Bess is a brunette? continued his act by tumbling around the horses—much to the aggravation agitation of the driver—and Harry roamed around with a deck of playing cards in each outstretched hand, his deft fingers dividing them into packets and rotating them about each other. Dr. Hill worked his wagon and Dr. Pratt continued to play a lively tune that promised a grand time to any and all who were smart enough to come see the California Concert Company perform that night.

Across the teeming crowd, Harry caught Bess's eyes and winked. She had a smile for every man, woman and child who picked up a bottle or a ticket, but for her husband she always had something special, reserved just for him. In each stop along the Indian Territory, as they rumbled into a town in the heat of the covered wagon, she always said the same thing:

“This is the town, Harry! This is the town things turn around for us!”

He would always kiss her head and give her a squeeze, and say something like, “I know it is, Bessie! I know it is!” He always doubted, though. He grew up poor, the son of a Rabbi in Appleton, Wisconsin, a town that didn't need a teacher of Jewish law, tradition and custom. There, he was Ehric Ehrich Weiss, Comment [TAI9]: He was born “Erik Weisz,” but when Cecelia and the five kids arrived in New born on the boat as his family traveled from their home country of Hungary, on the way to become York in 1878, "Erik" became "Ehrich," and "Weisz" Americans. Appleton was the first stop, New York City the final for his family, and it was there Ehrich became "Weiss." In this instance, you want to use Ehrich if you’re talking about his days in Appleton. Weiss became Harry Houdini, the young boy choosing the name under which he would rise to stardom The chronology: Family arrives in NY in July 1878, by combining names from two of his idols. gets processed there at the Castle Garden Immigration building (when all the name changes took place), moved to Appleton by September of that Up until a month ago, he had begun to wonder if, perhaps, he was mistaken about his destiny. The year, then moved to Milwaukee in Dec. 1882. Ehrich went back to Appleton for an apprenticeship at abject poverty and hunger he and his new wife experienced were worse that any he faced as a child. Hanauer's in 1885, then returned to Milwaukee. In The job with the Dr. Hill Medicine Show represented a real break, a chance to build a future. But those 1886, Ehrich ran away to Delavan, Wisconsin, where he was taken in by the Flitcrofts, to whom he niggling nagging doubts remained. introduced himself as Harry White. Ehrich's dad moved to New York in 1886, followed by Ehrich in As he looked across the crowd at his beautiful Bessie that morning in Coffeyville, however, something 1887 and eventually the rest of the family. changed. Her faith became infectious, and he felt the doubts melt away. He laughed along with the Comment [TAI10]: Regarding his first name, I assume you’re referring to Harry Kellar; however, I folks watching him work wonders with cards and decided that Bess was right. This is the town where it think the general consensus is that “Harry” came happens. from “Ehrie,” Ehrich’s childhood nickname. He supposedly first used “Harry” when he introduced himself to the Flintcrofts, who took him in after running away to Delavan (see above). -New York City, 1911- Comment [TAI11]: I didn’t know this. Comment [TAI12]: If you mean “nagging,” then Franz Kukol was a man who knew secrets and how to keep them. As the chief assistant to one of the “niggling” doesn’t work here. most well-known magicians and showmen of the world, he had to be. He took an oath long ago— actually signed his name to a paper documenting the oath—that he would never reveal anything his boss entrusted him with, and that oath opened doors to a world of adventure and privy that meant life was never dull. Yet his boss did keep secrets from him, and Franz accepted that. In fact, he never once questioned being kept in the dark, so complete was his faith in Harry Houdini. For eight years, he'd done as he had been asked, and been instrumental in assisting Harry pull off the most amazing feats. Today, however—for the first time since signing that oath—Franz felt the beginnings of doubt.

He walked the early morning streets of New York City briskly, enjoying the shade of the tall buildings before the mid-summermidsummer sun crested them and turned out the sweat that would mar his crisp, white shirt. His jacket was folded over one arm, where it concealed a large paper envelope. Harry hadn't told him to hide the fact that he was carrying it, but old habits died hard. As other early New Yorkers passed the short, thin man, they paid him no mind. His carefully groomed mustache, as dark as his neat black hair, and his tan skin were distinctive enough, ; but in a city like New York, the distinctivebeing distinct was as common as flies in the summertime.

When his boss had summoned him to his office, Franz had expected the normal before-breakfast Comment [TAI13]: Lots of “had”s. briefing on the day. Something along the order of what show they would be working on, what new things Harry wanted to test out, or a few errands to run, all delivered in a quick, chipper, forceful manner, often while the still-young-at-thirty-seven, Hungarian-born juggernaut paced around his desk or juggled or fanned a deck of playing cards. He might have a few more lines around his eyes and a Comment [TAI14]: A bit awkward. touchtouches of gray peeking through at his temples, but the curly-haired master showman was filled with the energy of ten men, half his age.

Instead, he found Harry in the middle of trying to slip a series of four handcuffs and cussing a blue streak. Franz knew better than to offer to help; he stood by, ready to pitch in if asked, ready to be a sounding board, ready for just about anything and all things, except one:—for his boss to give up and use a key.

Harry had slipped his right hand out of the cuffs and managed the first off his left, but he was havinghad trouble after that. Franz noted that his left hand seemed stiff, and that his boss babied it unwillingly. After tossing the cuffs to the floor, Harry had rubbed his left hand for a moment, and then Comment [TAI15]: Watch your use of “had.” announced an errand that he had for his best assistant.

And that was how Franz found himself walking into the Stellar Savings and Loan and setting up a safety despot deposit box account. After filling out the proper forms with the bespectacled bank Comment [TAI16]: Using “safe” is more manager, he was lead to the vault, passed past an armed guard, and into a room lined ceiling- to- floor common, and you use it below. with number plates and small doors on every wall. The bank man took a small card and pencil from his jacket and a pencil.

“One last detail, Mr. Kukol, and I'll leave you your key. What shall your verbal password be?”

The question reminded Franz why he was so worried this morning. He'd seen his boss flub escapes before—no one was perfect, not even Houdini himself. It was the defeated way his boss had used the key and the attention he gave his hand that had started the concerns; but the strange errand fully compounded them.

“Take this envelope,” his boss had said, lifting it off the desk and handing it over. “And open a safe deposit box at Stellar Savings and Loan. Put the contents of the envelope in the box, but not the envelope itself. Use the words on the envelope as the verbal password for the account.”

Franz looked down at the envelope and read off the words. “Bison's Bounty,” he said. “That is the password.”

The words meant nothing to Franz, but seemed to have some weight with the manager. As the man wrote down the words down, Franz picked up a slight hesitation, as if in recognition. After handing over the key to the box, the bank manager thanked Franz for his business and left him alone. Franz opened the door and pulled out a narrow box with a lid. He opened the lid and slid the contents of the envelope into the box. Out spilled a letter in its own envelope and a crease-lesscreaseless $100 bill. Franz ignored the bill and picked up the letter. On the envelope was written the words I Warned You It Would Be Hard.

He placed the letter back in the box, shut the lid and turned the key. Was he talking to me?, Franz asked himself as he left the bank and started back home.

When Franz entered the his boss's home—a beautiful, four-story brownstone located at 278 West 113th Street in Harlem—he headed for the office to check in. After climbing several flights of stairs to the top floor, he found the doors to the massive library open. Inside, he found his bossHarry sat at the desk, staring at his left hand.

“The job is all done, boss,” he said.

“Great. Say, Franz, come over here.”

The assistant moved to stand behind the desk as Harry stood up, keeping his left hand at chin- level, fingers up. The hand still looked stiff to Franz. Harry held up his right hand to mirror the left and concentrated. Franz could see the left hand relax, appearing normal. Harry looked at Franz and smiled.

“Feel my hands, Franz.”

Franz reached out and felt the left hand first, fingers probing gently, then did the same with the right hand. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. His mind raced, which was unusual. Normally at this point he would relax and wait to hear what his boss was planning, but the events of the morning had him on edge.

“Alright. They feel normal to me.”

Harry nodded. “Good! Very good, indeed.” He sat back down.

Franz scratched the back of his head. “Are you going to share? Maybe tell me what's going on?”

Harry looked up and, for a moment, it seemed like he might. Franz knew that look—he wanted to share—but the moment passed. “In time,” was all he Harry said. Comment [TAI17]: To clarify who’s speaking.

“But for now, we need to call a meeting of S.A.M. I have an announcement to make, and I want my brothers to be the first to hear it.”

The Society of American Magicians was a fast-growing brotherhood of the best the world of magic had to offer this side of the Atlantic, an organization that had elected Houdini as their its Vvice Ppresident in 1908. Always fickle in matters of politics—especially when they could not serve his need to market himself—Houdini had left S.A.M.the Society, shortly thereafter, ruffling the feathers of many of the members shortly thereafter.

“This is quickly becoming the most interesting day of the summer,” said Franz, and Harry laughed.

“Oh, things are just beginning to get interesting, my old friend.” Houdini sat back and crossed his arms. “Just beginning.”

-Coffeyville, 1897-

After a week in Coffeyville, the Houdini's Houdinis and the Keatons were enjoying a rare day off. Dr.sDrs. Hill and Pratt would have them working seven days a week—and often did—but when they sensed the locals needed a break from the show, they would shut down for a brief respite before coming back with something new. Coffeyville provided more amusements than most of the places the Company had set up shop since the Houdinis had joined, ; and the two couples,— along with the Keatons' six month oldsix-month-old son, —spent the majority of their day at the rollerskating roller- skating rink. The ladies had a grand time, taking turns with the baby or holding hands as they went round and round the rink, while Joe and Harry put their athleticism to the test until the proprietor begged them to stop the handstands and leap-froggingleapfrogging.

As the sun threatened to set, the gang strolled back to the boarding house where the Company was staying. Harry pulled Joe back a few steps and threw an arm around his shoulder.

“Tell me, Joe,” said Harry, his brows furrowed. “When are you going to start using your child's name? It's not too smart, letting him grow up being called 'Hey, You'!”

“Well, I don't know about that,” replied Joe. “Seems to me it beats 'Little Joey,', which dear Myra likes to call him. I can't believe I let her talk me into naming him Joe. I don't fancy a Junior, you know.”

Just then, two men stepped in front of them, smiling but obviously wanting their attention. Both taller than Joe and Houdini, and one quite a bit thicker, they wore there their urgency as uncomfortably as their fine suits. The bigger man, sporting mutton chopmuttonchop whiskers, seemed the picture of Comment [TAI18]: Consider changing health in comparison to his companion, whose appearance was practically cadaverous. His bushy “muttonchop whiskers” to “muttonchops.” eyebrows and pencil mustache were a strange counterpoint to his small, ferrite-like eyes and pale skin. Comment [TAI19]: Do you mean ferrite, as in iron, or ferret, as in the animal? If the latter, change “ferrite” to “ferret.” “Ah, Mr. Houdini, I presume?” asked the larger man, his voice thick and hoarse. “I am Mr. Kline, and may I present my associate, Mr. Whitehall.”

Harry stepped forward and extended his hand. The four men shook hands all round, and Harry introduced Joe.

Mr. Whitehall spoke to Joe, “Might we have a private word, in brief, with our Mr. Houdini? It is a Comment [TAI20]: Change to “said”? delicate business matter.”

“Not at all. I'll just keep the girls busy.” With that, Joe joined the girls, who had stopped and were watching the exchange. Comment [TAI21]: Change “and were watching” to “to watch”? “What is this all about? What do they want with my Harry?” asked Bess, an edge in her voice. She held “little Joey” on her hip, not noticing when the boy reached out for his father. Joe scooped up his boy and spun him around with a goofy smile.

“Oh, I don't know. I think maybe some leg-breakers come to settle the old boy's gambling debts.”

“Joe Keaton!” Joe winced as his wife slapped him on the arm. “Don't tease poor Bess like that!”

“Alright! I was just joshing. I really don't know—they seemed harmless enough, though.”

“I wouldn't be too sure,” muttered Bess. Joe looked over to see Harry with his dander up. Mr. Whitehall appeared to be replacing some folding money in a wallet, which he put inside his coat, while Mr. Kline was holding tightly to Harry's sleeve. When Harry balled his fists and stepped into the man's personal space—looking up sharply to meet his eyes—Joe swiftly handed his boy over to Myra and quick- walked back to the scene.

“Everything square, gentlemen?” he asked, pointedly.

With Joe's return, the newcomers seemed to just melt away, although not without a few hard looks back at Harry, who gave as good as he got. The girls arrived, Bess grabbing Harry and burying her head into his shoulder.

“Now, don't you worry none, My Precious Lump of Sweetness,” said Harry, his anger gone on the wind. He raised Bess's chin with a knuckle and kissed her nose. “All is well.”

“Well, you better tell us what happened!” insisted Myra.

He explained as they resumed their walk to the boarding house. It seemed that Mr. Kline was somewhat of a fan of the Houdinis, having caught their act during a Company show down South, and was excited to expose his pal Mr. Whitehall to the same. The two men were big card players—the gambling kind— and had a scheme they figured Harry could help them with. They were regulars at a local gambling house, the Bison's Bounty, and wanted to do a little cheating to make a big score.

“So it was about gambling!” laughed Myra.

“They wanted you to help them cheat?” asked Bess, once again taking the baby in her arms and offering him a sweet.

“Well, yes, and then again, no.” Harry went on to explain that the two men wanted to visit the Bison with Harry in tow, but after hours. Using his vaunted lock picking skills, Harry would let them in the back room, where they would mark the cards in advance of a big day of cheating. They even offered him a hundred dollars to do the deed.

“What!” exclaimed Joe, “And you turned them down?”

“Flat,” agreed Houdini. “Now, I don't hold much in the way of moral compunctions against helping them do the job; it is dog eat dogdog-eat-dog with gamblers. In truth, that hundred dollars sure looked good to me. But going on living looks even better—if I got caught in the act I'd swing for sure. So I said no. They didn't take it none too well.”

By this point, they had reached the boarding house, where they had rooms on the second floor. A side- doorside door, accessible by a narrow stairway in the alley, let into the Houdinis' room, where a few bottles of beer in a cool corner waited for the group to put the cap on their day. The ladies went first. Bess set the baby down to fish out her key. Myra reached for his hand but missed, and the little boy sat down hard...on open air. He tumbled backwards down the stairs, and, to his parents, seemed to hit every stair on the way down, twice. The ladies were down the stairs in a flash, but not before the men hand scooped up the tyke and given him the once overonce-over. There was not a scratch on him;, and in fact, he let out a little laugh.

“Well, I'll be!” declared Houdini. “That was some buster!”

Joe looked up, a light in his eyes. “Buster! That's a good name. We'll call him that!”

-New York City, 1911-

Houdini stood before the gathering of magicians and smiled. “The time has come, gentlemen. The time has come for Houdini to perform that deadly act that we are all terrified to attempt. The one trick that puts our lives in the hands of other men:, men who have not neither the training nor the ethical compunctions to keep us well—men, in fact, who often mean to do us harm. Poor Billy Robinson found this out, as have many others.”

At the name of Billy Robinson, a rush of murmuring filled the air; most in assemblage knew the story of the man who masqueraded as Chung Ling Soo, and of how he met his end. Franz felt a thrill of fear run from his spine to his scalp.

“Yes, gentleman, it is time. In one month hence, I, Harry Houdini, will perform, in a way never done before, in a manner that could never be duplicated—the infamous Bullet Catch!”

The murmuring became shouting and the crowd surged to its feet in a collective. Franz put his hand to his mouth, the only one in the room besides his boss not voicing his opinion.

“Don't be a fool!” came one shout from the crowd, followed swiftly by, “Why not? The game is fixed;, you just have to control your variables!” In a like manner, the room was swiftly divided into those who thought their Harry had lost his mind and those—typically younger, and more bull-headedbullheaded— who saw no problem with making the attempt at the one magical feat that had killed more magicians than any other.

“Why?” came one voice, knifing through the rest. “Why now?” The question was repeated, until soon all members of both camps were quiet, hoping for an answer. Houdini spread his hands, inviting the S.A.M. group to take their seats. Comment [TAI22]: Change to “Society members”? “Because of Jaedo Wens.”

This brought up a fresh round of muttering, this time in confusion. Houdini reached into a bag at his feet and pulled out a flat, angled stick, that appeared polished and was painted with tribal-seeming like pictures.

“This, some of you might know, is a boomerang. It was given to me by an Aborigine I met in Diggers Rest, just before I made my historic flight and became the first man to fly a plane in Australia. It's a neat thing, this boomerang,” at thishe said as he tossed it end-over-end, catching it easily. “But it is the Comment [TAI23]: This term was not used until smallest of gifts compared to what Jaedo Wens taught me:; a secret so great, a technique so powerful about 1934. Consider changing to something else. that I have spent the better part of a year perfecting it before deciding I was ready to use it during the Bullet Catch.”

“Hang on,” shouted a young magician from the crowd, “this is all starting to sound very spiritual and mystical. I thought you were all against that gang.”

Houdini bristled, but Franz knew his boss well—it was an act. He had anticipated the challenge and had rehearsed his response to it.

“Look here, I have been very clear about my view of Spiritualism and the genuine hocus-pocus that those charlatans practice! People can believe what they want, and not a one of us here make makes our living but on the back of people wanting to believe what we do is real. But there is a difference between taking advantage of some poor soul's grief at the loss of a loved one and the kind of wonder- working we do!”

He smiled gently. “As far as just how mystical my new friend and teacher Jaedo Wens was, well...I can't truly tell you. All I can do is share my story, and let you decide for yourself.”

“As you know, I was in Diggers Rest to set a world record,; to make history in aviation. I camped out under the plane at night so that I might be ready to catch the dawn's favorable winds, and of a habit woke before the rest of my party to test the weather conditions. I was off for a short walk to clear my head on the first morning when I encountered this little brown man with wavy black hair, wearing little besides a few stripes of white paint on his face and torso. 'Now, here's a native fellow!' I thought, and set out to say hello.”

“The man spoke English well enough, said his name was Jaedo Wens and that he'd heard I was something of a tough customer. Let me tell you, the thought that my fame had reached the fabled Bush of the Outback didn't upset me none!”

Harry paused while the crowd chuckled.

“He wanted to do the punch- test I'm somewhat known for, to test my bread-basketbreadbasket against his strength. As I'd not had any requests of the same since I'd been in Australia, I wondered a bit at how he'd heard of that particular trick, but, as always, I was game. I stripped off my shirt, made myself ready, and invited him to take his best shot.

“He was a small man, but strong! His first blow surprised me and felt like maybe he'd cheated and poked me in the stomach with a billy-clubbilly club! And I say first blow because he didn't stop there; Comment [TAI24]: Also called a “billy.” he struck me four times, each time harder than the next, and I can't say I was sorry when he took a break.

“'Now me,', he said, and I was ready to oblige him. I took an easy poke on account of his size and it was like punching a tree. He gave me a look like I'd offended his mother and told me to give him a real blow. Well, I didn't have to be asked twice! I gave him what-for and he just took it like a pat on the back. Twice more I hit him, and twice more he didn't move a muscle.

“He wasn't done, neither. He wanted more. First he hit me, then I hit him. We started trading blows back and forth like a couple of addled brawlers when I just had to call it quits. Maybe I could have kept going, but I figured I'd be too sore to take my Voisin bi-planebiplane up if the winds were right, so I gave in and called 'Uncle.' He just nodded and smiled, like I'd passed some kind of test. 'See you tomorrow,' he said, and left the way he came.

“I did see him the next day, and the day after that. Always before my party was awake, always at dawn. We didn't do any more punching, thankfully, but he had more tests for me. I don't know why I put up with it at first—after all, I was there to make history, not play to a one-man crowd! The second day he wanted to see me slip some ropes, and he wasn't fooling when he tied them on. I managed to wrestle free—not without some scrapes and bruises—and then he challenged me to tie him up! I was ready for this fellow to fail, so I used every trick I could think of to make his bonds as gnarled and un-lovely as possible.”

Houdini stopped, looking off into the distance. “And then,” he continued, “and then the little bugger did it. He stumped me. He just turned in a circle, and by the time he'd turned away from me and back again, he was free. The ropes—still in the knots I'd tied—just fell away when his back was turned, like they melted off of him.”

His eyes refocused on the crowd.

“I was the rube, gentlemen. I examined the ropes. I examined his arms. I took stock of my senses, Comment [TAI25]: Consider changing to “fool” or something similar unless you want him to call thinking somehow me must have drugged me with some Aboriginal toxin. There was no explanation, himself an unsophisticated hick. nothing that fit in any school of escapology that you or I have ever been a part of. And just when I was Comment [TAI26]: Consider changing to “self- starting to think it was the Real Thing, that this was an honest-to-God Shaman, Jaedo Wens laughed liberation” since Houdini never used the term and offered to teach me how to do it.” “escapology,” which didn’t even exist then.

Once more, Harry paused, letting the crowd's mutterings rise and fall. “He told me he would teach me part of the mystery, anyway, because the breathing and exercises he used that gave him his...skills...would take a lifetime to master. He said he would teach me because I was a man of mystery, but of honor, too, and that I wouldn't abuse what I could learn. His words, gentlemen, not mine—but I think we all are of that sort, are we not? Or surely we would be bilking widowers and the like out of their inheritance to speak with their dearly departed, like those against whom I fight.

“And so each morning I rose, eagerly now, to meet Jaedo Wens some ways off from the plane, and for those brief moments, he schooled me in his tribe's special exercises and breathing. There was little time, and my mission had not changed—I was there to make that historic flight, and most of my mind th was upon that task. But I learned, a little, of what he had to teach. On the morning of March 18th, we Comment [TAI27]: This tiny “th” could possibly give you formatting headaches if you convert this had our final meeting, and at the end of it, he gave me this boomerang like he might to any tourist he document to other formats. favored.

“ 'You may never learn all that I do,' he said to me, ' but you may be stronger than you were before, and faster.' And with that he walked off, back to wherever he made his home. That morning I made my historic flight and all thoughts of Jaedo Wens and his lessons were driven from my mind. It wasn't until a few months later, back home, that I remembered, and started practicing.

“Now I don't claim—despite what some Spiritualists would say—that I have learned to go immaterial and pass through ropes or locks or bars. Nor do I claim that was what Jaedo Wens managed when he fooled me! But I have grown stronger, and faster, than ever I was before, even in my younger days.

“So fast, in fact, that I believe I need none of our order's special arraignments to perform the Bullet Catch. I intend, gentlemen, to actually catch a bullet fired from the pistol of a layperson, on stage and for all the world to see.”

The tenuous order held over the assemblage during Houdini's speech gave way to utter pandemonium. Comment [TAI28]: I love where this story is going!

-Coffeyville, 1897-

Well past midnight, an old man knocked on the outside door to the Houdin's Houdinis’ room. After a moment, the door creaked open and a tousle-haired Harry peeked out, recognizing one of the staff from the boarding house.

“Yes...Moses? Moses. What is it?”

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Houdini, sir, but there's come word of an urgent message for you at the telegram office. A call on the long-distance telephone from New York City, sir!”

At the man's words, Harry's eyes flew open, all sleepiness gone, and he disappeared inside. The old man turned and began his decent. He wasn't half wayhalfway down when Harry appeared again, dressed and wearing his coat; he pulled the door shut and locked it fast. Finding the messenger too slow for his liking, Harry only traveled half the stairs and then vaulted over the rail. He turned, handed a Comment [TAI29]: It might be cooler if he coin up to the old man, got directions to the telegram office, and then jogged into the night. flipped or shot the coin to the guy instead.

Harry's family lived in New York, including his beloved mother. A telegram at this hour did not bode well, and Harry's concern gave him energy and focus; yet it also distracted him. About halfway to the telegram office, he nearly collided with a man crossing the street, and moved to the right toward an alleyway to step around.

The unmistakable sound of a gun hammer cocking back into position froze Harry in position; he would have whirled around had not the cold barrel of the gun suddenly pressed against his skull behind his right ear. It was then he noticed the man in his path was none other than Mr. Kline. Mr. Whitehall spoke from behind him.

“Well, good evening to you, Mr. Houdini. It seems that you will be of some assistance to us, after all.”

Mr. Kline stepped close and seized Harry's left arm, and the pair of villains marched him into the dark alley.

-New York City, 1911-

The next morning Franz was in the kitchen enjoying a quiet cup of coffee along with some marmalade and toast when Bess Houdini stalked into the room and slammed a stack of newspapers on the table. Comment [TAI30]: Is it necessary to include her Bess had graduated from Houdini’s partner and assistant to Harry to socialite and world-travelerworld last name here? traveler; , but her love and protectiveness for her Harry had continued to grow over the years.

“This is unacceptable, Franz!” she shouted, her voice climbing octaves along the way. He winced, setting down his cup and swallowing a bit of toast that suddenly seemed all corners.

“I guess he didn't tell you,” he managed to get out, weakly.

“Didn't tell me? Of course he didn't tell me!” Bess's voice dropped back under shouting range and she paced back and forth. “We've talked about this before, Franz, he and I! There is no way I am letting him do the Bullet Catch!”

“Well,” said Franz, standing and picking up the newspapers, “He won't listen to me, you know. If you can't turn him off the idea, nobody can.” He held up a an envelope addressed to Harry in a spidery hand. “But this might help. Came in this morning, delivered by messenger.”

They found Harry in the garden with Charlie, a white Pomeranian that had been he his and Bess's pride and joy for years. As they entered, Harry was sitting, back straight, on a stone bench near the rose bushesrosebushes, his right hand balled in a fist and pressed to his forehead and a big smile on his face. Charlie sat before him, his back turned, panting happily.

Harry waggled his eyebrows at Franz and Bess when they came into view. He lowered his hand and held it out, the left next to it, both held as fists. “Okay, now, Charlie, it's time to read my mind! Which hand was I holding up?”

At the words “read my mind,” the tiny dog hopped up and spun around. He stopped panting long enough to sniff both hands, and give them each a lick. Charlie then sat down and put one paw on Harry's right fist. The magician laughed and scooped Charlie up, feeding him a treat fished from his breast pocket with a hearty “AttaBoyAttaboy!”

Charlie got plenty of head-stroking from all three humans. Bess took him and held him close. “Poor Charlie! He hasn't been feeling any too good, lately. I'm glad to see there's still plenty of smarts in him at his age!” She set him down and then rounded on her husband, her finger stabbing out towards him.

“But you! You seem to have lost all of your smarts, Mr. Houdini! The Bullet Catch? And me finding out in the papers?”

“Oh, dear, I knew I forgot to do something when we got in last night, Franz! Listen, Bessie, I'm very sorry I didn't mention this to you before, but you've got to trust me on this.”

Bess grabbed the papers from Franz and started handing them over one at a time to Houdini, reading headlines.

“Houdini to Perform Bullet Catch, Houdini Takes Aim at Death Defying Feat, Houdini To Deceive; Called a Liar and a Fraud! Is this want what you wanted? All of the papers of New York are telling about your fancy S.A.M. Meeting, and every one of them thinks you are crazier than this savage fellow you say you met at Diggers Rest! And how is it that I never met him or heard of him, or Franz?!”

At that she rounded on the assistant and pinned him with a glare. “Or did you know about this?” Franz held up his hands and shook his head. She turned back to the target of her ire, but the pause was just what Harry needed to break in.

“Don't be mad, my darling one and only! This is exactly what I wanted, of course. Let them say what they want;, you know that conflict draws attention, and attention draws the crowds. Only let me see the one that said I was a liar and a fraud...”

With that he dropped the other papers on the bench and scanned the article in question.

“Hmm. It seems like I've drawn out the naysayers, although I admit there seem to be some new faces in the crowd. This Mr. Harlan Vance, for one. He seems to have his heat up about me. Says I'm making the entire story up about Australia, that I'm just going to do the same old Bullet Catch trick...now I wonder what I did to get his back bristling?” Comment [TAI31]: IMHO, this is too mild of a response from Houdini. If someone accused him of being a fraud, he’d be outraged. Even in the middle “That's not all, boss,” chimed in Franz. “Letter came for you this morning from Kellar.” of a mild conversation in which he’s trying to placate Bess, he would have reacted much stronger to the accusation of being a fraud. Houdini dropped the paper he was holding and quickly opened the envelope offered by Franz, pulled out the single sheet of paper, and read the letter aloud. Harry Kellar was known as America's finest magician, and was a mentor and friend to Houdini; in fact, when Houdini chose to call himself Harry, it was in part an in homage to the famous Kellar. Comment [TAI32]: This makes for interesting fiction, but it’s probably not true. After the greeting the letter read, “Now, my dear boy, this is advice from the heart. DON'T TRY THE D—N BULLET CATCHING TRICK no matter how sure you may feel of its success. There is always the biggest kind of risk that some dog will “job” you. And we can't afford to lose Houdini. You have enough good stuff to maintain your position at the head of the profession. And you owe it to your friends and your family to cut out all stuff that entails risk of your life. Please, Harry, listen to your old friend Kellar who loves you as his own son and don't do it.”

“Thank you, Franz,” said Harry, obviously touched by the letter. “If you don't mind, Bess and I will speak further about this privately.”

As Franz left the garden listening to the Houdinis' low-pitched voices, he thought that perhaps old Kellar had reached Harry where his own wife could not. As the days rolled on, however, it became clear that wasn't the case. Each morning he or Bess or one of the household staff would bring Harry more newspapers bearing discussion of the upcoming Bullet Catch demonstration, including a date and a venue that Franz hadn't known about—clearly Harry was talking to the press about it and intended to go through with it.

Every day Franz read those articles, and in at least one of the papers every day, a single voice stood Comment [TAI33]: Redundant? out; that of Mr. Harlan Vance. As he collected the quotes, he began to piece together a picture of Mr. Vance's story and, perhaps, why he seemed to have it out for his boss.

It seemed that Vance was a wealthy man from somewhere out west; a banker, or a financier, or from old money, it depended on who was writing the article. A resident of New York for the last few years, Vance had been involved with the Spiritualism movement that Houdini worked so hard to debunk. That alone could have given the man cause to come after Houdini, as it had the many others so deeply involved in the movement. But it seemed that the man had invested heavily in a number of demonstrations of Spiritualism that were supposed to prove its validity. Demonstrations that Houdini routinely visited incognito, and then revealed his identity after proving the fraudulence of table- knocking, spirit-cabinets and blind seances. Comment [TAI34]: You might consider rewording this to be more visual -- to include how he was disguised as an old man with thick eyeglasses, a While not every article in which Mr. Vance appeared—blasting Houdini for being a fraud and an empty white wig, and a cane. And how he tore off his glory hound—mentioned his involvement with Spiritualism, enough of them did for Franz to make the disguise as he supposedly shouted, "I am Houdini!" connections. There was one thing every article did mention, however, that he found interesting; : Mr. Vance's unusual eyes. Each eye was a different color, and the article invariably deviated to describe them and the condition that caused them to be so:, Hheterochromatism. In Mr. Vance's case, one eye was blue and the other gray or silver, and apparently this caused enough of an impression on the reporter to warrant the one-or-two lineone- or two-line copy mention. Comment [TAI35]: Suspensive hyphenation.

“Should make him easy to spot in the crowd,” muttered Franz after reading the latest mention, for he had no doubt that the man would attend the show. That was the way of it with the detractors of Houdini; they invariably showed up to try and spoil the party, or to watch his boss fall flat on his face, were that ever to happen.

While the newspapers continued to print stories about the upcoming Bullet Catch, the Houdinis never brought it up around the house. It seemed some sort of truce had been called, even when admirers would approach them on the street or at a fancy dinner out to offer encouragement or advice to Harry.

It was at one such meal that a man approached the table with his hat in hand, right after the salad course was taken away, and wonderedwondering how Harry was managing to be so calm with 'him' in the room.

“Him?” asked Harry, he and Bess exchanging glances.

“Why,” said the man in a stage whisper, rotating his fedora and ruining the shape of the brim. His eyes cut to the right, preceding an obvious head-nodnod in the same direction. “hHim, sir! That devil-eyed fellow what that says you were lying 'bout the shaman Down Under.”

It was then the Houdinis noted that they were under more scrutiny than normal when attending a restaurant in their own neighborhood. The other diners were looking back and forth between their table and one nearer the kitchen, at which sat the grim Mr. Harlan Vance. Even from where he sat across the roomacross the room, they could see he was tall and slender, with light brown hair and eyes that picked Comment [TAI36]: Original wording implied they could see he was tall and slender from Mr. up the light and shone as he glared at them. On a second look, it was only one eye that shone—the right Vance’s position in the room and not from their eyeone. The left seemed did not to reflect much light at all. He was accompanied by an old man in a position. wheel-chairwheelchair, legs wrapped in a blanket. They were on a the desert dessert course, the old gentlemen gleefully scooping up the dregs of a bowl of ice cream while a slice of cheesecake sat untouched in front of Mr. Vance.

“What is it about him that gives me the willies?” asked Bess, shuddering and turning back to her wine.

“I don't know, my darling. I just know he's like all the rest; he can hate me all he likes, call me names, point his finger and do his worst. In the end, all he's doing is giving me the publicity I want.”

With that, Harry smiled at Mr. Vance and raised his glass. The other stiffened and then snapped his fingers for the waiter. He paid his bill and swiftly stood. He took gentle care with the old man's comfort, but he lost no time in wheeling him out of the restaurant.

With a few smiles and nods, Harry set things right with the rest of the dinning dining room. Diners returned to their meals and conversations. “Well,” he said quietly to Bess, “that certainly was interesting!”

Interesting was one way to describe life around Harlem in the days leading up to the Big Show. The flow of newspaper stories did not abate, and, in fact, began to compete with one another in their attempts to be more outrageous and to print more fantastic stories; the latest had Houdini performing strange exertions and making tribal noises late into the night. Mr. Vance appeared to try very hard to be in every paper, always with something new and increasingly nasty to say. The maids were complaining of how often they answered a ring or knock at the door, only to turn away a group of kids or a gaggle of reporters looking for fresh news. Franz, along with his fellow assistants Jim Collins and James Vickery, worked with Harry on the upcoming show. They ran well-rehearsed drills on the Thread And and Needle trick, Time Flies and a few others. They held meetings with stage hands and conductors. They blocked out the show and made arraignments arrangements for Harry's Voisin plane to appear on stage. But of the Bullet Catch, Harry remained silent, only to tell them to “leave it all to him.”

One week before the show, Franz came across his boss in the garden doing exercises. He ducked Comment [TAI37]: Consider changing to “encounter” or “came upon” or “spotted” or behind a tree before he was spotted and watched. Harry stood, ramrod-straight, with his fists tucked up something. under his armpits and his elbows jutting out behind him. His eyes were closed and his face was as relaxed as his spine was ridged. Suddenly, he sucked in a great breath through his nose, and pushed it Comment [TAI38]: Is this the word you want to out through his mouth. Five more times he did this, and on the fifth exhale exhalation, he suddenly use? And does this imply that his face was rigid? lunged forward on his right knee and lashed out with his right hand, making a grabbing motion.

Immediately he stood straight, resuming his statuesque pose. Again, he violently inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth a total of six times, this time lunging forward and grabbing with his left hand on the last breath out.

“He's completely lost it,” thought Kukol, and decided enough was enough. He stepped out from the tree and called out.

“Harry! Boss, you've got to give this up. You don't really mean to go through with this thing, do you?”

Harry opened one eye. “Hello, Franz. Why don't you stay and watch? Although you won't learn old Jaedo Wens's secrets this way; I made this exercise up myself just to catch that bullet!”

Franz walked up and stood directly before Harry. If he was going to keep lunging, it would have to be through his chief assistant. “Harry. Please.”

Houdini opened both eyes and sighed, dropping his hands.

“Look, Franz, my old friend—isn't it enough to ask you to trust me? I promise you, I will be safe.”

“Boss, isn't my oath to secrecy enough? You do remember the oath you had me and Jimmy and James all sign, right? 'I hereby swear by God the Almighty, not to reveal in any manner to anyone, no matter who it might be, nor even give the smallest hint, of the secrets, instructions, plans, apparatus, constructions you have confided in me in reference to the execution of your numbers...' ”

“Have that memorized, do you?” chuckled Houdini. “Of course I remember the oath, Franz. And I don't even need it to know you would keep this secret for me. You are a true professional, and don't think I don't know of Hardeen's attempts to buy you away from me! I know of your loyalty.”

“Then why won't you trust me on this? The most dangerous number there is? I can help keep you safe.”

Harry looked down for a moment, and then at his hands. He seemed to concentrate, and then held his hands up, saying “Examine my hands, will you?”

Franz did. “They're your hands, alright.”

“Indeed they are. I'm sorry, I truly am, but I need you in the dark on this one. In fact, the trick depends on it.”

With that, Harry jogged from the garden, breathing loudly in through his nose and out through his mouth, leaving Franz more puzzled than ever.

Two days before the event, Harry took out an advertisement in all the papers in New York. “Mr. Harry Houdini Invites You to Pull The Trigger,” it saidread, and went on to explain that, for the first time in the history of the trick, the Bullet Catch will be performed with a gun brought in off the street. Included was an invitation for anyone interested to apply at The Century Theater to be the one to fire their own gun at Houdini. Those who applied would meet with a group of theater staff and be vetted into a final group of twelve. A committee made up of theater owner Winthrop Ames , the Eeditor in chief of tThe Formatted: Font: Italic New York Times, the Commissioner of Police and the Mayor himself would review the final Comment [TAI39]: The “the” should be applications and make a selection. capitalized. Also, are publications like the Times italicized in fiction as they are in nonfiction?

One day before the event, the newspapers reported nearly five hundred500 men, women and children had shown up to apply.

On the morning of the event, Houdini made the front page and the box office sold out, standing room only, in under an hour. The sumptuous gallery and multiple balconys balconies would be filled to the brim, and the gliding staircases and epic marble colonnades would soon host the feet of thousands of lucky fans.

When the show began, the seats were filled, the aisles were filled, and there were folks who paid half- price to stand out in the hall and feed off of the news passed back to them by those closest to the doors. Like most of Houdini's shows, this one was an “evening of magic” in name only. In truth, Houdini entertained his audience not just with big stage- productions of magic, but also with demonstrations of how Spiritualists fooled their customers and—ever since he had learned how to fly—a tour of his famous Voisin bi-planebiplane, wheeled right out on stage. He performed his famous Needle trick, in Comment [TAI40]: This wording is just a suggestion to make it a bit more visual. The exact which and Thread trick, where he swallowed three dozen needles and a 10-foot length of thread, only phrasing needs some work. to regurgitate the entire lot as Vickery, Collins and Kukol slowly pulled the thread from his mouth and stretched it across the stage to show every needle threaded and evenly spaced out. and needles, and then had Vickery, Collins and Kukol all holding on to a ten-foot long thread with three dozen needles hanging from it, pulled from Harry's mouth. He tossed ringing alarm clocks in into the air, where they which vanished, and then dashed across the stage to catch them, suddenly appearing and still ringing, to demonstrate that how “Time Flies.” That night he added a few new wrinkles. He demonstrated how to throw a boomerang, whizzing it in a dizzying arc across the front rows of the audience. He brought out a didgeridoo and buzzed and hummed through it for ten minutes. He even “boxed” a “kangaroo”— Vickery in a cheap costume that would lead to years of teasing by Kukol and Collins.

The crowds loved it all. They always did. But that night there was an edge in the air as they waited for the spectacle they had all come to see.

Eventually, Harry strode out to center stage and projected his voice to the back of the massive theater. “Ladies and fine Gentlemen...IT IS TIME!”

The roar was deafening. Harry beamed. He told them of Jaedo Wens and mimed punching him in the gut, and then taking the blows in return. He demonstrated some of the secret exercises, puffing and blowing and grabbing. Then he invited the Selection Committee on stage. The crowd applauded appreciatively—these were the men that had picked the best of them to test the Great Houdini.

Mayor William J. Gaynor was introduced to the crowd, and he, in turn, introduced his personal physician, an old, bent gentleman with sideburns that seemed to want to escape his face, who would examine Houdini. Harry moved behind a screen and changed his clothes, coming out in his bathing suit. “No restrictions on my arms and legs,” he explained, quipping that besides, it felt like his uniform, considering how often he wore it during escapes. The physician did a cursory exam, proclaimed him fit, and then leaned forward and whispered in Houdini's ear. Harry stepped aside and shouted, “He want's wants to know if I'm nuts!” The crowd hooted and laughed.

Vickery and Kukol wheeled out a stage panel, and behind it they stacked bales of hay. “This,” Houdini offered, “will serve as a backstop, just in case the shooter misses...or I do.” A podium was set up twenty 20 paces away to allow the shooter to rest his arms, and steady his aim. When all was ready, Houdini asked the committee to produce their candidate. Winthrop Ames, young and handsome, stepped forward.

“Mr. Houdini, all of you wonderful patrons of The Century Theater, we of the Sselection Ccommittee took our duties very seriously. We considered all of the candidates and judged them all on their presented moral character, and their shooting skills. The gentlemen gentleman we selected is not only a crack shot and a well well-respected member of the financial world, he is someone I think we can all agree will do his best to keep our Houdini honest in this endeavor. May I present to you...Mr. Harlan Vance!” Comment [TAI41]: Oh, no! LOL

-Coffeyville, 1897-

When Mr. Kline and Mr. Whitehall discovered Harry did not carry his tools on his person, (“You expect me to pick a lock with my teeth? If I am to do the job, I'll need my pickers!”), they took him first to the Oopera house, where the collection of tension tools and picks were to be found. Soon after, they stood before the back door to the Bison's Bounty, the bright moon and cloudless sky making a lantern superfluous. Harry crouched down and made a show of examining the lock while his mind raced. He knew the moment he spotted it the lock wouldn't be a problem; it was a Sargent lock, one he'd picked dozens of times.

“I just don't know if I can do it, boys,” he said in a low voice, rubbing his chin with one hand and blowing a sigh. “This here is a Sargent—look, this mark says so—and I ain't never picked a Sargent that didn't take a bad turn. Got a mind of their own, these locks do.”

Mr. Kline, standing very close behind Harry, bent over to look. Mr. Whitehall, who, up to that point, had been scanning up and down the alleyway for company, grabbed his partner and straightened him up.

“Don't be a fool, Kline!” Whitehall spit the words out in a fierce whisper, then leveled the pistol at Harry. “Just get it done, juggler, or I'll do for you. Now!” Formatted: Font: Italic

So much for delaying till the authorities stumble across us, thought Harry, pulling out his pickers. He selected the right two tools when an idea came to him. Carefully, he rolled up the rest of his pickers and put the packet inside his coat pocket. Standing, he slid the pick and tension tool into the lock. The vibrations that clicked up the tools and his fingertips told him the job was done almost as fast as begun, but Harry kept fiddling with the lock to buy himself a little more time.

“Almost got it,” he whispered loudly, and his captors crowded close. “Get ready...on the count of five; One...”

Suddenly, Harry jerked open the door and stepped back with one leg, using the momentum to bowl both men over. “See you, boys!” he shouted gleefully, and then nipped inside and slammed the door shut fast. A quick turn of the lock—just in time as the knob was seized from the outside and rattled— and Harry had locked out the would-be card cheats. They forgot all need for secrecy and cursed Harry's name at the top of their voices, banging on the door in the process.

Laughing, Harry leaned against the door on his right shoulder. He added to the noise, shouting “I believe you owe me one hundred dollars! The deal was to pick the lock—you never said I had to let you in!”

A quick motion near the floor to the left of the door caught Harry's eye. At first he wasn't sure what he was looking at; then his hackles went up when he realized he was looking right into Mr. Whitehall's eyes. The furious man with his pencil mustache was in the dirt outside, peering in through an open, though thankfully barred, cellar window. With a grunt, the man brought around his pistol and did his best to aim at Harry, and before the young showman could process what was happening, the gun went off with a roar and a blinding flash of light. His left hand flew up to protect his face, and a sharp pinch at the back of it told Harry that the bullet had found a home.

He cried out and half-fell, half-slid to the ground, cradling his hand. His shot spoiled, the gunman and his compatriot fled. Harry, a little afraid to look at his hand, wondered how he would work the buckles in tomorrow night's show. He was thinking he might train Joe to perform the Metamorphosis escape with Bess when a middle-aged man with a potbelly and shotgun burst into the room from an interior door.

“You, there!” the man shouted, obviously frightened out of his wits;, and for the second time that evening, Harry found himself looking down a gun- barrel. “Who are you and what is your business?!”

-New York City, 1911-

The Ttall, grim, 'devil-eyed' Mr. Vance appeared on stage. His suit was immaculate, his posture perfection, and his gaze demanded attention. Where the crowd had gone wild when Houdini had announced that it was time for the start of the Bullet Catch number,; they went doubly wild when they saw that Mr. Vance would wield the gun.

Houdini appeared stunned. Vance walked up to him and looked down, topping the shorter man by more Comment [TAI42]: At this moment, Houdini than a foot in height. The noise level dropped immediately, everyone straining to hear what these two would have been furious. might say to one another. After a moment, Vance held out his hand, generating cheers and applause. Houdini simply looked up into the face of the man who had called him every name in the book, in every paper in the most famous city in America. A few boos and catcalls floated up from the front row. Then Houdini stuck out his hand and the two men shook. Once again the crowd showed their enthusiasm with thunderous applause.

Houdini held out his hands for Vance to examine, and then allowed each member of the committee to do the same. Satisfied, they stood back, and Vance allowed himself to be led by Kukol to the podium. He produced his pistol, and while Houdini stood out of the way Vance demonstrated its effectiveness by neatly shooting three balloons set against the stage panel with three quick shots.

“Well,” Houdini said, “Now's a good a time as any.” With that, he went and stood before the panel. Kukol spoke to Vance, who raised his pistol...and Houdini hollered “Wait!” and jumped towards the front of the stage. Vance, startled, fired his gun, and those in the front row could hear the bullet as it struck the stage panel, followed by a string of curses from the shooter.

“My apologies, I nearly forgot! I wanted to thank our Sselection Ccommittee in my own special way by asking them to make one more choice. Gentlemen,” he directed himself towards the mayor and the rest, “please, if you will, pick a hand.”

While the crowd muttered, the committee conferred. “The right hand!” shouted the majormayor. “Ah, the right hand!” echoed Houdini, holding it up and turning to face the crowd. “This, then, will be the hand I will have bound behind me!” Collins hurried forward with rope and grabbed his bosses boss’s left hand. Houdini shook him off and admonished him in a low voice, the crowd chuckling at the assistant's mistake. Collins grabbed Houdini's right hand, wrapping wrapped loops around the wrist, and then tied it tightly behind his back. Houdini held up his left hand and quipped, “It looks like my Bullet Catch will be a sinister affair!”

Finally ready, Houdini positioned himself once more in front of the stage panel. He stood again as he had in the garden, spine straight, his left fist tucked up under his arm pitarmpit, his elbow jutting out behind him. He nodded at Kukol, who, in turn, gave the word for Mr. Vance to take aim. Kukol began the count downcountdown.

“Five!”

There was now a reverent hush on over the crowd, as every person in attendance strained their every sense, attempting to pick up on the very moment the gun would fire.

“Four!”

Mr. Vance wiped at his brow with his left hand, then adjusted himself on the podium, taking careful aim.

“Three!”

Off stageOffstage, Bess Houdini stood by, holding Charlie in her arms. Her courage had been fortified by a bottle of wine, but it was fear for her husband that caused the tremble in her hands.

“Two!”

Houdini closed his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose.

“One!”

Houdini opened his eyes and exhaled sharply through his mouth, lunging forward ahead of the shot, his left hand darting out.

“FIRE!”

CRACK! Comment [TAI43]: Nice buildup to this point.

Harry Houdini's hand jerked back, slamming into his chest, and a thin ribbon of blood hung in the air, drawing a line from where the hand was to where it wound up. He cried out and fell over backwards as the crowd surged forward and the committee members raced to his aid. Kukol, Collins and Vickery beat them all to his side, but Collins quickly veered off to intercept a howling Bess Houdini, flying in from stage right. Vance pushed through the press and stood over Houdini, the smoking gun still in his hand. He seemed to realize how threatening he appeared and tossed the gun aside., regarding the gun, tossed it aside.

“Well?” he demanded. His voice was dark with anger.

Franz started to lunge upward, but was held back. “You bastard,” he hissed. Houdini's voice calmed him.

“I'm all right. I'm all right!” He struggled to sit up, his right hand still bound behind him, his left clutched to his chest. Vickery flashed a knife and cut the rope so that his boss could support himself with his right hand.

Vance leaned forward, his right hand balled in a fist. “Well? Did you do it? Open your hand, damn you! Let me see!”

Harry held out his left hand, and all eyes were upon it. He smiled, and opened his hand. It was empty. There was no blood and no bullet.

“I don't understand...” said both Vance and Houdini at once. Harry's smile was gone, replaced by a look of confusion. Vance looked at him sharply.

“How do you mean, you don't understand? How can you not understand? There is no bullet. I must have missed!”

Harry shook his head. “No, I caught it. I felt it in my hand.” He made a fist and then winced. “I actually feel it in my hand! Here, feel this!” he opened his left hand and felt it with his right, grimacing in pain. “Right here, between these bones!”

Vance grabbed his hand forcefully, causing Harry to cry out softly. He probed around the hand with his fingers, pinching and squeezing quickly...and then stopped and looked up at Harry. His face registered disbelief.

“This is some kind of trick,” he said, as others took Harry's hand and felt it. The crowd was starting to shout for answers; they wanted to know if Houdini was alright, and had he caught the bullet?

The mayor plucked at Vance's sleeve. “What is it, Harlan? What did you feel?”

“I felt...the bullet,” he answered quietly. “But it was inside his hand! There is no wound, but you saw the blood! And there it is, a hot, bullet-shaped lump in between his bones. It is as if it simply...passed through the skin and muscle, like it wasn't even there.”

Ames overheard the exchange and, sensing an opportunity to appease the crowd, turned upstage and shouted to be heard. “Mr. Vance says Houdini caught the bullet INSIDE his hand! It must have been that Aboriginal magic! Houdini turned himself intangible just long enough to trap the bullet!”

The assembled masses re-shouted the tale back up the rows, and soon the entire place was shouting at the sheer spectacle of it all. Not a one felt like they were short changed on entrainment value for the price of their ticket, that was for sure. In the mean-whileMeanwhile, Mr. Vance tried desperately to counteract what was said on his behalf.

“I said nothing of the sort!” he shouted, waving his arms at the crowd. “I only said it seemed like the bullet was in his hand! It is a trick, I guarantee it!”

“Come off it, Harlan!” said the mayor, “We all examined his hands, and there was nothing there before you took your shot! Our boy has done it and you've got sour grapes is all!”

Suddenly the mayor's physician emerged from the ring of bodies surrounding Houdini. He held up his hands for attention. The crowd quieted, eager for an official announcement.

“Mr. Houdini is quite well,” he started, and had to wait as the crowd shouted and then quieted again. “He does not seem to have suffered any injury, despite what we saw, and yet there appears to be a bullet lodged inside his hand.” He had to wait a much longer time for the crowd to quiet after that statement.

“I have requested, and Mr. Houdini has agreed, to pay me a visit at my office this very night, where I have an X-Ray machine. I will perform the examination there once again, and take the X-Ray myself. I will allow one reporter from each of the major papers to accompany me and they may then report what I find—if the lump in Mr. Houdini's hand is, indeed, the bullet fired from Mr. Vance's gun this very night!”

The journey from the theater to the doctor's office took place with all the efficiency and decorum of a ticker-tape parade. The crowd at the theater surged for the doors while Houdini and his party were escorted to a waiting car in the back. Once they were spotted, the car could not move at speed, but had to content itself with crawling along surrounded by a cheerful mob. Houdini waved to the faces, showing both hands and occasionally pointing with his right finger to where the bullet lay lie inside his left hand. In the car behind rode Franz with Jim and James. As soon as they were seated, Franz shoved Jim against the door.

“What was that for?” shouted Jim, shoving him back.

“For not telling me you were in on it, you traitor!” yelled Franz.

“It wasn't like that, Franz! He came up to me, right before the number, and slipped me a pipette filled with stage blood. 'When I need my right hand tied up,' he says, 'you grab my left by mistake and slip me this.' What was I supposed to do, argue? Ask your permission?”

Franz turned away and looked out the window, not seeing the mass of bodies surrounding the car. “Damn,” was all he said.

-Coffeyville, 1897-

Less than an hour after Harry had foiled the machinations of Mr. Kline and Mr. Whitehall, a policeman, gun drawn, walked into the back room of the Bison's Bounty to find it's its proprietor, Jebidiah Moneymaker (now fully dressed) pouring a beer for a bandaged Houdini. Comment [TAI44]: Ha! Nice name. Hope the real one doesn’t want royalties. “Hey, there, Johnny,” Moneymaker said by way of greeting. “My boy outside?” Comment [TAI45]: Houdini didn’t touch alcohol.

Johnny the deputy holstered his gun and pushed up the brim of his hat. “Yeah, Jebidiah, he is. Now, what's going on back here? He came rousing me from my well-earned sleep, telling tales about the Dalton gang back from the dead!” He nodded at Harry enjoying his beer. “And ain’t that the “Hoo-di- Comment [TAI46]: Eh hem. ;) Yeah, yeah. I di” fella folks are talking 'bout?” know. Using root beer would be kinda lame. Comment [TAI47]: Okay to use “folks” in dialogue since it’s also the author’s word? Harry set down his mug with a smile. “People are talking about me, are they?”

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck as he replied. “Yeah, I reckon they are. Say you is as good as a ghost at getting' out of straps n' such. I...” he straightened, suddenly. “Now, hang on a minute, I'm askin' the questions here!”

Moneymaker laughed. “It's okay, Johnny, Mr. Houdini here is a friend. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, he very well may have saved my life tonight!”

Harry shook his head. “I don't know about that, sir. As I told you, Mr. Kline and Mr. Whitehall said they weren't interested in anything 'sides fixing the cards for a clean-up session tomorrow.”

Johnny looked sharply at the gambling-house proprietor when Harry mentioned the names of the two men. Moneymaker nodded.

“That's right, Johnny, those two. You see, Mr. Houdini, the “gentlemen” you encountered are very well known to us. They lost quite a bit of cash playing fFaro over the last week, and have become more and more insistent that the House pay them back. They went so far as to lay hands on my boy!” At that, Moneymaker's eyes burned and his hands became fists.

“Now, I know the impression folks have of trying to buck the tiger, but I guarantee you my fFaro bank is an honest one—may-hapmayhap the only honest one in Coffeyville. But, these two men were out for blood, and Johnny here has had to run them off more than once—at gunpoint!”

“Well,” said Johnny, “If you'd sign a statement, Mr. Hoo-di-diHoudi-di, I reckon we've got those two Comment [TAI48]: To be consistent with above. stitched up neater than my ma's blue-ribbon needlepoint.”

When Harry said that he would, of course, stop by the office in the morning to fill out whatever paperwork was required, Johnny shook his hand, and that of Moneymaker, and said he was off to Comment [TAI49]: Change to “shook his and “squeeze me a couple a' ticks.”. Moneymaker’s hand and said he was off. . .”

“I'll just send Junior in on my way out,” he added, tipping his hat and strolling out of the room.

“Junior, is it?” asked Harry, wincing as he examined his injured hand.

“Yes, my boy Jeb. My pride and joy, and all I've got left in this world after his poor mother was lost to consumption. Jebidiah Moneymaker, Jr.!” The father's eyes were lit with a different, softer heat as he spoke.

“I may need to have you chat with a friend of mine on the value of naming a son after his father.”

“Anything you want, Mr. Houdini, you just name it,” said Moneymaker as his son appeared at the door. “Come in, here, Jeb! I want you to meet the man that saved our lives and our fortune this night!”

“Please, I really don't think it was all of that,” muttered Harry, flushing. He stood up to shake the hand Comment [TAI50]: Did people use this phrase in of the young man, about 15 years of age, that who was as tall and slender as his father was short and the 1920s? round. As the boy took his hand, he stepped into the light of the lantern, and Harry blinked.

“As you can tell, he takes after his mother,” said Moneymaker, and the father and son exchanged a meaningful smile. The boy joined the men at the table. “And you must understand, Mr. Houdini, that even if those villains had no design on my life—and I am not convinced of that—they were after the safe and our little fortune.”

“Surely you could build that again. The Bison's Bounty seems to be well-appointed,; you must have plenty of custom.”

Moneymaker leaned forward and held up a finger and thumb, nearly touching. “But you see, we are this close to our goal! Our name isn't Moneymaker by accident; my family have has been in the money- changing business for generations. My father used to say his great-great-great grandfather was at the temple when the Lord lost his temper! There's been a few hard years between then and now, but the entire reason I set up the Bison was to build up seed- money. We are getting back into the family business, in a big way. Just a few months more of hosting the tiger for the punters and my boy and I are going to open up a bank. Moneymaker Aand Son!”

Moneymaker sat back and his face showed every one of his years. “If those two had gotten their hands on our seed- money...well, I just don't think I could have started over again.”

Jeb put his hand on his father's shoulder. “It's okay, pa. Mr. Houdini stopped 'em!”

“That he did, son, that he did. And now you gotta do right by Mr. Houdini, you hear me? Anything he ever needs, the Moneymakers are gonna help him!”

Harry looked from one face to the other, pausing and blinking once more when he looked into Jeb's.

“I just don't know what to say. I was trying to save my own neck, you know! But, I'm not one to turn down an offer of help—it's just that, I have to know you two are serious. In my line of work, I do need favors, but they are commonly...uncommon, if you take my meaning. I may not ever ask for this favor, but if I do, you can be sure I'll need it done right, and it may require some discomfort. Are you sure you want to commit to that?”

“You've got our word, Mr. Houdini!” said Moneymaker, nodding at his boy.

“I appreciate that no end, Mr. Moneymaker, but if you don't mind I need to hear it from young Jeb, as well.”

Jebidiah Moneymaker, Jr., grew serious. He sat up straight and faced Harry. He placed his right hand over his heart, and stared into the eyes of the Bison's guest and savior. Harry found himself blinking once again, slightly dazed by the boy's hypnotic stare.

“I swear,” said Jeb, as the light from the lantern danced in his right, pale pale-blue eye and seemed to draw in to his left, steely gray eye, his heterochromatic gaze never wavering, “that should you call on Comment [TAI51]: Is it necessary to use here me in need of help that I will, to the best of my ability and fortune, aid you—from here to the end of since you used it above? my days.”

Harry buttoned up his coat as he left the Bison's Bounty—by the front door—wincing when he used his left hand. He considered what would happen with the wound. Holding the hand up before him, he experimented, flexing, opening and closing it. While painful, it appeared that the bullet—still nestled in the meat between the bones below his ring and middle finger—didn't do much damage or cause a loss of flexibility. Only time would tell, of course, but Harry balked at the idea of a doctor cutting into the hand to remove the bullet, or rummaging around with a pair of tweezers.

“Maybe I'll just keep it in there,” he said, dropping his hand and setting his sights on the road back to Bess. A reminder of my time in Coffeyville. He put his right hand in his jacket pocket as he walked, then stopped, pulling out a piece of paper.

“Well, I'll be!”

It looked like Mr. Moneymaker was a bit of a sleight-of-hand artist himself, slipping that paper into the pocket as he had helped Harry on with the jacket. “Don't you forget,” he had said earnestly, “my boy and I will help you out whenever you call on us. Just look for a Moneymaker and Son bank in a town near you!”

“I don't know about that name,” Harry had said with a laugh. “It might turn away the customers! Maybe something grandiose, like 'Western Star.'. ”

“'Western Star Bank',” Moneymaker had whispered, looking off into the future. “Why, I can see it now!”

Harry had chuckled as he left, certain that, despite all the posturing and promising, that the odds of the Moneymakers coming through with help upon request were pretty slim—knowing what he did of human nature.

Now, however, as he held up and examined the crisp, new $100 bill the senior Moneymaker had slipped him, he changed his mind. Stuffing it back in into his pocket, he vowed to call on them one day, when it would suit his needs the most. Then he thought of Bessie's reaction when he showed her the money, and Joe and Myra and little Buster Keaton hanging on his every word as he retold the night's events, and he began to whistle as he walked.

But he kept one eye on the shadows and alleyways, just in case.

-New York City, 1911-

The morning after the big show found Houdini once again on the front page of all the papers. Under headings headlines proclaiming that Houdini caught a bullet somehow inside his hand, each paper displayed a photograph of an X-Rayx-ray image. It clearly showed a spent bullet lodged in between the bones under the middle and ring fingers of Harry's left hand, and it kicked off a whirlwind of debates by doctors, physicists, magicians, spiritualists and laypersons as to the image's validity and what it could mean. Houdini himself was quoted as saying that would be the last time he would ever perform the Bullet Catch, and perhaps he was mistaken to do it even the one time. “After all,” the quotes ran, “that old Shaman is counting on me to keep his secrets.” The one item curiously absent from all of the articles was a quote from Mr. Harlan Vance.

That evening, Mr. Vance stood on a platform at the train station, waiting for the porter to load his luggage in the private car. His father sat beside him in his wheel-chairwheelchair, his legs snugly wrapped in a blanket, his hat in his lap. While they waited, a short man with a bushy beard and sporting square spectacles stepped before them.

“Well,” Houdini said, scratching at the false beard, “I must say that went off in a fine manner. You did well, Jeb. You have my thanks.”

Mr. Vance fixed Harry with those heterochromatic eyes and smiled. Even thirteen years later, they still had a startling effect on the magician. “Mr... H, sir, it was my pleasure.” They shook hands, warmly. Harry turned to Jebidiah Moneymaker, Senior.

“You Moneymakers are true to your word, and that's a fact. Was it as hard as I said?”

The old man nodded, “In some ways, yes. When we got your package and instructions at our bank,” he said, pulling out from under his hat and briefly showing the $100 bill Franz had placed in the safety deposit box, “I must admit, it was received with more relief than trepidation. We'd been hanging around the East Coast for far too long, and are eager to return home. We wanted to fulfill our deal and be about our business.”

His son nodded. “I think the toughest thing for me was playing the role of supporter to those dang Spiritualists. Turned my stomach!”

“Boy, do I understand that,” said Harry. “But, it was necessary to build the story. And speaking of stories, now that we are shut of all this business, I have a question for you, Mr. Moneymaker.” Harry Comment [TAI52]: Is this the word you wanted fixed the old man with a crafty stare. “Those two men in Kansas—Whitehall and Kline. Were they to use? justified in their case with you? Was your fFaro bank as honest as you claimed? It’s been said there isn't a trustworthy fFaro game in all of America.”

The porter signaled to the man New York knew as Harlan Vance that all the luggage was on board. Jeb took hold of his father's chair and started him up the ramp to board. Once inside, he turned him around, as the porter disengaged the ramp, so that his father could face Houdini.

“Moneymen have secrets,” he said with a smile. “Just like Magicians. You keep yours, and I'll keep mine.” As the train door slid shut, the old man patted his side, like he was checking a jacket pocket for his house key. The train began to pull away when Harry realized Moneymaker wasn't wearing a jacket. With a grin, he reached into his own jacket pocket and pulled out the $100 bill.

“I guess he wants to make sure he doesn't owe me anything anymore,” he said with a laugh.

“You really shouldn't flash that around, fella,” said a voice at his back, and he turned around to see Franz standing behind him.

“Hello, Franz. Picking up a friend at the station?” asked Harry, sliding the money back in into his pocket.

“Something like that, boss.”

The two men strolled off the platform and left the station together. When they were far enough away, Harry removed the beard and glasses and stuffed them inside his jacket. They walked in silence for a couple of blocks, and then Harry held out his left hand. “Take a look at this, will you?”

Franz sighed, and then examined the hand. “It's still there. It's real, isn't it? How long have you been keeping that little secret?”

Harry threw an arm around his chief assistant.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Bess and I traveled with Dr. Hill's California Concert Company? No? Well, it is quite a tale—you'll love it! Especially what happened to me in Kansas, in a place called Coffeyville...”

The End