Mind Scrambler by Chris Grabenstein Page A

looking for a free handout.”
    â€œLadies and gentlemen,” said Rock, pointing toward his kids as Katie climbed up a set of steps and took the two children by their hands and led them offstage into the wings. “How about a nice hand for Richie and Britney?”
    The audience cheered.
    â€œAnd Nanny Katie!”
    I would have whistled. Chanted
“Kay-tee, Kay-tee, Kay-tee!”
    But I was too busy thinking about Jake. Wondered where he was. It was something Ceepak and a whole bunch of other cops would be wondering in a couple hours, too.

 
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    Richard Rock’s family-friendly show was pretty awesome.
    Over the next forty minutes, he turned a tabby into a tiger, cut his wife—whose name we learned was Jessica—in half, rearranged her body parts and put her back together in this Rubik’s Cube-type deal, caught a bullet fired at him from a pistol with his teeth, walked through a solid brick wall, transported his wife from one side of the stage to the other in under a second, escaped from silk ropes tied around his wrists, ankles, legs, and torso, and made a flock of seagulls appear out of torn-up newspaper.
    He even shot an arrow with a ribbon attached to its tail through his wife’s tiny stomach. She had so much cleavage tumbling out of her low-cut gown it was a good thing Rock hadn’t aimed higher. Could’ve caused a serious silicone spill.
    Ceepak was impressed but reminded me in a whisper that, “Magic is the art of misdirection.”
    And I had thought it was real. You just had to go to Hogwarts and study hard.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I wouldn’t deceive you for the world,” Rock proclaimed from center stage.
    â€œActually, just by saying that, he’s doing so now,” said Ceepak, who really enjoyed being able to relax knowing everything he saw or heard in this theater was a lie. Lady Jasmine missed it all. Box 301 was still unoccupied. Even Parker was relaxing. I saw him leaning up against the emperor’s row bar, laughing at the corn popping out of Rock’s mouth.
    Around 8:40, Rock moved into the mentalist portion of his show. He read the minds of two volunteers from the audience: a woman named Jo Karpen and her son Rich. Poor kid. He was so totally busted when Rock revealed the real grade (to the decimal point) on his most recent American History pop quiz.
    I wondered if Rock could’ve also predicted that’s when Lady Jasmine would finally show up?
    While Rock read the Karpens’ minds, Lady Jasmine, a guy who looked a lot like Mini-Me in the Austin Powers movies, another Asian-looking lady, and a knockwurst-necked guy in a black leather jacket, slipped into box 301.
    I was going to tap Ceepak on the shoulder but he was already looking over at the latecomers. He gave me the knowing nod. We were on it. Lady Jasmine was officially being surveiled.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen,” said Rock as the Karpens climbed down the steps from the stage, “I hope you and your families are enjoying your time here in Xanadu, a palace more incredible than the stately pleasure-dome the mighty Kubla Khan did decree.”
    Guess Rock and I had the same eighth-grade English textbook. “As you know, when Marco Polo first journeyed into the mystical lands we now call China, he returned with many wondrous treasures. Fireworks!”
    A flick of his wrist, and indoor fireworks exploded.
    â€œSpaghetti!”
    Another flick of his wrist and a wad of wet noodles fell from the sky, smacking one of the dancers on the top of his head, making him look like he was wearing a mop.
    â€œSorry about that, Blaine,” Rock quipped.
    He then tugged at his sleeve, setting up another wrist flick. The three dancers onstage—all guys—covered their heads, not knowing what might come tumbling down or exploding out next. The crowd chuckled.
    â€œAnd, of course,” said Rock, milking the moment for all it