The Illusion of the Disappearing Act
by
BJ Thompson
Chapter 2
Joe realized long ago that missing people were puzzles, especially a missing person such as Anthony Blake, who disappeared and returned on his own. A lot of what Jerry and Max told him didn't make sense. What was he doing those other times he was missing? Well, not really missing as much as not where he was supposed to be.
When Joe arrived at the A & A Tow Service lot, the white Corvette was tucked away in a far corner. Between the gum chewing and comic book reading, Joe guessed the tow lot attendant was barely out of his teens.
"I'd like a little information."
"Yeah, like what?"
Joe waved a ten dollar bill in front of the attendant's face. "I want to take a look at the Corvette."
"You,the owner?"
"Can I take a look?"
The attendant snatched the ten. "Don't take anything from the vehicle." He pointed to a door that led to the lot and returned his attention to his comic book.
Joe inspected the car. No scrapes, scratches. The keys were still in the ignition. He marveled that the car hadn't been stolen. He got in and checked the glove compartment and under the seat. He flipped up the sun visors and found nothing. He checked the car phone and noted it had a dial tone. He released the hood and saw nothing out of place in the engine compartment. He removed the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. Just a car jack and a spare. The car was too damn clean. Nothing besides the registration could claim the car belonged to Anthony Blake. He replaced the key in the ignition and returned to the office.
"How much is the tow bill?"
"Thirty-five dollars."
Joe pulled two twenties and a ten from his money clip. "A guy named Jerry Anderson will be by later to pick it up. Keep the change."
"Yeah, sure." The attendant pocketed the money.
"By the way, where was it picked up?"
"El Pescado Rojo Cantina and Bar parking lot on Santa Rosa"
"Who called to have it towed?
"The manager. He said it been parked there over twenty-four hours."
"Thanks."
The cantina was located a short drive from the tow lot. Joe arrived in time to see another car being hooked to a tow truck. A & A Towing was making life miserable for someone else.
A man, with shirt sleeves rolled up, stood in the doorway of the El Pescado Rojo watching the car being towed away.
"You the manager?" Joe asked.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"I want to ask you about the car you had towed about a day or so ago."
"This is the first car I've had towed this week."
"A white Corvette. You said it had been parked in the lot for over twenty-four hours."
"I don't know anything about a white Corvette." He turned to enter the cantina.
"Wait a minute. The tow lot attendant said the manager called it in. Now you're the manager. Who else around here could do that?"
"Like I said I don't know anything about a Corvette. Besides look at the size of my parking lot," he said waving toward the eight parking spots squeezed between two buildings. "I never let any car stay around here that long. Usually the next day is when we tow. I've got to keep the lot clear for customers. No car would hang around here for twenty-four hours."
"Okay, yeah, thanks."
Joe, puzzled by who called the tow company about Blake's car, wondered if it wasn't the manager, then who? As he approached his car, he glanced across the street. George's, a local cafe, was directly across from the lot.
He dodged the traffic and jogged to the cafe. As he entered the café he checked the placard in the window for the hours the café was open – 5 AM to 11 PM. He seated himself in a window booth. A short, plump waitress with a sagging flip hairdo placed a menu on the table.
"What I want isn't on the menu."
"Like what?"
"I'm doing a favor for a friend. He seems to have misplaced his car, a white Corvette. Says he parked it across the street in the cantina parking lot, but as you can see it's not there. You didn't happen to see what happened to it?"
"Was your friend a slim guy, dressed sorta fancy casual, good looking, medium long brown hair?"
"Yeah, that could be him."
"He came in here a day or so ago, had breakfast and left. Didn't see which way he went. It was during the morning rush. Me and the other gals were pretty busy."
"If it was during the morning rush, why did you remember him?"
"Listen, mister, I ain't dead yet. Good looking man comes in here . . ." She eyed Joe. ". . . besides he wasn't a regular."
"Did you happen to see the car?"
"Saw it getting towed."
"That's all?"
"I'm not paid to look out the window all day. I got tables to wait. You want to order anything?"
Joe pulled out a ten dollar bill from his pocket and laid it on the table. "Keep the change."
The waitress slipped the bill from the table to her pocket in one move.
Joe did his best thinking while driving. He would let his mind wander over what he knew and what he didn't know. By the time he arrived at his destination either he knew the answers or had more questions. Parking at the private plane gate, he didn't have any more answers and still the same questions. Maybe one more question – how much does a Boeing 707 jet cost? Plus the fuel can't be cheap. Yeah, he thought as he climbed the stairs docked at rear hatch to the plane, Anthony Blake lives pretty well.
"Jerry?" he called.
"Welcome aboard, Joe." Jerry greeted him from the cockpit. "Is there anything I can show you?"
"No, just let me wander around. I'll let you know." Joe inspected the interior of the main cabin. Everything he touched is the highest quality, real wood, real leather and silk. Nothing was fake. The man of illusions needed to have reality surround him. Joe visited Jerry in the cockpit. "Tell me, did you ever do any 'special' flights'?"
"What do you mean by special?"
"Something out of the ordinary."
"When you pilot a 707 for a world famous magician, every day is something out of the ordinary."
"Nothing comes to mind?"
"Hold on, wait a minute. Once we flew a group of his friends to Miami. Very hush, hush. I didn't even have to file a flight plan. The tower cleared me to take off immediately."
"When did this happen?"
"About a year ago."
"Were these friends of Blake's?" Joe asked.
"If they were, I'd never seen them before. And haven't seen them since."
"Miami? What happened after they arrived?"
"Nothing, them and all their gear left. They had so much stuff we had to leave the 'Vette in LA."
"Stuff?"
"Yeah, like the cases musicians use to carry their PA equipment and amps. They had a lot of large cases like that."
"And you'd never seen them before?"
"Tony said he was doing a favor for a friend."
"Pretty expensive favor. Do you remember anything about them? Did he mention anything at all?"
"Well, there was a beautiful woman, chestnut-colored brunette; about five foot eight and slender, a big, muscular guy, weightlifter type – actually loaded all the cases himself. He wouldn't let anyone else touch them. I think the blonde guy called him Willie."
"The blonde guy?"
"I could tell he was in charge. He's about your height. Very suit and tie kind of guy. He's that type that seems very friendly until you cross him some way."
"Who else?"
"A black man. He was very knowledgeable about electronics. He knew all about the avionics on the plane."
"And the woman?"
"Like I said, brunette, very pretty and a good chess player. She and Willie played a couple of games later in the flight. She beat him like a wet dog. The others kidded him that he would never beat her. He teased the other guys that he was the only one brave enough to take her on."
"Tall, blonde guy – the leader, a weightlifter, an electronics expert, and a pretty woman chess player. Sounds like some kind of team, like an act or something." Joe considered for a moment. "And you never filed a flight plan, so technically there's no record of the flight."
"Right, I expected that we'd stay in Miami a couple of days, maybe to bring them back to LA, but we were wheels up as soon as they got their stuff loaded onto a truck and we could get refueled."
"And you never asked Blake about it?"
"One thing you learn about Tony is you can ask a question, sometimes you get an answer and usually not the one you're expecting."
"Would you recognize them if you saw them again?"
"Probably. I know I'd remember the woman."
"By any chance, did anyone take pictures?"
"No, no reason to."
"No idea what they were doing in Miami?"
"Nope."
Joe paced the aisle. Was this connected to Blake's disappearance? Was this incident important? All he had was a missing man who might return any minute for no reason he could understand, no ransom note and the missing man's car parked in a tow lot. He spied a sketchbook lying on the desk. "Whose is this?"
"Tony's. He sketches out his ideas a lot. I've got a sketch he did of me and Peggy at my apartment."
"By chance, does he do sketches of his guests?"
"Sometimes, he does a sketch for the ladies he brings aboard. They love having him do a sketch for them."
"Would he have sketched these people?"
"I don't know. He does a lot of his figuring out how to do an illusion in these sketchbooks."
Joe was frustrated. "I'm not trying to steal his act. I'm trying to find him."
"Yeah, right, they're in his desk. Some of them are at the warehouse."
"Look through them and see if he did sketches of those passengers."
"Why would he do that?"
"Right now I've got nothing. Just take a look for me."
Joe watched for a moment as Jerry sifted through the sketchbooks. It was his turn to squirm.
"This is him – the blonde guy." Jerry showed Joe the page that held several small studies of a man's face. In a couple spaces on the page he saw attempts at some other faces, but the sketches were unfinished.
"I'll take this, get copies and return it later."
"You think he's involved?"
"Just a hunch. You don't take a multi-million dollar jet to Miami on a whim. He and Blake's other friends had to be doing something important. And the fact that you didn't have to file a flight plan tells me that somebody's got some muscle. Somebody besides that weightlifter."
"Tony does know some important people."
"Do you think Max might have seen this guy?"
"I don't know." Jerry scribbled on the sketchbook cover. "Here's his local address and phone number."
Joe recognized the address. "That's on Normandie near Wilshire?"
"Yes."
"Pretty expensive neighborhood."
"Max has the bread."
"Yeah, apparently." Joe started to leave. "By the way, Blake's car it at the A & A tow lot on Alvarado. I cleared it for you to pick it up."
"Thanks. I'll do that later." Jerry hesitated as Joe stepped to the hatch. "Joe . . . this morning . . . you know I didn't mean to hurt her. It's . . . I love my job and to be perfectly honest, I don't know when I could get another gig like this."
Like Jerry, Joe was torn between his career and having a family. Being a private detective was hard enough on him.
"You know Toby still asks about you," Joe said.
"I miss him, too."
"Maybe you can come to his Little League games when you're in town."
"Do you think Peggy would mind? If I came?"
"Even if she did, Toby would love it."
"I can't make all the games. My schedule . . ."
"Make it when you can. Maybe the three of us can get together, have a boys' night out and go to a Dodger game."
"Yeah, my treat." Jerry extended his hand to the private detective. "Thanks, Joe, for everything."
"Part of the service."
To Joe, Max Pomeroy's office was utilitarian – a phone, a desk with a typewriter, an office chair, a sideboard with a fax machine, a couch and an extra chair for a visitor. What Max paid for was the view. The floor to ceiling windows opened on a typical Southern California scene – beautiful mountain vistas and urban skyscrapers and a rare smog free day in Los Angeles. In the distance Joe saw the Tishman Plaza Office Building, better known as the home of Intertect, Ltd. From here he could hear the computers humming.
"What have you found out so far?" Max wasted no time on pleasantries. He waved Joe to the visitor's chair in front of his desk. Joe turned to the page with the sketch of the blonde guy and handed it to Max.
"Where did you get this? Isn't this one of Tony's sketchbooks?" Max asked.
"From the plane. Do you recognize that man?"
"Yes, I do. Is he connected to Tony's disappearance?"
"I don't know yet. Who is he?"
Max handed the sketchbook back to Joe. "I don't know. I do remember seeing him talking to Tony, perhaps two or three times. I was never introduced."
"Jerry said he flew this man, three others and cargo to Miami about a year ago. Blake told him these were friends of his."
"Like I said I wasn't . . . wait . . . I just realized . . . when I would see Tony talking to him, Tony would do his 24-hour disappearing act."
"So maybe he's connected to this one?"
"Perhaps." Max thoughtfully leaned back in his chair. "You know, I never thought to link him with Tony's other disappearances."
"If this man appears every time Blake disappears, then maybe he's not missing. He's off doing something he doesn't want anybody to know about."
"Did Jerry see him before Tony disappeared this time?" Max asked.
"Just on that flight to Miami. Do you still want me to continue looking for Blake?"
"I would have to say continue. This man may not be connected to Tony's disappearance in this instance, besides we've already discussed what to do if Tony suddenly returns. Would you mind if I involved my son, Dennis? He checks all the facts and researches backgrounds for my column. I could fax a copy of this sketch to him in San Francisco. If anyone can find out who this man is, he can."
"Go ahead. Could I get a couple extra copies from you?"
"Of course. Where can Dennis contact you with whatever information he finds out?"
Joe handed him his business card. "If I'm not at the office, Peggy knows how to get the information to me."
Joe stopped at door of Detective Lieutenant Adam Tobias's office in the LAPD's West Valley Station. He saw Adam making faces in the shaving mirror. Joe watched him smooth a couple of hairs on his upper lip.
"What's up with the mustache?" Joe asked.
"Oh, nothing. Thought I'd try something different." Adam hurried the mirror into his desk drawer. "So what's up?" He tried not to look embarrassed, and Joe tried not to smile. Ever since a certain family sitcom had come to television, Adam kept being mistaken for the actor who portrayed the father.
"This guy look familiar?" Joe handed Adam a copy of the sketch.
"No, nobody I've seen. Who is he and what's he done?"
"Probably nothing."
"Who did the sketch? A current case?"
"Missing person."
"Who's missing and why didn't they come to us?"
"Why do you even ask that? You know I can't tell you. Besides what you do is public record, what I do stays confidential."
"I can't help that. I have the citizens to answer to, not to mention my captain, his boss and a couple of chiefs."
"Relax. No one's been murdered just missing . . . maybe."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Don't you understand the meaning of the word maybe?"
"I understand the meaning but not when it's connected with a missing person. Explain to me how are you are maybe a missing person?"
"Adam!"
"Your missing persons have a way of turning up dead." Adam peeked at the sketch again. "What's he done? He's not the missing person?"
"He's not missing, just unknown. He may not have anything to do with my missing person, but I've got a hunch he's involved."
"Involved? How?"
"I don't know. He's been seen with my missing person. I need to find him and talk to him."
"I don't know what I can do to help, Joe." Adam peered at the sketch again.
"How about faxing the sketch out to the stations? Maybe somebody's seen him. Help me out on this one. This is all I got."
"You know the captain would have me back walking a beat in South Central if he knew I did this for you." Tobias dropped the copy on his desk. "I'll do what I can."
"Thanks, Adam."
"You're welcome, and Joe . . . don't wait too long to get us involved."
Mid-afternoon Joe returned with the sketchbook to his Paseo Verde office. He flipped to the page with the blonde man's sketch and handed it to Peggy.
"You ever see this guy hanging around Blake?"
She stared at the sketch. "No. Who is he?"
"Don't know." On the way upstairs to his apartment Joe grabbed his putter and a few golf balls. Peggy followed him carrying the sketchbook and her steno pad. "But every time Max Pomeroy saw him, Blake disappeared." He found a water glass and placed it on the floor for a putting target. "So far I know Blake's alive as of the morning rush at the George's Cafe a day and half ago. So what did you dig up on his past?" Joe putted and missed.
Peggy opened her steno pad and referred to her notes. "Born January 22, 1934 in New York City to Raymond and Elinor Blake, show biz types who come out to Los Angeles to make their fortune. Father did minor acting parts and made a decent living in the movies. Mother retired from show biz to stay at home to take care of Tony. Then World War II happened, father got drafted and left Elinor with Tony. Mother killed in defense plant accident. Both mother and father knew Max Braden."
"Of Braden Studios?"
"Yes, to Tony, he's Uncle Max. Because Braden and his wife didn't have any children of their own, he was like a son to them. Tony got his interest in magic from him. Tony's father is killed in combat. Braden became Tony's guardian."
"There wasn't anyone in either family who wanted him?"
"Don't know about that, but Braden pulled some strings and adopted Tony. Tony is sent to private schools. He graduated from high school in 1952 and got drafted. Braden could have gotten him out it, the Korean War, but Tony declined. He was in Aviation Corps, a crew chief on cargo planes.
"Discharged in 1954, went to college on the G.I. Bill as a drama major. After two years, he dropped out of college to pursue performing magic. Played a lower class of casinos and nightclubs until Irene DeNorr gave him a break in what turned out to be her last picture.
"In 1963 he went on what is supposed to be a two week good will tour in South and Central America and wound up imprisoned in a Costa Verde as a spy. It was never proven he was, but it was two years before he finally escaped. Took an older man with him when he did. Turned out that guy was filthy rich. Left Tony his fortune."
"So he doesn't need to work? Why not take it easy and enjoy life? Instead he flies around in that jet pulling rabbits out of a hat."
"He does more than that. He helps people."
"Helps people?"
"Jerry let it slip one time that Tony is like a white knight coming to rescue when people are in trouble."
"What does he do – give them money or something? A philanthropist?"
"He didn't say much more, but I got the idea that Tony is like Don Quixote, coming to the rescue of people in trouble."
"You mean he plays detective?"
"Something like that," Peggy answered.
"That's pretty vague."
"Maybe that's what's going on here? He's out tilting at windmills. Maybe he's gotten himself in over his head."
"I don't think so. He stopped to have breakfast. That's not the actions of a man in trouble." Joe putted some more. "And then there's that no-flight-plan trip to Miami and that blonde man. Did you find out if he's left town?"
"Nothing so far." Peggy chewed on her pencil. "If I don't know better, I'd almost say he's two people."
Joe stopped in the middle of his putting stroke. "What?"
"I said on one hand he's this world famous performer and then there's this crime fighter thing. All he needs is a cape."
The phone interrupted their conversation; Peggy answered. "It's Adam." She handed the phone to Joe.
"What have you got for me?"
"Hey, Joe, you must be the luckiest S.O.B. in Los Angeles. One of the harbor cops called in and said he's seen that guy from the sketch hanging around a warehouse on Terminal Island in San Pedro."
"Did he say what he was doing?"
"No, but it was about two days ago when he saw him."
"Two days ago! He's long gone. Did he say where?"
"At the corner of Tuna and Wharf."
"Thanks, Adam. And thank the cop for me, too."
"Will do. Later."