Deadly Visions

J
oe Bailey handed the bald man a crumpled fifty-dollar bill.”This will change my life, right?”

The man smiled and pocketed the fifty“Only you can do that, my friend. But I can help show the way.”

Joe nodded. He and Steve Muren stood in a packed coffeehouse in the Sandy Springs neighborhood of Atlanta. It was a few minutes past nine on a Thursday night, and the place reeked of incense, cigarettes, and burnt coffee. Most of the clientele were under twenty-five, Joe noticed. He was thirty-nine, but he liked to think that he didn't look too out of place among the college students and young artsy types who made it such a popular gathering place.

“Why here?”Joe asked.

Muren shrugged.“Manager's a friend of mine. Are you ready?”

“Sure.”

Muren led Joe down a dark hallway past the pay phone and bathrooms until they reached a purple
door. Muren pushed it open, and Joe walked inside to see five people sitting around a large round table.

“How is everyone tonight?” Muren said.

Everyone mumbled their” good” s and”fine”s while Joe sat down.

Muren jammed his hands into his pockets and paced around the room. His dark, penetrating eyes flicked to each person at the table.“I see that about half of you are return visitors. Good. I like that. It shows commitment and passion. If you don't have those two things, you're wasting your time here.”

Joe glanced at his tablemates. Three men and two women. Muren had their complete attention.

“Each of us is born with a gift. My gift is helping others discover the power within themselves. It takes concentration and practice, but before you leave here tonight, you'll be amazed with what you're capable of. And, in the weeks to come, I'll help you refine and develop your gift.”

Muren tossed a book of matches to a skinny woman with close-cropped hair.“Think you're ready?”

She bit her lip.”I'm …not sure.”

“Not certain enough. Tell me yes. Even better, tell me
hell
yes!”

“
Hell
yes.”

“Good.” He sat down in the one remaining seat.“Tear out one of the matches and put it in the palm of your hand.”

She did as she was instructed, then stared blankly at Muren.

“Don't look at me, look at the match. The key is to visualize your tool. Those who have been here before
know what I'm talking about. Everyone has a different mental tool that works for him. One person might imagine a lever prying it from the palm of your hand. Another might visualize a powerful vacuum cleaner sucking it upward. Very often, only one thing will work for each person.”

The woman wrinkled her nose.”Why?”

“I have absolutely no idea, but it works. Go ahead and try it.”

She stared at the match, but nothing happened.

“Don't get discouraged,” he said.“It may take a while to discover the right tool, but when you do, a new world will open up for you.”

Again, she stared at her palm. The match wiggled. The woman gasped and held her hand out toward Muren.

“I see it,” he whispered.“Work with it some more. Whatever you just did, do it again.”

Joe watched her intently as she drew her hand closer. She concentrated on the match, and the end slowly rose into the air until it reached a forty-five-degree angle. The woman squealed nervously,“I'm doing it. Look, I'm doing it!”

“Maintain your focus,” Muren said.“Remember what you're doing now, it'll help you next time.”

Her hands shook, but the match end still levitated. The woman frowned as it began to droop.“What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong,” Muren replied.“Just get your focus back.”

The match finally came to rest on her palm. The woman gave Muren a disappointed pout.

“Don't worry. Your power is like a muscle that
needs to be exercised.“We'll work on it a little more each week. Before too long, you'll be able to do this and more even without me around.” Muren tore out another match and tossed it on the table in front of Joe.”Would you like to try?”

Joe nodded.”Sure. Can I leave it on the table?”

“Whatever you want. There are no rules here. If there's anything I want you all to take away from this, it's that you create your own reality.”

Joe glanced at the match and it immediately jumped.

The others laughed in surprise and Muren clasped his hands together.“Excellent! You're a natural.”

Joe smiled sheepishly. The match scooted a few inches, then stopped. He picked it up, examined it from every angle, and placed it into his left palm. The end of the match bobbed up and down. He placed his right hand over and around it, but that had no effect on its movement.

“You are exceptionally gifted,” Muren said.“It would be my honor to help you nurture your tal-ents.”

Joe reached into his jacket pocket.“Uh-huh. For fifty bucks a pop?”

“We can work out an arrangement.”

Joe yanked his hand from his pocket and flung hundreds of BBs across the tabletop. The others reacted in surprise as the round metal pellets shot in every direction, rolling toward the ends of the table.

“What the hell—?” Muren yelled.

Joe stood and surveyed the table. In front of each person except Muren, the BBs were clustered in tight circles.

“What was
that
for?” The spike-haired young woman brushed BBs off her clothing.

“My apologies,” Joe said. He held up his police badge and pointed at Muren.“Atlanta PD. Move away from the table.”

“Aw, man …”

“Now.”

Muren stood up.”I wasn't hurting anybody.”

Joe turned toward the others.“I need your help. Please pull your chairs away and turn the table over for me.”

Muren sighed.“Look, I'll give everybody their money back. Is that what you want?”

“Be quiet.” Joe watched as the others turned the table upside down to reveal a crude network of wires connecting five round metal plates with an array of lantern batteries and a single control dial.

“What the hell is that?” one of the other men asked.

Joe put away his badge.“It's how he was able to cheat you out of your money. Muren used that dial to apply current to those metal plates and they became magnetically charged.”

“Magnets?” another young woman said.“The matches were made from cardboard and, in case you didn't notice, they were moving
away
from the table.”

Joe picked up the book of matches and opened it.“You can buy these matchbooks in packs of a dozen from all the mail-order magic retailers. They're cardboard, all right, but the heads are coated with a magnetic compound. Do you know what happens when you try to push two magnets together? They repel
each other.” Joe held up the open matchbook and tore out a match.“These are made for street magicians. They strap magnets to their arms, under their jacket sleeves, then hold a match in their open hand and pass it over the magnet.” Joe turned the power knob and held his upturned palm over one of the metal plates. As his hand neared the plate, the match head rose. He glanced up.”You've been had.”

A woman with a tongue stud turned toward Muren and lisped,“You goddamn bastard, I've given you over four hundred dollars.”

Muren feigned a look of total innocence.“Are you really going to listen to this cop? He doesn't believe in the psychic powers within you, but I do. After I get this cleared up, we can start over. Have faith in yourselves, everyone, just visualize—” He suddenly grabbed a chair and threw it at Joe.

The chair back struck Joe's knees, and spasms of pain shot through his lower body.

Shit. Muren hadn't seemed like a runner.

By the time Joe steadied himself against the wall, Muren was out the door.

Set aside the pain. Get this bastard.

Joe leapt over the overturned chair and ran through the doorway into the coffeehouse. Muren was pushing through the crowd, elbowing his way to the exit. Joe held up his badge.“Police! Move! Move! Move!”