Savage Tales

and go minimalist. The crowd was vast. Tickets were general admission and designed to rake in enough cash to send off for medical relief and whatever. It sounded good and would give me a lot of exposure through the cable broadcast and DVD. I was actually doing the show for free… but like I said, the payment was exposure.
    I began with some flame tricks and false impalings. Then got a security guard I had briefed beforehand to simulate my beheading with a large guillotine, my only piece of equipment. When my "head" fell into the audience and the screaming began, the security guard started itching around his neck until he dug into the flesh and lifted it off. It was a mask, and I was underneath.
    The crowd went wild.
    I let them get carried away for a few seconds and took a look at the clock and the prompter. E-40 was almost ready and I had time for only one more trick. I would go for the chipmunk from within my throat that emerged and then reversed all its organs so that fur lined its throat from the inside. Not the best for a large arena, but they had cameras and screens magnifying it and I'd been assured it'd be fine.
    Before I could begin the trick, the unexpected element emerged . He was wearing turquoise. All of him. His shirt and pants and shoes and even his baseball cap. He was large and built like an umpire, with bulbous glasses and protruding lips. How he got to the stage was a mystery. Perhaps security thought he was part of my routine. All that turquoise. Nobody would dress like that.
    I held my smile. Never let them see you sweat.
    He came over casually and stood next to me. His face unsmiling, mute.
    I wanted to signal to security to get this bozo off without making it obvious to him or the audience that he was unwelcome. Impossible.
    He waved to me, even though we were only a foot apart.
    He reached into his jacket –
    The first idea I had was a gun. He had a gun. He had to have a gun. Time froze as his hand waited to reveal the metal.
    Instead it came out with a notepad that he handed to me with a pen. He wanted my signature. An autograph hound.
    I smiled, looked off stage and caught eye contact with my manager and he could read that well enough. I could see him getting security. I continued smiling and signed my name slowly, handing the notepad back to him as security came and started taking him away. He looked confused, but didn’t fight.
    My time was up, and I would have to skip the reversed chipmunk (it was nibbling on my crotch anyhow). I gave a final wave to the audience and got off.

    "I'm not mad. It was a little scary though. I saw my life pass before my eyes."
    "Sorry. I was distracted by that chick with the tits," my manager said.
    "It's all right. It actually… I know this sounds weird, but I felt free in that moment of uncertainty. Like the trick was out of my control, but whatever it was, it would be magnificent. Beyond anything that could be planned."
    "Geez, don't talk like that. You don't need to be the John Lennon of magicians."
    "Right. No, of course not."
    "Jesus. Hope they lock that guy up for good."

    I read the story about the incident, and no, they didn't lock him up very long at all. He was fined and had to attend a community service class, but he was out the next day. He'd just walked onto a stage, they said. Never mind what he might have done – look at what he did . He didn't even put up a fight when he left.
    A few weeks later I was with my boy in Central Park. We had just gone to the playground and past the pond. I felt like I hadn't seen him in ages. I'd missed a few of my weekends and when I finally did come around, his mother just gave me that look like she used to when I'd come home at three or four in the morning with lipstick on my neck and bourbon on my tongue. The sky was so clear that day, I remember. The little details you savor. My boy, of course, being young, was more interested in ice cream and running to the swings and watching bicycles whiz by and asking me when he could get one.
    "Soon," I said. "You have a birthday coming up, remember?"
    "Dad, are we rich?"
    "Rich? Why do you ask?"
    "My friend Abe said he saw you on the TV and that you must be rich and famous."
    "Well –" I considered. "Yes, I suppose in many ways we are rich. We have more than most people. We are very lucky."
    This answer pleased him and his attention was quickly diverted elsewhere.
    And that's when I saw him . There again, that turquoise uniform. I felt my balance sway, the ground