Read Online Mind Scrambler by Chris Grabenstein - Free Book Online Page B

wings. Daintily tapped at her ear. It looked like she was signaling to a technician. Audio problems. Where’s the Best Buy Geek Squad when you need them? Probably chatting on their cell phones and drinking Snapple, which is what the clerks do behind the cash register every time I stand in line for thirty minutes, trying to buy a game for my Sony PlayStation.
    A
Please Stand By
title flickered on the TV screen as Rock and Jim Bob walked toward the golden door. I was assuming it was golden. The security cameras only broadcast in black-and-white.
    The camera angle switched to a view from behind the two guys and we could read what was scrolled above the door: Ming Dynasty Room. A security guard stationed outside signaled that it was okay for Rock and his helper to enter.
    I heard this
thump-thump-thump.
    Onstage, the volunteer from the audience was tapping on the microphone. “Hello? Mr. Rock?”
    Next we heard a crackle of static. “I’m sorry. I believe I was in a dead zone there for a second. Can you hear me now?”
    â€œWe can hear you fine,” said Cassie.
    â€œAll righty. We are now in the Xanadu’s world-famous Ming Dynasty Room.” He walked past a bearded man in robes who I figured had to be an oil sheik.
    â€œAdmission to this exclusive gaming den is by invitation only,” said Rock. “However, tonight I have arranged for us to play one fifty-dollar chip on the high rollers’ roulette wheel. The house rules are simple. I can play one number and one number only. I can onlyplay one spin. I cannot play the odd or even, nor the black or red. Just your lucky number. And, for this one spin, no one else in the room is permitted to play with or against me. It’s just us. You. Me. And your lucky number!”
    The camera view shifted to an overhead shot, angled down at the roulette wheel’s green felt betting board. Actually, given the black-and-white camera, the board looked gray. But you could tell by the different shades which numbers were red and which ones were black.
    Rock stepped into the picture: we could see the top of his hooded head.
    â€œNow then, you said your lucky number was between one and thirty-six . . .”
    â€œYes. It is.”
    â€œAs you can see, those numbers are all available here on the roulette table. Please—write your number on the marker board so the audience can see it. I, of course, won’t be able to read what you write because I’m in another room with no video monitors and I have a big ol’ black bag over my head! But, to eliminate any lingering doubts, kindly write your number large enough so the whole audience can read it without the aid of the TV screen. Turn off all the cameras in the theater, gentlemen! Do it now!”
    The camera operators in the Shalimar made a big show of twisting knobs, powering down. On-screen, we were still looking down at the roulette wheel.
    â€œNow,” said Rock, “please show everyone your lucky number!”
    Mrs. Rock handed Cassie a thick Magic Marker and pointed at the white board.
    â€œYou want me to write it down now?” asked Cassie.
    Mrs. Rock nodded. Pointed at the marker board.
    Cassie, her hand shaking slightly, scrawled a giant
22
on the board.
    â€œCan everybody in the audience see your lucky number?” asked Rock from his remote location.
    â€œYes,” said Cassie. “I wrote it real big.”
    â€œVery well. Let’s see how lucky your number really is!”
    Rock set down the stupid Shirley Temple he’d been carrying. Without the drinky-poo, both of the magician’s hands were free to dramatically hover over the felt. You could see the horseshoe-shaped pinky ring sparkling as he moved across the numbers, hunting down the lucky one.
    â€œLegend has it,” Rock said as his hands moved across the first twelve numerals, “the man who invented the roulette wheel bargained with the devil to obtain its secrets.” His hands