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left hand, he dropped it back into his right.
    “Max, you know she’s on your side,” said Harry.
    Max did not respond. Again, he tossed the ball into his left hand, letting it drop to his right once more.
    A third time, he made the tossing motion, but the ball now disappeared. (Palmed in his right, of course, the elementary
Throw Vanish.)
    “Max, she wants the best for you,” Harry told him.
    His features hardened as Max continued playing with the billiard ball, causing it to Reproduce, then Reproduce again,his face intent as he performed “Twirls” with his thumb and forefinger to prove that what was actually a shell was another solid billiard ball.
    An attempted “Acquitment” (transfer of the ball from right to left hand) to create another “Vanish” failed, and the billiard ball fell to his lap. Angrily, he picked it up again.
    “Max, come
on,”
said Harry, trying to sound patient—in vain.
    Max said nothing but began again, the billiard ball becoming two, then three. He waved his right hand up and down, the ball between his first and middle fingers “hinged back” into the shell.
Now you’ve got it, Sonny boy
, I thought.
    At which, he dropped the ball again. It bounced off his lap to hit the carpeting and roll away. Max slumped back and closed his eyes. “Ta
da,”
he muttered, a forlorn fanfare to his faltering hands. (I felt his despair; only another magician could truly say that.)
    “Let it go, pal,” Harry told him, revealing unmistakably with those words that he could not possibly understand. “We have Vegas to discuss.” He was unable to conceal the edge of irritation in his voice.
    Max opened his eyes. “Yes,” he agreed. “We have Vegas to discuss.”

    Rising from his chair, Harry retrieved the fallen billiard ball and set it on the table. Then, reseating himself, he opened his attaché case and removed two copies of a contract, handing one to Max, who put on his glasses to read it.
    Noticing the lenses, Harry asked, “A little
thick
, aren’t they?”
    “One step removed from a Seeing Eye dog,” Max answered.
    Harry did not attempt to conceal his grimace. “Can’t you get contacts or something?”
    “Hadn’t thought about it,” Max replied.
    “Well,
think
about it,” Harry said. “I have another client who had bad eyesight, cataracts. Implants gave him back his vision better than it ever was.” Another grimace. “How long has this been going on?”
    “Some little time now.”
    Harry whistled softly. “That’s no good, Max. Have you seen a doctor?” Since he already knew the answer to that, I presumed he wanted to hear Max’s version of the situation.
    “What for?” Max responded. “I know what the diagnosis would be. ‘You’re going blind, Mr. Delacorte.’ Who needs to hear it?”
    “Blind
, Max?” Harry stared at him, appalled; but not half as much as I was. When had all
this
started?
    “Well, not quite,” Max said. “It’s coming, though.”
    Harry swallowed, looking at his client, not his friend, I know. As it turned out, he was doubtless wondering if his visit and intended conversation were pointless now.
    He drew in a straining breath then. Oh, well, he thought (my guess). May as well go on with it. If it turns out to be pointless, let it happen when I’m somewhere else. I think I read his mind correctly. One-dimensional at best, connected directly to his facial muscles.
    “Okay,” he said. “Let’s move on.”
    Max cupped a hand behind his left ear. “Pardon?”
    Harry stared at him, expression pained. (It looked pained, anyway.)
“Your hearing, too?”
he asked.
    Max didn’t answer.
    “Have you tried a hearing aid?” asked Harry.
    Max shook his head.
    “Have you
considered
trying a hearing aid?” Harry persisted.
    “I’ve considered everything,” Max said. “Including suicide.”
    Oh, Sonny, no!
my mind cried out. I would have wept if tears could flow.
    Harry had twitched at Max’s words.
“Hey. Max,”
he said. “I don’t want