The ideal relationship between a magician and his audience is such that the audience is ever-changing. However, a stage magician with a contract to perform nightly in a Las Vegas casino runs the risk of having repeat audience members; casino employees and high rollers who can and do see the show more than once. One such spectator was a blackjack dealer named Dwayne Danner. He was mesmerized by stage illusionist Marty Ryzan, and was determined to learn the secrets behind some of the finest tricks of the trade.
After his first show, Dwayne caught Marty backstage. “Hey, Ryzan! Great show, man. That trick where you shot lightning from your fingers was amazing. I work in the casino, so I know what kind of equipment we store in here. There’s nothing like a Tesla coil or anything that can generate those bolts. How’d you do it?”
Ryzan simply smiled. “A great magician never reveals his secrets.”
This continued for a week. Dwayne: “How’d you do it?”
Marty: “A great magician never reveals his secrets.”
It drove Dwayne mad, until he entered Marty’s suite one night during a performance... with a gun.
Marty entered his room after the show and bolted the door behind him. He turned around and found a gun in his face. He met this with a smile. “Ah, my biggest fan. How may I help you?”
Dwayne sneered. “This time, you bastard, you have to tell me. How’d you do it? Where’d the lightning come from?”
Marty smirked and said, “A great magician--”
Dwayne smacked him across the jaw with his gun. Marty seemed unfazed. Dwayne shouted, “Don’t give me that shit. Reveal your secrets, or I will kill you.”
“Very well. Not that I think you’ll kill me, but I can’t let you expose me.” Ryzan stood back and held up his hand. Sparks began to shower from his fingertips. Suddenly he levitated off the floor and began to glow. He changed from the magician his fans knew and loved into something above the mortal plane.
Dwayne shook his head. “My God...”
The magician smiled. “Not your god, Mr. Danner; but one of them.”
Dwayne released the gun, but it did not fall. Instead, it floated before him, turned around, and fired, removing the larger part of his head.
Returning to the floor, the god returned to his previous visage as Marty Ryzan. Looking down at the dead man, he shook his head. “This won’t do.” He walked to the far wall and stepped through it as if it were an open door.
In the next room, a couple lay in the bed, having sex. If they heard the gunshot, it did not deter them. Marty stealthily walked past the bed and opened their door, then exited into the hallway unnoticed.
A maid had heard the gunshot and called the police. Marty waited outside the room, as the room was bolted. Once the door was broken down, the magician was asked if he recognized the victim. “He was a fan. It looks like he killed himself.”
The detective scowled. “One would think so... but there are no powder burns on his hands.” He then looked at the magician’s hands.“None on yours, either; plus the door was bolted from the inside. So, the question is, if it was suicide, how the hell did he do it?”
With a thin smile, Marty offered, “He must have been a hell of a magician.”