The Confabulist by Steven Galloway Page B

Wallace’s possession.
    Findlay didn’t answer him. They kept walking in silence, Findlayon one side, Simpson on the other, Wallace behind him. Houdini ran through several possible escape scenarios. Each ended with him getting shot. He decided to remain calm and see what happened. He guessed that they would take him to unlock the casino and then let him go.
    “I’m wondering, do I still get the hundred dollars?”
    This seemed to confuse Simpson, but it brought a slight smile to Findlay’s face.
    “After all the trouble you’ve put us to? No, I don’t think so,” Wallace said.
    “How about fifty?”
    “How about you spring open the door and I don’t shoot you?”
    The cable cars had stopped running, and there were few people out. A man crossed the street, his path destined to intersect with theirs, and Wallace pressed his gun into Houdini’s spine, a reminder to behave. The man nodded to them as he passed, and then appeared to recognize Houdini. Findlay saw this too, and slowed his pace to put himself between the man and Houdini. Houdini couldn’t see if anything happened, but Findlay returned to his side quickly and they continued their walk.
    They reached the casino after about twenty minutes. They stood across the street for a few minutes while Findlay and Wallace cased things out, then motioned him toward a wooden side door, leaving Simpson on the street as lookout.
    Wallace shoved him toward the door. “Open it.”
    Houdini took a quick look at the lock. It was a standard pin and tumbler. He could open it in under thirty seconds. He reached his hand into his inside pocket for his picks.
    Wallace raised the gun at him, which startled Findlay—his hand flew into his coat with a speed and precision Houdini hadn’t expected, but stopped short of drawing what he assumed was a gun.
    “Easy! I’m just getting my tools. You didn’t think I opened locks with my mind, did you?”
    Wallace lowered his revolver, though only slightly, and Findlay regained his stony visage. Houdini took out his picks and turned back to the lock. The way Findlay had gone for his gun made him suspect that he was exceptionally dangerous. Would they kill him after he opened the door? They wouldn’t risk a gunshot here, but whatever else happened, he couldn’t let them take him somewhere else. He needed more time to come up with a plan for escape.
    Escape. Only this time there was no trick to it. To get out of this he would have to act quickly and improvise as he went. This made him nervous as the gun was pointed at him.
    “What’s the deal with your man Simpson?” he asked, placing his pick into the keyway.
    “Simpson?” Wallace asked.
    Houdini understood that the three of them were using fake names. “It’s just that compared to you two he seems a bit of an amateur.”
    Wallace shrugged. “He’s good with cards. And every army needs soldiers.”
    Houdini saw Findlay raise an eyebrow at this. Findlay was clearly the man in charge, but he was content to let Wallace believe he was running the show.
    A plan began to form. He would break into the casino and lock them out. They couldn’t pick the lock—that was why he was here inthe first place. For once, breaking into something would save him. As long as he was inside he’d be fine. It would require a little luck, for Findlay to be distracted for a half second. He would have to wait for the right moment and hope that he would know it when it came.
    He worked the lock and felt it give. He turned his tension wrench a little and the lock was defeated. But he didn’t turn it all the way. Findlay was watching him intently, so he pretended to be having trouble with the lock. He took his pick out and stared at it as though it contained some great secret.
    “Is there a problem?” Wallace asked.
    “No, it’s just giving me a little more trouble than I expected. I’ll have it open in a minute.”
    There were footsteps on the street. Houdini waited until Wallace and Findlay shifted