"What a douchebag," Charlie muttered.
"Would you guys give it a rest? You're giving me a headache," Jay told them.
"Oh, come on, Jay. His misdirect is shaking his ass like an Eighth Avenue hooker," Vernon said.
"Used to be about skill," Charlie reminded them.
"Yeah, used to be," Jay agreed. "Used to be. Listen to the two of you. It's pathetic. Bitter old men talking about the glory days. You know what? This douchebag isn't the joke. We are."
"Hey, who you calling a joke?"
"Me, for one."
Jeb's act was back on.
"That used to be us," Jay said.
Jay continued. "You know, maybe he is a douchebag—"
"But he's playing the main stage and we can't even afford an assistant. What the hell are we doing?" Jay wondered.
"We're doing all right," Charlie replied.
"No, we're not. We're sad, we're old, and we're dying."
"Jay."
"I'm gonna do the Table of Death tonight."
"No. No, you're not, Jay. Don't be crazy," Vernon argued.
"You almost killed yourself the last time you tried it, and that was thirty years ago!" Charlie cried.
"Oh, who cares if it kills me?" Jay shot back. "At least I'll go out with a headline."
INT. DINNER THEATER – NIGHT
Someone in the audience was yawning. Jay was onstage in a tuxedo.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see is not a trick or an illusion—simply a display of daring and dexterity," Jay said as he laid down on a table labeled Table of Death. Charlie cuffed him down. "Now, young lady, if you'll please check the bindings, you'll see they're very real. Very tight."
A young woman tested each of the cuffs.
"Thank you. You may take your seat," Jay told the audience.
"Damn straight they're tight. You sure you can slip them?" Charlie asked.
Jay smirked.
Above the table were ten swords, each with a blade stained red. Charlie pulled a curtain, hiding Jay and the swords from view. The lights went out. Backstage, Vernon did the sign of the cross. Charlie picked up a miniature blowtorch and went over to Vernon. They communicated silently. Jay tried to slip the cuffs; they were too tight. Charlie lit the blowtorch, then the end of a cord attached to a rope.
EXT. HOTEL PATRICIA – NIGHT
Vance and his assistant were leaving Pat's Pub.
"Show's in an hour, Vance. Try to be on time," the assistant said as Vance waved her off.
INT. THEATER – NIGHT
The cord burned with much light and smoke and sparks. A light behind the curtain showed Jay's silhouette as he struggled to get out of the cuffs.
EXT. STREET – NIGHT
Vance walked along.
INT. THEATER – NIGHT
The cord burned to the end and through the rope. The swords fell, piercing the table. Jay's silhouette was still on the table.
EXT. STREET – NIGHT
Vance stumbled, pressing his hands to his chest, and fell.
INT. THEATER – NIGHT
The lights were back on. Charlie tugged one curtain aside, Jay the other. Jay took a bow. A standing ovation. Jay accepted the applause, looking confused.
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