Read Online Mind Scrambler by Chris Grabenstein - Free Book Online

Cassie, I want you to think about your lucky number.”
    â€œNow?”
    â€œMight be a good idea. We only have this theater until nine-thirty. Then the Rotary Club comes in.”
    The audience laughed. So did Cassie. Then she closed her eyes, scrunched up her face. Thought hard.
    â€œAre you seeing your number? Visualizing it?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGood. Concentrate on it.”
    â€œI am.” She squeezed her face tighter.
    â€œCassie, I want you to stay here in the theater with my wife.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œMeanwhile, I’m going out into the casino to make us some money! Jim Bob?” he called to one of the dancers. “To the high-rollers’ room!” He took a step forward. Stopped. “Hold up. Let’s make this even harder. Where’s my blindfold?”
    Jessica Rock whipped out a black hood—the kind executioners wear, only without the eyeholes.
    â€œThank you, dear,” said Rock as he slipped the black sack over his head and stumbled around the stage like a blind version of Frankenstein’s monster.
    The dancer took Rock by the elbow, led him toward the steps.
    â€œWait a second, Jim Bob! If I’m going to play with the high rollers, I need to look like one.”
    He magically plucked a few items out of the air: A glitzy pinky ring sporting a horseshoe of diamonds. A white rose for his lapel. He slid the ring on his finger. Jim Bob pinned the boutonniere to his tux.
    â€œAll righty. Let’s go win us some money!” Rock followed Jim Bob’s lead and descended the staircase.
    â€œCan you folks still hear me?” he asked.
    â€œYes!” we all said.
    â€œGood. Means my radio microphone is actually working! And, can y’all see me?”
    The TV screen now showed a handheld shot of Richard Rock moving through the auditorium. I glanced over at real life and saw a camera guy with a cordless portable unit walking backward about six feet in front of Rock. It reminded me of the Lettermanshow, when Dave leaves the stage to go out into the street to do something wacky with taxi drivers or water balloons.
    â€œWe can see you, Mr. Rock!” shouted one of the kids in the auditorium.
    â€œAll righty then.” He started smacking his lips. “Shoo-wee. My mouth is drier than a tumbleweed outside Amarillo. I need me a drink, Jim Bob.”
    The dancer led Rock out of the side aisle and up emperor’s row. When they passed table 301, Rock froze. Just for a second. Then he strolled past our table and headed over to the VIP bar.
    â€œI’ll have a Shirley Temple!”
    â€œYou sure you wouldn’t like something with a little more kick?” the bartender asked.
    â€œNo, ma’am,” said Rock. “This here is a family show.”
    While the audience tittered at that, the bartender handed Rock a tall pink glass with two shiny cherries sticking out on top.
    Rock put the glass up to his hood. Couldn’t drink it through the cloth.
    â€œReckon I need a straw,” he said.
    The waitress plunked one into his glass.
    â€œThank you kindly.” Rock maneuvered the tube under the front of his hood, took a loud sip. “Ahh! Dee-licious. Now then, it will take a few minutes for Jim Bob and me to make our way over to the Ming Dynasty High Roller Room where the stakes are higher, the winnings bigger. You folks can watch our progress up on the TV screen. To prove that we are not doing this with trick photography, we will be utilizing the casino’s very own, high-tech, tilt-pan-zoom security cameras to track my progress in real time.”
    The giant TV screen turned into a quadrant of grainy black-and-white video images—live, overhead shots from four different cameras positioned above the casino floor and in the corridors justoutside the Shalimar Theater. There was a rolling digital time stamp in the lower right corner of each frame. 8:50 P.M.
    â€œCassie?” Rock called out to the