Free Real Magic by Stuart Jaffe

standing on the road next to two piles of cards.
    Duncan considered chasing after Vincent, but he needed to run through the card trick before he forgot the details. He plunked down on the road, scooped up the cards, and tried to recall the performance. He couldn't get the actual trick to work, but he could recall the steps presented and that was important if he wanted to deconstruct the whole thing.
    After about fifteen minutes, he felt satisfied he had enough to work with. Brushing off his pants, he headed back into town. The trick rolled around his mind but no solution came to him. Not that he expected it. One thing he learned well from Pappy — when it comes to magic, a magician never makes it easy. The mystery and the challenge were all part of the show. Even with an audience of one stranger trying to get an "in" with a magic club.
    As the town appeared ahead, Duncan realized he had a more immediate problem than figuring out the magic trick. He had no place to stay. Of course, he had a pocket full of cash and Vincent had mentioned a hotel, so he wasn't worried.
    That sense of security didn't last long, though. Big round headlights cut into the darkness. A car stopped at least a hundred feet away and idled. Duncan stood in its beams and waited. No point in running. It was too dark and he didn't know the area at all. Chances were he'd break his ankle, run around in a circle, or head straight to wherever he didn't want to go.
    He heard the car door open but couldn't see much beyond the headlights. A figure stepped in front of the car, lit a cigarette, and started walking up the street. Duncan saw a large, wide-shouldered man. He moved at a steady clip, jingling the change in his pocket. A few feet closer, and Duncan's stomach dropped. It was Freddie — the big guy from the card game. He wore a trench coat and a fedora. Sweat dribbled down his face and he huffed with his final steps.
    "I've been looking for you," he said, his voice low and cold.
    It took all of Duncan's drunken will to keep from laughing. Freddie sounded like a thug from an old black-and-white movie. But when he wrapped his meaty hand around Duncan's bicep and squeezed, the humor vanished.
    "You're real lucky I got orders, 'cause I'd like to give you a taste of my knuckles."
    "Sorry," Duncan said. "Maybe some other time." Normally, self-preservation would have kept him from saying such a stupid thing, but alcohol and nerves got the better of him.
    "Real smart," Freddie said and yanked Duncan closer, their noses nearly touching. Duncan could smell a mixture of cigarettes and beer that made Freddie seem even more dangerous. "You won't be so cute when Mr. Walter is done with you."

Chapter 9
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    By the time the car rolled up in front of The Walter Hotel, Duncan had sobered extensively. Though not fully free of alcohol, he could walk straight and, he hoped, think straight, too. Freddie had jammed him in the back seat, sandwiching him between two equally large thugs. They reeked of cigars and sweat, and nobody said a word the entire trip.
    For Duncan, the whole experience felt a bit surreal. When would Edward G. Robinson pop up? And like a movie, this would all end. Once he found the door home, none of this would amount to much. Just an amazing, bizarre experience. He would love to come back for a visit and spend time playing cards with Vincent, but he didn't have to worry about Nelson Walter and his thugs. Yet at the same time, a twinge of apprehension formed in his gut. Cavalier could only go so far. He had to be a little careful. After all, if he got injured or beaten badly, he'd have a difficult time getting back to the 21st century. And worse, if he got himself killed ...
    Before the valet could take three steps toward them, Freddie stepped out of the car and pulled Duncan along. He kept a firm hold on Duncan's arm and steered him through the hotel. "I won't run," Duncan said, but Freddie grumbled and shoved him along.
    The Walter Hotel would have