Dark Maze

of two big writing pads, and then one of two felt markers. Then I saw her take the other pad and marker and wander out into the crowd.
    Benny explained, “Some sap in the audience’s going to draw a picture of something and then Delilah’ll hold it up for everybody to see. And then, presto! The Great Morris, mentalist extraordinary, will draw the same thing.”
    “Pretty slick.”
    “Aw, it’s a real crowd pleaser.”
    “How’s he do it?”
    “Simple technology,” Benny said. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an electronic voice transmitter the size and shape of a cigarette lighter. “See this?”
    “And Moe’s got a receiver?”
    “Sure. It’s a little bean in his ear.”
    “And so you just stand back here at the bar...“
    “Watching what Delilah holds up, that’s right.”
    “And then you describe it,” I said. “Very, very slick—and simple.”
    “Simple as pie.”
    I saw now that Delilah was holding up a pad, and walking back toward the lighted stage to display it to the crowd. And to Benny and his bifocals. I could not make out the drawing myself.
    “What is it?” I asked Benny.
    Benny did not answer. I turned to him and asked again, “What’s the picture?”
    He said, “This don’t seem right.”
    I grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s a picture of this guy... in a top hat and a tuxedo like Moe... and his face, it’s shot full of bullets, I guess.” I grabbed Benny’s transmitter from his hand and said to him, “This is it!”
    “Oh shit! What’ll we do?”
    “You call 911 and tell them we’ve got assault with a deadly weapon in progress; tell them you’re calling for Hockaday. You got that?”
    “Yeah, okay.” Benny ran for the telephone.
    Then I headed across the room toward the stage. I did not run. I looked over the crowd at the tables ringing the stage. I did not see a gun barrel anywhere.
    I flipped the transmitter switch to open mic and whispered into it, “Moe, this is Hockaday speaking. Listen very carefully to me. When I tell you, I want you to drop down flat on the stage. Just drop flat. He’s after you, Moe. Do what I say. Now!”
    Stein dropped.
    A gun fired.
    There was a howling mix of male and female screams. Chairs and tables scraped the floor, falling over with thuds. Screaming men ran.
    Another shot.
    The sound of police sirens in the street.
    Now the panicking customers were gone from the tables that ringed the stage, leaving in that clearing a small and unsuspecting—and familiar—figure. I saw him raise a pistol in two hands and take aim at Moe, sprawled on the stage, blindfolded and screaming. Delilah backed away from Stein, holding two hands over her mouth.
    I called to the man with the gun, “Big Stuff!”
    The dwarf reeled, and spotted me.
    I pulled out my .38 and bulled my way through a line of screaming customers, toward the dwarf. I called his name again, “Big Stuff!”
    He saw my gun now, his eyes went wild. He tucked his head and ran at a right angle from me, toward the bar. I shouted, “Halt!” But he kept running, with the pistol in his hands.
    I turned and chased him and called out, over and over, “Halt! Police!”
    I tried, but I could not get a clear shot at him. The crowd was too thick and Big Stuff was too low to the floor.
    Cops were pouring into the place now. Customers started freezing in place.
    I got nearer to Big Stuff.
    He turned and saw me. His face was twisted in shock and fear.
    He raised the pistol at me.
    “Don’t do it!” I shouted.
    But I could see he meant to surrender his weapon, that he had no intention of shooting me.
    But Benny did not see it that way. He fired one shot of his .44 revolver.
    Big Stuff crumpled at the waist, stumbled forward a few steps toward me. Then he fell facedown on the floor.
    I ran to him and stood over his misshapen body, my legs straddling his back. I held my gold shield high above my head so the uniforms could easily make me. About ten of them formed a circle around Big Stuff and me. I saw the others fanning out through the club.
    I grabbed the shoulder of a sergeant and pointed him in the direction of the stage, where Delilah stood trembling. “Put the collar on her,” I told him. “She’s in on this.” Then I knelt to the floor. I saw that Big Stuff had taken the shot in his lower back, and I saw the blood flowing freely from his mouth and nose.
    I touched his face.
    Big Stuff turned his head and looked up at me with one eye, knowing that he