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  Magic Bullets

  “Okay,” Dover said, “the talking is over. Where’s the money?”

  “You’re right,” the man said, “the talking is over. I’m not giving you my money.”

  “Mister,” Dover said, “you’re lookin’ down the barrels of three guns.”

  “If you fellas don’t turn around and walk away now, I’ll kill you.”

  They all laughed, and Dover asked, “How are you gonna do that?”

  The man smiled and said, “Magic.”

  “Ain’t no magic,” Bennett said. “It’s all tricks.”

  “Then I’ll kill you,” the man said, “with a trick.”

  “Boys,” Dover said, cocking the hammer on his gun.

  The others did the same . . .

  Clint could see the men were cocking the hammers on their guns. He was pretty far away, so he drew his rifle from its scabbard and prepared to fire.

  He was stunned by what happened next.

  The man on the ground—previously unarmed—suddenly had a gun in each hand, and was firing. The three armed men were shot right off their saddles, dead before they hit the ground.

  DON’T MISS THESE ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES FROM THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

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  WILDGUN by Jack Hanson

  The blazing adventures of mountain man Will Barlow—from the creators of Longarm!

  TEXAS TRACKER by Tom Calhoun

  J.T. Law: the most relentless—and dangerous—manhunter in all Texas. Where sheriffs and posses fail, he’s the best man to bring in the most vicious outlaws—for a price.

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

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  A Penguin Random House Company

  MAGIC MAN

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2014 by Robert J. Randisi.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for having an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  JOVE® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  The “J” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-63510-0

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Jove mass-market edition / April 2014

  Cover illustration by Sergio Giovine.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  CONTENTS

  ALL-ACTION WESTERN SERIES

  Title Page

  Copyright

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  ONE

  On the side of the wagon were the words MAGIC MAN. The wagon was being pulled by a single horse, and there was one man in the seat, driving.

  The wagon had just left the town of Sparks, Wyoming, where it had drawn quite a crowd in the street for a show. That was the reason the three men had followed it out of town.

  Tom Dover was the leader of the three, who were—for the most part—petty thieves. They had never pulled a big job—like a bank, or a train—in their lives. Dover was in his early thirties, while Stu Bennett and Hal Smith were in their late twenties. They were all looking for a way to raise the level of their jobs. However, none of them had even the slightest ability to think big. Small time was all they would ever be.

  “How much money you think he made in town, Tom?” Smith asked.

  “I dunno,” Dover said, “but you saw the crowd he drew.”

  “Gotta be a lot,” Stu Bennett said. “Maybe hundreds!”

  “Where do we take him?” Smith asked.

  “About two miles up ahead there’s a sharp turn in the road,” Dover said. “Let’s ride up ahead and wait for him there.”

  They each gave their horses a kick, gave the wagon a wide berth so they could ride on ahead of him and wait.

  • • •

  Clint topped a rise with Eclipse, his Darley Arabian, and stopped just to take a look around him. It was a beautiful fall day, the air smelled great, and it was quiet. So quiet, in fact, that he could hear the sound of a wagon below him. It creaked and squeaked on its axles. He stood in his stirrups and spotted it on the road below him, a Conestoga wagon with wooden sides, being pulled by a tired-looking horse.

  Then he spotted something to his right, saw three riders ahead of the wagon on the road. They stopped and seemed to be waiting for the wagon at a sharp turn.

  If it had been a stagecoach, he would have thought they were robbing it.

  He watched with interest . . .

  • • •

  Tom Dover heard the wagon coming around the corner, told Bennett and Smith, “Get off the road. Let’s not show our hand too early.”

  “Right.” The two men rode their horses off the road behind some rocks.

  The three of them waited.

  • • •

 
Clint saw two of the men ride off the road and go into hiding. They were either planning to rob the wagon, or worse, and the man on the wagon was riding into it blindly.

  “Come on, big guy,” he said. “We’re going to poke our noses in where they don’t belong again.”

  • • •

  As the wagon came around the turn, Tom Dover was sitting his horse, right in the middle of the road. The wagon driver reined in his horse and stared.

  “Howdy, friend,” he said.

  “Howdy,” Dover said. “Say, ain’t you that Magic Man fella did a show in town?”

  “That’s me,” the man said. “Did you see the show?”

  “I did,” Dover said. “It was really good.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How do you do all those magic things?”

  “I can’t tell you that, friend,” the man said. “It’s magic.”

  “Well, I got some magic of my own,” Dover said.

  “Is that right?” the man on the wagon said. “I’d like to see that.”

  “Watch,” Dover said, “as I suddenly, magically, become . . . three men.”

  On cue, the other two men came riding out and stood one on each side of Dover.

  “There you go,” Dover said.

  “I think your trick needs work,” the Magic Man said.

  “Is that right?” Dover asked. “Well, let’s try this. Why don’t you step down off that wagon right now.”

  “Why?”

  “We’re gonna do another trick,” Dover said. “We’re gonna make all your money disappear.”

  “I don’t think you want to do that,” the man said.

  “I think we do,” Dover said. He drew his gun. “Down!”

  The other two men drew their guns, and the man on the wagon didn’t have a choice.

  TWO

  The man stepped down from the wagon.

  “Hold that coat open,” Dover said.

  The man did, holding the coat by the bottom and spreading it.

  “He ain’t armed,” Bennett said.

  “That’s fine,” Dover said. “That’s the way we want him.”

  “So what do we do now, boys?” the man asked. He was tall, wearing a black coat and black pants, a derby hat, and a wrinkled white shirt. Like Dover, he looked to be in his thirties.

  “Where’s the money?” Dover asked.

  “What money?”

  “The money you collected for your show in town,” Dover said. “Don’t play stupid with us, Magic Man.”

  “Those are the proceeds of my show,” the man said. “If I give you that, I’ll be broke.”

  “That’s okay,” Dover said. “See, if you give it to us, we’ll leave you alive and you can earn more money at the next town. If you don’t give it to us, we’ll kill you, and tear your wagon apart. We’ll find it, and take it anyway.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much of a choice.”

  “No choice at all.”

  • • •

  Clint knew he was taking too long to find his way down to the road. When he finally did reach it, he saw that the three mounted men had their guns out, and had forced the man on the wagon to step down. He was facing them, obviously unarmed.

  Or so Clint thought . . .

  • • •

  “Okay,” Dover said, “the talking is over. Where’s the money?”

  “You’re right,” the man said, “The talking is over. I’m not giving you my money.”

  “Mister,” Dover said, “you’re lookin’ down the barrels of three guns.”

  “If you fellas don’t turn around and walk away now, I’ll kill you.”

  They all laughed, and Dover asked, “How are you gonna do that?”

  The man smiled and said, “Magic.”

  “Ain’t no magic,” Bennett said. “It’s all tricks.”

  “Then I’ll kill you,” the man said, “with a trick.”

  “Boys,” Dover said, cocking the hammer on his gun.

  The others did the same . . .

  • • •

  Clint could see the men were cocking the hammers on their guns. He was pretty far away, so he drew his rifle from its scabbard and prepared to fire.

  He was stunned by what happened next.

  The man on the ground—previously unarmed—suddenly had a gun in each hand, and was firing. The three armed men were shot right off their saddles, dead before they hit the ground.

  • • •

  Clint kicked Eclipse into a gallop, and as he rode up on the action, the man on the ground turned to face him.

  Empty-handed.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “I’m here to help. At least, I thought you needed help.”

  “As you can see,” the man said. “I’m fine.”

  Clint looked at the writing on the side of the wagon. It said, magic man, in large print, and beneath that, it said, Feats of Prestidigitation.

  “It sure looked to me like they had the drop on you,” Clint said.

  “Actually,” the man said, “I had the drop on them.”

  “You mind if I check to make sure they’re dead?”

  “They’re dead,” the man said, “but go ahead and check.”

  Clint nodded, dismounted, and walked to the three bodies. They were, indeed, dead. Each had been hit several times, and they all looked like killing shots.

  “Any one of these shots would’ve killed them,” he said, turning to the man.

  “I had to make sure,” he said. “I couldn’t take a chance. They were intending to rob and kill me.”

  “I saw that, from the ridge,” Clint said, pointing. “I just couldn’t get down here fast enough. I probably should have taken a shot from up there.”

  “That’s okay,” the man said. “I appreciate the thought.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I guess we better get them off the road.”

  “Let’s put them in the back of my wagon,” the man said.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to take them to the next town and talk to the law,” he said. “I don’t need anybody to come looking for me.”

  “I get it.”

  “I could use you as a witness, if you don’t mind,” the man said. “Are you heading anywhere in particular?”

  “No,” Clint said, “just drifting. I’d be happy to come with you.”

  “Great,” the man said. “Let’s get them loaded.”

  Taking some blankets from the wagon, they wrapped each body, then lifted them up and loaded them into the rear of the wagon.

  “By the way,” Clint said when they were done, “my name’s Clint Adams.”

  They shook hands, but the man didn’t offer his name.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Well,” the man said, “as you can see on the wagon, I’m the Magic Man.”

  “Yes, but . . . that’s not your name, is it?”

  “No,” the man said. “I’ll tell you what, you can call me . . . Emrys.” He pronounced it Em-er-rus.

  “Emrys?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay, Emrys,” Clint said, “let’s get going.”

  THREE

  Clint rode Eclipse alongside the Magic Man’s wagon, and he and Emrys talked. It seemed to him that the man chattered incessantly, and yet by the time they reached the town of Ten Sleep, he realized he knew very little about the man.

  Also, Emrys had not revealed whether or not he knew who Clint was.

  As they entered Ten Sleep and drove down the main street, the Magic Man’s wagon attracted a lot of attention.

  “We better head right for the sheriff’s office,” Clint said. “Get those bodies out of your wagon.”

  “Suits me,” Emrys said.

  They found the
office and stopped in front of it. Clint dismounted, and Emrys stepped down from his wagon. People began to crowd around it.

  “You want to tell these people who you are and what you’re about?” Clint asked. “While you’ve got them gathered?”

  “Let’s get the business at hand out of the way first,” the magician said.

  “Okay,” Clint said, “let’s go in.”

  They mounted the boardwalk and entered the sheriff’s office.

  A man was seated behind a desk, a pair of boots up on top. He was working on them with a cloth, trying to get a shine where there was no hope anymore. He was in his sixties, with tufts of white hair around a bald crown.

  “Yeah?” he asked unpleasantly. “What can I do for you boys?”

  “Sheriff,” Emrys said, “I have three dead bodies in my wagon.”

  The sheriff reluctantly looked up from the gob of spit he had just deposited on one of his boots.

  “What?”

  “Dead men,” Emrys said.

  “Three of them,” Clint added.

  “In my wagon,” Emrys went on, “out front.”

  “Dead men?” the sheriff repeated. “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How’d they die?”

  “I killed them.”

  “Wha—why did you do that?”

  “They were trying to rob me,” Emrys said, “on the trail.”

  The sheriff finally decided he was finished with his boots. He took them off the desk, pulled them on while Clint and Emrys waited, and then stood up.

  “Show me,” he said.

  “Just out here,” Emrys said.

  They all stepped outside to the wagon. Emrys opened the back so the sheriff could examine all three men. The crowd had not thinned, and now they “oohed” and “ahhhed” at the presence of the bodies.

  “Know them?” Clint asked.

  “I do,” the sheriff said. “Three small-time would-be outlaws.” He turned to Clint. “You help him kill ’em?”

  “No, he did it all himself.”

  The sheriff examined the bodies again.

  “They’ve been shot.”

  “That’s right,” Emrys said.

  The sheriff studied him critically.

  “You don’t wear a gun?”

  “I don’t.”