Enormous architectural behemoths usurped the skyline, and vehicles moseyed along the large, open road beside the sidewalk. After about two hours of traveling, I came to a comically-painted blue pig on the brick wall of a building that pointed towards the front of the restaurant around the corner, with a speech bubble advertising the establishment: "Piggy's."

Despite its innocent and family-friendly name, the place was rumored to be a mecca of vice in the evenings of underground Detroit. It boasted snake,seahorse, and even dragon-infused wines and spirits (though most people assumed the last option to be a marketing ploy) that seemed to reel customers in by the hundreds as they enjoyed the evening's entertainment .

The Endigo Brothers were the purported masterminds of the business, running their vast, underground speakeasy under the ruse of an innocent American diner that served kippered herring, lox and onions and the occasional Canadian-imported meats and treats during daylight. A quick view of the restaurant's interior showed the owners' meticulous and opulent decorating: white and gold brocade tablecloths and black-cushioned chairs tucked under them filled the majority of the floor, while off to the right a marble counter enclosed a single, tan man who manned the register and a shelf of beverage-related contraptions. He paused his conversation with two other individuals at the bar and greeted me.

"Hello there stranger. Table for one?" At a table by the window and entrance, a small entourage of men stirred in their seats when I entered, their gazes locked on my back as I stepped further into the restaurant. Some of them were well-dressed fellows wearing pocketed aprons, which gave me the impression that they were likely waiters. Extremely muscular waiters.

"I don't want to trouble your staff for a table; would you mind if I sit at the bar?"

The elegant, black-suited man opened an arm to the empty barstools on his left and smiled, his voice smoother than the marble surface of his countertop. "By all means, stranger, take your pick."

I picked a stool that was two seats away from the pair already at the bar and placed an order for a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. While the gentleman prepared my coffee, the rest of the restaurant's company resumed their conversations and activities from before my interjection. The group by the window murmured to themselves as they shuffled playing cards amongst their members, and the two guys a little ways down from me proceeded to try to convince the turned back of the well-dressed gentleman brewing my coffee.

"I'm telling ya, Yoni, you're gonna want us to entertain for you! My pal Rick here, he's the real deal! You've heard of Houdini, haven't you? Rick and him go way back! He's in a league with the best magicians, after all! In fact, Rick's probably the best you'll ever have in town! Whaddya say?" suggested the carrot-haired man of the duo, lauding his quiet partner who was an equally worthy contender of elegance with the gentleman behind the bar.

Yoni chuckled as he grasped the handle of a teapot, tilting it over to pour hot water on a mechanism that yielded drips of coffee into a dainty teacup. "I am a big fan of Houdini, but I'm not sure we'll have enough room to entertain if you're planning on escaping out of a large fish tank."

The redhead scoffed. "Ha! Houdini ain't got nothin' on Rick! He can work with whatever space you give us."

Yoni slid the cup, creamer and container of sugar cubes my way before wiping his hands on a cloth hanging from his pocket, grinning then at the two men. "Well, if you can impress me right here and now I may consider it, Rory."

Rory the redhead slapped a hand on the marble top, startling and shushing the table playing cards momentarily. "Consider it done! Rick?"

The suave, dark-haired man stood from his seat, extracting a matchbox that he held out on his palm, raising his free hand to wiggle his fingers and slide the matchbox open and closed without touching it. He proceeded to raise the matchbox up on its edge, then eyed Rory, who swiped his hand between Rick's hand and the matchbox to convince Yoni that the trick was indeed magic.

But I, nursing on my cup of milky coffee and sitting far enough away to watch the act from another angle and perspective, could see a thread, almost as unnoticeable as air, tautly connecting the contents of Rick's pocket and the matchbox in his open hand. Unimpressed, I finished the drink and scooted a little closer to the group.

"Would you mind if I had a light or two, there, mister...?"

Rory laughed and answered for the slightly surprised and silent gentleman. "The suavest magician alive, Rick the Slick! And I'm sorry my fine fellow, but we don't ... share ... magical ... props."

His speech slowed as an amused Rick handed the matchbox to me, everyone watching as I placed the matchbox down on the countertop and extracted two matchsticks from the box. I set one carefully on the box with its head on the edge, and held the other between my fingers, rubbing the wooden surface of the matchstick with my free hand to build up static force for the trick. I peered then at Yoni, Rick and Rory before touching the two matchstick heads together.

The stick on the matchbox catapulted into the air, flying temporarily before landing on Yoni's chest. Yoni looked down at it, and then gazed up at me, eyes blazing with a threatening glimmer.

I chuckled nervously. "Ehehehehehe...am I a match for the mighty magician yet?"

At this, Yoni's expression softened into amusement, and he chuckled mirthfully at the joke. "Do I smell a dual act in my midst?"

Flustered, but also trying to stifle a laugh, Rory pounded a fist on the counter. The men at the card-playing table ignored the noise. "A novice trick! My client can do better!" he proclaimed.

And so Rick did, fluttering a deck of cards back and forth between his widespread hands before releasing them into the air. At a quick snap of his fingers, all fifty-two cards paused in their trajectory, suspended briefly in their flight before scurrying back and settling neatly in Rick's hand.

"Is that all you've got?" I smirked to feign confidence, but was truthfully confounded by the trick. A kerosene lamp in the corner behind Yoni's counter brought me back to an experiment I had done two nights before, and I remembered the tins in my pocket. Retrieving all the materials that I required from my person-- a cotton kerchief and one of the tins-- I wadded the cloth and asked Yoni to douse it in the lamp fluid, garnering a curious look from Rick. Rory observed in quiet horror as his plans to enlist Rick as a main attraction to Yoni's cause trickled out of his anxiously clenched fists. I set fire to the dripping ball of cloth on the table, and to the trio's shock, grabbed it with my bare hand to roll the item in my palm.

"What do you think?" I asked, pleased with myself. However, distracted by their faces and my hubris, I let the ball of fire roll too closely to my wrist and as a result, my sleeve caught fire. Yoni burst into a fit of laughter, and Rick, quick to act, snuffed the flames with a hand clutched to my wrist. After he pulled away, I found my clothes untouched by the sudden inferno and quickly looked to Rick for answers.

The dark-haired gentleman stared calmly at me as he now held the blazing ball and slowly squeezed the light out of it. Small rivers of firelight trickled down the back of his hand, until the cotton cloth returned to its original form: dry and soft and not a scorching mass. At once I was awestruck by the individual before me and crestfallen at my defeat. Mentally admitting that I had lost, I waited for Yoni to recover from his chortling to proclaim the victor of our magical contest. Yoni Endigo regained his composure finally, and took a deep breath, brushing fingers through his frosty hair.

"You know...I wouldn't mind hosting a duel between magicians," mused Yoni, stroking his chin. "I'd have to run it through Altan, but I'm sure he'd be fine with it. What do you say, gentlemen? Care to join us here tonight? Downstairs?"

After a contemplative moment, Rory's face brightened. "You've got yourself a deal, Yoni Endigo!"

Rick approached me with an enigmatically playful look and extended a hand. I shook it firmly.

"That tin you pulled out earlier...what was in there?" he inquired, with a hushed voice. "If I may ask, that is."

"It's a fire-retardant gel; I was experimenting on a number of gels and foams and resins the past couple of nights and accidentally made this compound that resisted fire delightfully well!"

"A scientist, hmn? It looks like I've got my work cut out for me," he purred, steely eyes sizing me up.

∞