sipped his Clan MacGregor. “I’ll get you for this,” he said to the Postman.
Now, on the stage, the bearded MC. “Say hello to Corky Withers,” he said.
Goldstone watched as the magician in the gray cardigan and slacks walked onto the stage. There was considerable applause. Withers looked around nervously, nodded a few times. The applause quieted then, and he reached into his cardigan sweater.
“Ordinary cards,” he began. “See?” He took one pack, pulled the cards out, handed them to a stunning girl at a ringside table. The girl looked at the cards, gave them back.
“He’s not exactly loaded with stage presence,” Goldstone whispered.
“He warms up as he goes along,” the Postman answered. “And I think he knows you’re here.”
“I’d like you to pick one,” Withers said to the stunning girl and she did. “Would you look at it please?” She did that too. “Is it the six of clubs?” She nodded. “Thank you,” he said and took the card back.
Silence in the club. One or two people clapped once or twice.
Goldstone bent close to the Postman. “Dynamite opening,” he whispered sarcastically. “Does he actually get better? Hard to believe.”
The Postman just gave him a look.
“The rising aces,” Withers said.
The Postman leaned close to Goldstone. “This trick is really incredible.”
“Would you take out the aces please,” he said to another girl at a ringside table, not as pretty as the first one, but with a better body. She fumbled through the deck, finally got the aces together. “Now put them on top of the deck and cover them with another card” She followed his instructions, handed the deck back. Then Withers said, “I’m sorry, my mistake, you don’t cover the aces yet, that’s a different trick,” and he reached to take off the top card.
And someone shouted, “He’s gonna do a five lift,
watch him, watch him
—”
Goldstone looked in the corner, tried to spot the heckler. “Fuckin’ drunks,” he said.
Withers ignored the interruption, took off the top card, started to go on. “All right, what we have here are the four aces on the top of the deck and—”
“—bullshit,” came from the corner. “They’re in your left hand.”
Withers blinked. He was beginning to perspire lightly now. “Um … yes, the aces—”
“—show us your left hand—that’s right, show the hand not holding the deck, go on, go on—”
Withers glared into the corner. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you let me do what I get paid for.”
“This isn’t a charity ward?”
A few people started laughing now.
Withers was more flustered. “I’m not capable of working like this—if you know so much and you want to take over, by all means feel free.”
The heckler said, “Don’t wanna break my neck getting up there, give me a hand.” Withers moved into the crowd.
And the crowd began applauding.
“What’s going on?” Goldstone said.
No reply from the Postman.
Goldstone looked over in the corner where Withersand the heckler were. “You really think you know a lot, don’t you?” Withers said to the heckler as he moved back onto the stage.
Goldstone smiled. “Cute idea,” he said to the Postman. “The heckler being a dummy.”
“I’ll guaranfuckingtee ya I’m an expert,” the dummy said.
“What’s the dummy’s name?” Goldstone wondered.
“Fats is what Corky calls him,” the Postman said.
“Well you ruined the rising aces,” Corky said, standing there, holding Fats in one arm.
Fats leaned close and started whispering. “Do you see that beautiful girl, the one you did the trick with?”
“What about her?”
“I think she likes me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I wonder if she does—maybe she’d enjoy a little roll in the shavings with me.”
“I don’t think you’re funny,” Corky said.
“Well
they
do,” Fats said, pointing to the audience, who were laughing. “Women go for me in a big way—I can do
Now, on the stage, the bearded MC. “Say hello to Corky Withers,” he said.
Goldstone watched as the magician in the gray cardigan and slacks walked onto the stage. There was considerable applause. Withers looked around nervously, nodded a few times. The applause quieted then, and he reached into his cardigan sweater.
“Ordinary cards,” he began. “See?” He took one pack, pulled the cards out, handed them to a stunning girl at a ringside table. The girl looked at the cards, gave them back.
“He’s not exactly loaded with stage presence,” Goldstone whispered.
“He warms up as he goes along,” the Postman answered. “And I think he knows you’re here.”
“I’d like you to pick one,” Withers said to the stunning girl and she did. “Would you look at it please?” She did that too. “Is it the six of clubs?” She nodded. “Thank you,” he said and took the card back.
Silence in the club. One or two people clapped once or twice.
Goldstone bent close to the Postman. “Dynamite opening,” he whispered sarcastically. “Does he actually get better? Hard to believe.”
The Postman just gave him a look.
“The rising aces,” Withers said.
The Postman leaned close to Goldstone. “This trick is really incredible.”
“Would you take out the aces please,” he said to another girl at a ringside table, not as pretty as the first one, but with a better body. She fumbled through the deck, finally got the aces together. “Now put them on top of the deck and cover them with another card” She followed his instructions, handed the deck back. Then Withers said, “I’m sorry, my mistake, you don’t cover the aces yet, that’s a different trick,” and he reached to take off the top card.
And someone shouted, “He’s gonna do a five lift,
watch him, watch him
—”
Goldstone looked in the corner, tried to spot the heckler. “Fuckin’ drunks,” he said.
Withers ignored the interruption, took off the top card, started to go on. “All right, what we have here are the four aces on the top of the deck and—”
“—bullshit,” came from the corner. “They’re in your left hand.”
Withers blinked. He was beginning to perspire lightly now. “Um … yes, the aces—”
“—show us your left hand—that’s right, show the hand not holding the deck, go on, go on—”
Withers glared into the corner. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you let me do what I get paid for.”
“This isn’t a charity ward?”
A few people started laughing now.
Withers was more flustered. “I’m not capable of working like this—if you know so much and you want to take over, by all means feel free.”
The heckler said, “Don’t wanna break my neck getting up there, give me a hand.” Withers moved into the crowd.
And the crowd began applauding.
“What’s going on?” Goldstone said.
No reply from the Postman.
Goldstone looked over in the corner where Withersand the heckler were. “You really think you know a lot, don’t you?” Withers said to the heckler as he moved back onto the stage.
Goldstone smiled. “Cute idea,” he said to the Postman. “The heckler being a dummy.”
“I’ll guaranfuckingtee ya I’m an expert,” the dummy said.
“What’s the dummy’s name?” Goldstone wondered.
“Fats is what Corky calls him,” the Postman said.
“Well you ruined the rising aces,” Corky said, standing there, holding Fats in one arm.
Fats leaned close and started whispering. “Do you see that beautiful girl, the one you did the trick with?”
“What about her?”
“I think she likes me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I wonder if she does—maybe she’d enjoy a little roll in the shavings with me.”
“I don’t think you’re funny,” Corky said.
“Well
they
do,” Fats said, pointing to the audience, who were laughing. “Women go for me in a big way—I can do
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