There was nothing else to do in Reno. Even the Truckee River, which cut through the centre, was as grey and uninteresting as it was possible for a river to be: trapped between two cement walls, the water flowing rapidly as if it were trying to get out of the city as quickly as it could.
Often Jamie would look at the mountain ranges on the far horizon, thirty or forty miles away. Even when the summer sun was burning, they were still tipped with snow. Sometimes he imagined that they were whispering promises of some other life to come. If he could just get across the mountains, over to the other side… But he knew it would never happen. He was stuck here. Drive ten minutes in any direction and you came to desert, scrubland and sand-covered hills. Scott had got it exactly right, just a few days after they had come here.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, Jamie. And that’s exactly where we’re going.”
There were fewer people at the Reno Playhouse than there had been at the earlier performance that night – no more than forty. So far it hadn’t been a good show. Bobby Bruce had forgotten his lines. Zorro had got stuck in a pair of handcuffs. Even Jagger had been late appearing in the cage. Jamie could feel the bad temper of the crowd. They hadn’t even smiled at his opening joke.
He continued on autopilot, allowing the spotlights to dazzle him, not even looking at the audience. This time, the volunteer picked the Houston Chronicle out of the newspaper pile and the word that got ringed was “and”. That was always a bad sign. Small, ordinary words always made the trick seem less impressive. As Jamie returned to the stage, he remembered the word “funeral” that had come up earlier in the evening. It might not have been the most pleasant of words but at least it had had an effect on the audience.
Briefly, he swept his eyes round, looking for someone to come up and help him blindfold his brother for the next part of the act. And that was when he saw them. The bald man who had lent him his business card was sitting five rows back from the stage. The dark-haired man was next to him. Jamie had been talking but now he shuddered in mid-sentence and came to a halt. He felt Scott stop and look at him. Jamie knew what his brother was doing, even without turning round. Why had the two men come back? Sometimes people did return for a second performance. More often than not they were magicians themselves: mentalists and mind-readers who were trying to work out how the two brothers’ tricks were done. But these men in their identical, dark brown suits clearly weren’t entertainers. Nor had they come here to be entertained. The way they were watching him … they could have been two scientists in front of a specimen tray. Jamie remembered his unease the first time he’d seen them. He felt it again, only doubly so, now that they were here again.
“I … um … need someone to help me on the stage.” The words were forcing themselves from his lips almost despite himself. “Will you help me, please, sir?” Jamie had stopped in front of a man in his twenties. He was sitting with his arm around a girl. He had an Elvis Presley haircut.
“Forget it!” The man shook his head and sneered. He didn’t want to leave his seat.
That happened often enough. There were plenty of people who preferred not to volunteer – because they were embarrassed or because the whole thing was beneath them. Normally, Jamie would handle the situation easily and move on. But tonight he didn’t feel in control. He was afraid that one of the two men – the men in brown suits – was going to volunteer, and whatever happened he didn’t want them to come close. What now? He struggled to find the right words.
“I’ll help you!”
A woman had stood up, a few seats away. She was black, slim and attractive: in her thirties, Jamie would have said. Once again, he couldn’t help feeling that something didn’t quite add up. The woman was smartly dressed in jeans with a white silk shirt and a thin gold necklace. He could imagine that she was probably an executive in some sort of business. But what was she doing here – and on her own?
Still, she had given Jamie no choice. He waited for her to follow him up onto the stage and a few seconds later they were standing in the spotlights. Scott was slightly to the side, not looking at them, waiting for Jamie to begin.
“I’m going to blindfold my brother–” Jamie began.
“How did you do that just now?” the woman interrupted. “That trick with the newspaper. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Well…” Jamie didn’t know what to say. Volunteers hardly ever spoke to him and they never asked him questions like that, not when they were up on the stage. Why was everything going so wrong tonight? He turned away and, without meaning to, found himself looking once again at the two men in row five. They were staring at him. Of course they were. Everyone was staring at him. He was the reason they were there. But he still couldn’t shake off the idea that they were different from the rest of the audience, that they were interested in him for another reason.
Jamie forced himself to calm down. The two men were surrounded by a lot of empty seats. That was the only reason they seemed out of place. They were here for the same reason as everyone else: to be entertained.
“I’d like you to help me,” Jamie said.
“Sure!” The woman nodded.
Jamie picked up the blindfold, the hood and the English pennies. “I want you to make sure there are no hidden microphones.”
“How did you do it?” the woman asked again. “Can you really read each other’s minds?”
The audience was getting restless. They hadn’t come here to listen to an explanation of how the tricks worked. And it was late – almost half past ten. They were ready to leave. Without waiting any longer, Jamie pressed the coins against his brother’s eyes. For a moment, he felt Scott’s breath, warm against his knuckles. Later on, much later, he would remember it. But now he was moving briskly on. He secured the coins with the blindfold, remembering too late that he hadn’t invited the woman to examine it. Never mind. What did it matter anyway? He placed the hood over his brother’s head.
“What now?” the woman asked.
“I’d like something from your handbag,” Jamie said. It was another mistake. Normally at this point he went back into the audience. He wished this woman hadn’t forced herself onto him.
“I don’t have a handbag,” the woman said.
That got a few laughs from the audience. But it was hostile. They were laughing at him, not with him.
“Then give me something else,” Jamie said. “Just don’t say what it is.”
“How about this?” The woman reached into her back pocket and took out a photograph, the size of a postcard. Jamie took it. He found himself looking at a black and white picture of a nine- or ten-year-old boy. It was obvious this was the woman’s son. Jamie could see the resemblance. The boy’s hair was much shorter but he had the same thoughtful eyes and slightly feminine mouth.
Jamie held it. He realized he was waiting for Scott to speak. Normally Scott identified the object the moment Jamie had it in his hand. Then it would be on to the wallet, the deck of playing cards, the driving licence and out before the final curtain. But Scott hadn’t spoken.
“Scott – what am I holding?” Jamie asked. He had broken the rules that Don White had taught him. If he said anything, the audience would always assume he was using some sort of code. It was better to remain silent.
“I … don’t know.” Scott turned his head as if he was trying to look through the blindfold and the hood.
Jamie felt the floor opening up beneath him. Something had gone wrong. He glanced at his brother and felt the tension. Scott’s arms were pressed against his sides, his fists clenched.
“It’s a picture.” Desperately, Jamie tried to help him. “What’s it a picture of?”
And then Scott cried out. He raised a hand and touched his fingers against his forehead as if in pain. “His name is Daniel,” he said. “And he’s gone. It’s your fault. You’re still blaming yourself for letting them take him.”
It was Scott’s voice but it didn’t sound like him. Nothing like this had ever happene
d before.
And then the woman stepped forward and snatched the photograph back, and when Jamie looked up at her he saw real anger flaring in her eyes. “Where is he?” she demanded. “What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything!” The whole theatre seemed to be spinning. The lights were burning into him. Jamie just wanted to get off the stage.
“Tell me what you know.”
“I’ve told you–”
“Ladies and gentlemen … Scott and Jamie Tyler, the telepathic twins!” Frank Kirby had been watching from the wings, still in the costume of Mr Marvano, master illusionist. He had decided to come to the rescue, walking on and clapping his hands at the same time. About half the audience joined in. They had seen something but they weren’t sure what. Certainly the trick with the newspapers had been quite effective. But the trick with the photograph had failed. Or had it? The woman in the white shirt certainly looked shaken. Had the twins correctly identified the boy in the photograph, and if so, where was he?
The show was over. Jamie took hold of Scott and dragged him into the wings, at the same time pulling off the blindfold. Frank showed the woman off the stage and went into the final speech that always brought down the curtain.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight you have travelled with us to some of the furthest corners of the human mind…”
But nobody was listening. The woman was back in her seat, deep in thought. Banes and Hovey were a few rows behind her, unmoving, detached. Quite a few people in the audience were already gathering up their jackets and bags, on their way out. The music was playing again, drowning out Frank’s words. Even when the show went well, it was disappointing. Tonight it had been a complete failure.
Don White was waiting off-stage.
As Jamie walked out of the spotlights, the scowling face of “Uncle Don” was the first thing he saw. He realized that Don must have been there throughout the entire act and he flinched, waiting for the backhand across his face or perhaps the fat fingers grabbing at his throat. Don certainly didn’t look pleased. “What happened out there?” he demanded. His thick lips were turned down in an angry scowl.
“I don’t know,” Jamie answered. “It went wrong.”
“It was your brother. He screwed it up.”
“Yeah. That’s right. It was me.” Scott took a step forward. Instinctively, he had put himself between Don White and his brother. Like he always did.
Jamie waited to see what would happen. But tonight there was to be no violence. Don shrugged, his huge shoulders and arms rising and falling, his palms facing out. “All right. Let’s just forget it,” he said. “I’ll see you two later. Go and wait for me in your room.” He turned to the other performers, who had gathered round, wondering what had gone wrong. “The rest of you, I want you out of here. Let’s close up for the night.”
Jamie followed his brother back to the dressing room. It looked as if there wasn’t going to be any trouble after all. If Don was going to hit them, he’d have done it then and there. Together, they went into the room, not even bothering to close the door. They took their time getting changed. The house where they were living – with Don and Marcie – was a twenty-minute drive away, and most nights they went there with Don. It was only when he decided to stay for a drink, or to throw away some money in one of the casinos, that they took the number 11 bus to Victorian Square and walked the rest of the way.
Frank Kirby passed the door, on his way out. They had worked with him for two years but they hardly knew anything about him. He didn’t speak much and he never smiled. He smoked too much. He was usually the last to leave.
“Goodnight, kids,” he rasped.
They heard him make his way down the corridor. The stage door groaned open and then clanged shut. Don White would be in his office, having a last drink, talking on the phone to Marcie. Otherwise they were on their own.
Jamie leant down and tied up his laces. There was a hole in his trainer. He could see through to his bare foot inside. “What happened?” he asked. “What did you see … out on the stage?”
“I don’t know.” Scott bit his lip.
“You said you saw someone called Daniel. You said he was being hurt.”
“Jamie, I don’t want to talk about it. OK?”
“Sure…” Jamie looked at his brother in dismay.
Scott let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” He shook his head. “Something’s happening. I don’t know what it is. But something’s wrong…”
“What do you mean?”
“Tonight. That woman. Everything.” Scott ran a hand through his hair. It was thick with sweat. “Listen, Jamie. I’ve got a bad feeling. Maybe you’re going to have to look out for yourself…”
“Why? Scott? What is it?”
It was the dog that warned them.
The theatre should have been empty. The theatre was empty in that all the other performers had gone, leaving only the twins behind. But what Don White had forgotten was that Frank Kirby was staying in a boarding house that didn’t allow dogs, so every night he left Jagger in his dressing room. The German shepherd slept on a mat and normally no one would notice that it was there.
But something had disturbed it. Scott heard a low growling that suddenly rose, loud and threatening. It was coming from the corridor. Jamie looked up. He had never heard Jagger like that before. Scott raised a hand, signalling his brother to stay where he was, then stepped out of the door. And that was when he saw them.
Two men. One bald, one dark. Both in brown suits. Scott registered with a shock of disbelief that the bald man was holding a strange-looking gun.
Scott stared at them. They had seen him the moment he had appeared in the corridor but they couldn’t reach him. The dog was between them, hackles raised and teeth bared. Jagger was ten years old. It slept most of the time. But now, suddenly, it had changed. It was as if it had discovered the savage animal it might once have been. It was about to attack. There could be no doubt of it.
Scott realized instantly that he and his brother were in danger. He didn’t know who the men were or why they were here, but he knew he had to get away and had only seconds in which to do it.
Jamie! Come here!
He didn’t shout the words. He thought them. But it had the same effect. Jamie burst out of the room and saw the two men just as Jagger let out a final snarl and leapt into the air. He recognized them instantly. Banes fired the gun – not a bullet but some sort of dart. It hit Jagger in the neck. The dog screamed. Scott pushed Jamie ahead of him and the two of them began to run. Behind them, Jagger was still arcing towards the two attackers. The end of the dart – tufts of black feather – stuck out of the fur below its ear, but it was still conscious, snapping at the two men, snarling and barking. Kyle Hovey cried out as the dog sank its teeth into his arm and began to tear at his flesh. But then Banes got hold of it. His hands clamped down on the animal’s head, holding it against the floor. Jagger tried to reach him, tried to get back onto its feet. But then the drug, whatever it was inside the dart, took effect. The dog’s eyes glazed and it lay still.
The boys still hadn’t reached the corner of the corridor. Banes had dropped the gun when he had dealt with the dog but now he snatched it up, aimed and fired. The dart missed Scott by an inch and bounced off the wall. Banes didn’t have time to fire again. The boys had disappeared. White-faced, furious, he turned to Hovey, who was cradling his arm, half buried underneath the unconscious animal.
“After them!” he hissed.
Hovey stumbled to his feet. Banes reloaded his gun, pressing two more darts into the chamber. The two men set off even as the stage door clanged open ahead of them.
Jamie had reached the parking lot between the theatre and the motel. One end led onto Virginia Street with one of the casinos – Circus Circus – just opposite. The other tapered into a narrow alleyway leading to the quieter streets behind. There was nobody in sight. A few cars – belonging to the motel guests – had been l
eft in the lot. The motel office, a box-like room looking out onto the main road, was closed with a NO VACANCIES sign in the window. Jamie came to a halt. The heavy night air seemed to fall onto him, instantly draining his strength. What was going on? Scott had called him – but he had done it telepathically. It had been like a knife going into his head. And then the two men from the audience. One of them with a gun. Jagger…
“Scott!” he cried out and at once he was angry with himself. He wasn’t helping. He had no idea what to do. As always, he depended entirely on his brother.
Scott wasn’t going to let him down. While Jamie had stood there doing nothing, he had snatched up a coil of electric flex that had been left on top of a rubbish bin. He had already slammed the stage door shut and was twisting the wire around the handles. Now the door wouldn’t open from the inside. He had bought them time. The two men – whoever they were – would have to go round the front.
“Who are they?” Jamie cried. “I saw them. They were in the theatre. They came twice.”
“Not now,” Scott rasped. “We have to move…”
It was already too late. Even as Jamie watched, a car appeared, a black Mustang, racing down the alleyway towards them. There was a driver and another man in the passenger seat and there could be no doubt that they had been waiting for the boys to come out. Two inside the theatre. Two sitting outside. How many of these people were there?
Jamie froze. Scott leant down and picked up one of the rubbish bins. It was full and must have weighed a ton, but maybe desperation had given him extra strength. As the car sped towards them, he threw it. The dustbin didn’t travel far – but the speeding car did their work for them. The bin smashed into the windscreen. Glass shattered. Scott and Jamie threw themselves aside as the car rocketed towards them. Rotten vegetables and leftovers showered down as the dustbin rolled across the hood. They heard the metal door panels crumpling as the car slammed into the side of the theatre. Then it swerved away and smashed into the motel office on the other side. An alarm went off. The car came to a hissing, shuddering halt.