An unwanted assignment

A few weeks ago I read a very interesting article that reported the FBI was searching the warehouse of world-renowned magician David Copperfield. You can see the article here.

That sounds like one of the most daunting tasks you could ever have as a policeman. Not only are you trying to confront a master of deception about a crime, but you also have to go traipsing through his personal playground of magical devices. I can just see it going something like this. Some understandably nervous FBI agents approach the warehouse and say:

Officer 1: Hello, Mr. Copperfield. We have here a warrant to search your premises.

Copperfield: Come right in, officers. Take a look around. I assure you that I have nothing up my sleeves...er, metaphorically speaking, of course.

Officer 2: Maybe we should check his sleeves. You know, just to be sure.

Officer 1: Larry, how many times do I have to remind you that I am in charge of this investigation?

Officer 2: Sorry Sarge. It’s just that my uncle was killed by a... well, you know.

Officer 1: Okay. Um, Mr. Copperfield, would you please roll up your sleeves for us. Slowly. It’s, er, standard procedure.

At least that’s what I would be doing. The reasons for searching the warehouse were extremely vague in the article, which only sounds appropriate when searching the property of a man who uses smoke and mirrors himself, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I don’t care what the charges are; what makes them think that a man who can make an entire building disappear couldn’t hide some blood or a little dirty money. And what if he was a criminal overlord? What would keep him from winking you right out of existence along with the evidence? I think if I were the police, I would be having nightmares about going in there.

Copperfield: Step through this doorway, officer.

Officer: Wh-where does it go?

Copperfield: Where does it go? Ummm...why it leads to the dressing room for all my scantily-clad female assistants.

Officer: Oh, well yes, I certainly think we should search there as well. Wait a minute, why did you close the door behind me? It’s dark in here.

Copperfield: Oh, my mistake, officer. It appears that I accidentally led you into my Mysterious Box of Death. I’ll have you out in a jiffy. In the meantime, if you feel any sharp objects, don’t panic. Those are just the dozen or so swords that I’ll be inserting into the box from every angle.

And aside from seeing the inner workings of his magic tricks, I’d be just as worried about finding something to get really concerned about. Like finding the remains of a dozen failed attempts to saw a woman in half. You can’t tell me he does it the right way every time.

No, I think I’ll stay on the outside of his little fun farm, thank you very much. He can continue his criminal activity as long as I don’t find doves in my ear and my bottom half stays firmly attached to my top half.