The Wizard of the West

Dick Demke smiled at the pretty, dark-haired flight attendant and made his way back to Row 17. The rest of the passengers on LAN Flight 690, the red-eye non-stop from JFK to Guayaquil, Ecuador, were already in their seats, but that had been part of Dick’s plan. He had arrived at the gate as late as possible, and had caused a scene there. He had pulled off his misdirection perfectly, not a difficult thing to do in the crowded and confusing atmosphere of the security check.

Dick found his row and shoved his hand baggage into the overhead bin. He wondered for a moment whether he should stow his jacket there, too. What were the risks? It wasn’t likely that he would forget to retrieve it when the plane landed in Ecuador at five a.m. He wouldn’t forget a jacket with so valuable a prize sewn into the lining. So, Dick removed it and laid it carefully on top of his duffle. He waited patiently as the old man sitting in the aisle seat stood up to allow Dick to squeeze past him.

The flight attendant was giving the demonstration of how to use the seatbelts and flotation devices. Dick wondered whether she was Ecuadorian. She had a sexy Spanish accent. He had promised himself that the first thing he was going to do when he got settled was to find himself a pretty Latina girlfriend.

“Where are you headed? asked the old man in the aisle seat. His voice showed the effects of a lifetime of smoking tobacco, and Dick also detected a bit of an Appalachian accent. The man had a long white beard, and his wiry gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore a faded Hawaiian shirt decorated with blue parrots and yellow pineapples.

“I’m going to Cuenca. I’m thinking about relocating there,” said Dick. “Where are you headed?”

“Same place. Been livin’ there three years, now.”

The attendant finished demonstrating how to apply the emergency oxygen mask.

The old man nodded. “Cuenca’s a beautiful city! Great people. Lots of retirees are heading there nowadays. But you look a little young for that.”

“I’m looking for adventure,” Dick said.

“Good for you!” said the old man, and the plane’s engines rumbled to life.

In the air, Dick ordered a Scotch. He thumbed through the in-flight magazine and tried to ignore the little cross-eyed kid who had been watching him from between the two forward seats. Now the kid was standing up, flopped over the seat back, in rapt attention to the old man.

“¿Se llama usted Papa Noel?” the kid demanded.

The old man chuckled.

“What’d he say?” asked Dick.

“He wants to know if I’m Santa Claus,” said the man. “They all ask me that.” And he pulled a coin from within his beard and handed it to the delighted child.

“You do magic?” asked Dick.

“I’ve picked up a few things along the way,” was the reply.

“I’m actually a professional magician,” said Dick. “I worked Las Vegas for fifteen years.”

“You don’t say! My wife and I love Las Vegas. What’s your stage name?”

“Ever heard of the Amazing Armando?”

“Hmmm. Can’t say that I have.”

“You may have known me by my other magical name. Because I’m originally from Wyoming, they call me ‘the Wizard of the West.’”

The old man’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait a minute! Weren't you on David Letterman a few years back? You wrote a book about magic that caused a big ruckus!”

“Yeah. No Secret Untold: Magic’s Biggest Secrets Revealed. It was a huge seller! Ticked off all the big names. David Copperfield tried to get an injunction against me, and I got death threats from Criss Angel’s camp. I couldn’t show my face around the Strip after that, and I had to go into hiding. I was blackballed. For two years the only gigs I could score were kids’ birthday parties. Thus, the Amazing Armando. Magicians can be vicious, grudge-holding bastards.”

The old man rubbed his beard. “Was it worth it to you? Making enemies of all those performers?”

“I thought so, at the time. I made some bucks. But the best thing was, I got to put those big-name hotshots in their place. But then my money ran out. That’s why I decided to move to Ecuador. I heard you can live real cheap down there.”

“It’s a lot less expensive, that’s for sure.”

“It’ll probably be a big change for me from Las Vegas,” said Dick.

The old man smiled. “You’ll get used to it.” He twisted in his seat to face Dick. “Hey, speaking of Las Vegas, what do you think about that big one-man heist at the MGM Grand last week?”

Dick hoped his eye didn’t twitch. “I haven’t heard! What happened?”

The bearded man settled back in his seat. “They had a big exhibit of jewelry that used to belong to the stars, you know, Elizabeth Taylor, Audrey Hepburn and Ava Gardner. The thief got away with over three million in jewels. He wore a disguise, but they figure they know who did it. The guy was a magician.”

“Really? What gave them that idea?”

“Because the thief used sleight of hand. Distraction. A special move they call the ‘Demke Drop.’ The guy was able to slip bracelets, necklaces and rings off the girls who were modeling them. Quick as a bunny! Right under the eyes of about twenty security guards and cameras in the ceiling.”

“Wow,” said Dick. “The Demke Drop? The guy must have some guts! But he’ll probably get caught trying to fence famous jewelry pieces like that. Items so easily traceable.”

“The pieces, maybe. The precious stones in them, not so much. If he first takes them out of their settings—he’ll be on Easy Street.”

The lights in the cabin dimmed and other passengers began to fit headphones over their ears in preparation for watching the in-flight movie. The irritating little boy in the front seat was jumping up and down now, blabbering in Spanish.

The old man caught the boy's attention by holding out his hand, palm up. He closed his fingers into a fist. When he opened it, he held a small white mouse. It sniffed the air before it scurried up the man’s arm and into his shirt sleeve. The little boy giggled.

“Wow!” said Dick. “A live mouse? I can’t believe they didn’t find it during the screening! How’d you manage to smuggle that onto the plane?”

The man laughed again. “I’ve got my little secrets.”

“No. I mean it! How’d you do that with the mouse?”

“What mouse?” asked the man. “There is no mouse.” The man clutched his fist again, this time conjuring a handful of glittering stones. In the focused beam of the overhead reading light, they seemed to shoot colored sparks of diamond white, sapphire blue, ruby red and emerald green.

Dick gasped, and he glanced at storage bin above him, then back at the old man, who was now holding Audrey Hepburn’s pearls draped around his fingers.

“Those are mine!” Dick whispered fiercely. “You took them from my jacket when I wasn’t looking! Give them back!”

The wizened man turned his hand over, and the pearls were gone. He smiled at Dick. “Give what back?” he asked.

“My jewels!”

“Jewels? There are no jewels,” said the man. “Believe me, as soon as that heist happened, all international airports went on alert. Gems can be detected with the new full-body scanners, you know. How could you possibly have smuggled jewels through airport security?”

“I’m not telling my methods!” Dick hissed.

The old man pressed the recline button on his seat and leaned backward. “Of course. A magician never reveals his secrets.” He closed his eyes and said, “But I’ll tell you how I would have pulled off that Las Vegas heist. I would have employed the Majewski Misdirect.”

Dick had to remind himself that mind reading was a trick. He said, “I’m impressed, old man. Not many people know how to work the Majewski Misdirect.”

“Are you kidding me? Anyone who cares to read can know about it. Remember? It's in Chapter Six of your book.”

“You’re no damned Santy Claus,” Dick growled. “Who are you?”

The man opened one eye. “I’m Rich Majewski. Pleased to meet you, Dick.”

“All right, Rich,” Dick snarled. “You’ve made your damned point. What is it going to take for you to give me back my jewels?” He clamped his hand hard on the old man’s arm. “What do you want? What’s it worth to you?”

The man firmly removed Dick’s hand. “I don’t know. How much do you think the secret of the Majewski Misdirect was worth to me?”

“I need those gems!” Dick pleaded. “Without them I can’t survive! I can’t go back there. I’ll go to prison!”

Rich Majewski only smiled.

Dick panicked. “You’re not so smart! You’re the one carrying stolen jewels now! If you don’t hand them over to me right now, I’ll finger you! I’ll turn you in to the customs office for smuggling!”

“And how do you plan to pull off that trick?” asked the man. “How will you describe me to them?”

“What do you mean?” growled Dick.

“I mean,” said the man, “How will you describe me to the customs agents?” He smiled, and his beard fell away like feathers, revealing the small round face and body of the cross-eyed boy.

Dick glanced around. Where had the old man gone? The shapely flight attendant was coming toward him, pushing the beverage cart. She poured a drink for the man in 17-C. She turned to Dick and said, in a rough man’s voice with a hint of Kentucky in it:

“It’s not smart to mess with the Sorcerer of the South.”