Free Real Magic by Stuart Jaffe Page B

The cherry wood top held two glass panels. A lamp with cloth tassels hanging from the shade sat on the far right corner. On the left corner, Duncan saw a phone — a more modern one than he had seen anywhere else since his arrival in 1934, one in which the speaker and receiver had been combined into one handset. Most importantly, he noticed two decks of cards. It was difficult to make out from the chair, but it appeared to be one deck on the edge and another fanned out on a felt cover as if someone had been practicing card tricks.
    Like the desk, the office was a peacock's exercise in display — substituting wealth for plumage. Marble, gold, crystal, ivory — all of it spoke to power and money. Possibly insecurity, too, Duncan considered out of habit — his well-trained brain sought out an angle on every person he met, trying to locate the weakness to exploit.
    Freddie stood by a small table on the left side of the room under an oil painting of a buxom woman hiding only half her body beneath a crumpled, red sheet. Duncan watched him for a moment but Freddie no longer appeared interested now that his task was complete.
    Two other items caught Duncan's attention, and neither one made him feel good about meeting Nelson Walter. The first was the door behind the heavy-handed desk. Unlike everything else in the office, this door was plain. A simple, wood door with a boring, round knob. No paint on the door. The knob — black-painted metal. It was wrong, this door, and the fact that it had been given such an important position in the room — directly behind Walter's desk — Duncan had to wonder what kinds of things went on back there.
    The second thing he noticed answered that question with sickening clarity. An empty umbrella can stood next to the simple door. Dark splotches covered the rim. Duncan knew dried blood when he saw it. His nostrils flared as he tried to keep the rest of his body from reacting.
    When the door opened, however, Duncan flinched. A middle-aged man wearing brown slacks and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled-up entered. He was short and heavy, at least 200 pounds, and brown suspenders strained against his bulk — no Depression-era starvation for this guy. He slicked back his hair to cover the balding circle forming at the crown. In all, he looked like an overweight, middle management-type. Until he faced Duncan with his startling blue eyes and his thick-lipped wolf mouth.
    He stared at Duncan for a moment before thrusting a golf club into the umbrella stand. From the desk chair, he lifted a suit jacket, rolled down his sleeves, and slipped it on. Duncan couldn't help but notice the golf club had been put in with the club head sticking out of the stand. And the club head glistened crimson.
    "You're Duncan, right?" the man said, his voice deep and dangerous. Duncan nodded. "I'm Nelson Walter. I hope we can work well together." He extended a hand.
    "Pleased to meet you," Duncan said, surprised to hear the nervousness in his voice seeping out. He shook Walter's hand, choosing not to fight back when Walter crunched down on his fingers. It reminded him of how Pappy would shake hands — as if he were in a contest to see who could hurt the other more. As Walter let go, Duncan saw two little red specks on the man's white cuffs.
    Duncan knew enough to stay quiet. Men like Walter wanted to be in control and the only way to control them was to make them think they ran things. Besides, for the moment, Nelson Walter did control things. Duncan had no choice but to ride this out until he had more information.
    Walter lit a cigarette, sucked in the carcinogenic smoke, and blew it out with a long, satisfied breath. His mouth opened into a wide grin that sent a shiver through Duncan. "Freddie here tells me you're something special with a deck of cards. Is that true?"
    "Wait, is all this because he lost money? Really?"
    "You didn't answer my question," Walter said, his grin looking colder with