“Good work. I’ll treat for lunch.”
Robin smiled. “It’s great having a sugar daddy as a boyfriend.”
Jeff handed Robin a newspaper. “You left early for the gym, so I don’t think you’ve seen this.”
MAGICIAN’S MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
One month ago, Robert Chesterfield, a celebrity magician whose stage name is Lord Chesterfield, disappeared from his seaside mansion on the Oregon coast during a private showing of the Chamber of Death, an illusion he was preparing for his debut at the Babylon Casino in Las Vegas. Mr. Chesterfield had been chained inside a sarcophagus filled with poisonous snakes and scorpions. When the sarcophagus was opened, the magician had disappeared. According to his personal assistant, Miriam Ross, Mr. Chesterfield was supposed to reappear behind the audience, but he has not been seen since he escaped from the coffin.
A week ago, the United States Coast Guard discovered a speedboat belonging to Mr. Chesterfield floating off the coast of California in the vicinity of San Diego. Blood on a shoe that has been identified as belonging to Mr. Chesterfield and more blood recovered from the speedboat has been matched to Mr. Chesterfield by DNA testing. The San Diego Police Department has issued a statement saying that they have no further information concerning the whereabouts of the missing magician.
Robert Chesterfield gained notoriety in 1998, when he was arrested for the murder of Sophie Randall and Arthur Gentry and the attempted murder of Samuel Moser. Oregon attorney Regina Barrister represented Mr. Chesterfield and was instrumental in getting the case dismissed. No one else has been arrested since the Multnomah County District Attorney’s Office dismissed the charges against Mr. Chesterfield. Peter Ragland, who prosecuted the case against Mr. Chesterfield, had no comment when asked about the current developments or the 1998 cases.
“What do you think?” Jeff asked when Robin finished reading the article.
“He could have staged the scene so people would think he was dead.”
“Or he could be the victim of foul play,” Jeff said.
Robin sighed. “It’s not our problem, Jeff.”
“Too true. But aren’t you dying to know what happened?”
“Honestly, no. Now, where do you want to eat?”
When Rafael Otero walked into Auggie Montenegro’s spacious corner office on the top floor of the Happy Mountain Casino, his boss was reading one newspaper, and two others were spread out in front of him.
“You wanted to see me, boss?”
Auggie kept reading, but he motioned toward a chair on the other side of his aircraft-carrier-size desk. “You seen these news stories about the speedboat?” Auggie asked.
“What speedboat?”
“Don’t you read or watch the news?”
“I’ve been busy. I don’t have time for TV or newspapers.”
“You should make time. The more educated you are, the better decisions you make.”
Rafael knew Auggie would get to the point eventually, so he didn’t say anything.
“Remember I told you about Chesterfield’s disappearing act? Well, Lockwood, his lawyer, thought he took off in a speedboat. The coast guard just found it floating offshore near San Diego. There was a lot of blood and a bloodstained shoe, like the one Chesterfield was wearing when he did his act.”
“They think he’s dead?” Rafael asked.
“I don’t care what anyone thinks. I know Bobby. He’s a magician, and magicians make a living by fooling people. That greasy motherfucker is playing everyone. San Diego is spitting distancefrom Mexico. A person who owes money can find a lot of places to hide in Mexico. Bobby is alive and well, Rafael, and I want you to find him.”
“That seems like a lot of trouble to go to over a couple of grand.”
“It’s not the money. It’s the principle. If I let Bobby walk away, every piece of shit who owes me will start getting bright ideas. So, you head south and find him, and when you do, you fuck him up good. It’s got to look horrible. I want this to be a warning to anyone who thinks about stiffing me. So, lots of blood, lots of gore, and leave the body where every jerk with an IOU can see it.”
“Where’s your client?” Joe Samuels screamed into the phone. “And don’t you dare tell me he’s in Davy Jones’s locker! I know better.”
“Then you know more than me,” Horace Dobson said. “I want to wring that bastard’s neck as badly as you do. Canceling his show at the Babylon has cost me a fortune.”
“The lawsuit I’m going to file against your crooked ass is going to cost you a hell of a lot more.”
“Calm down, Joe. I had no idea Bobby was embezzling the money you put up to finance his illusion.”