[Veritas]

Evening fell on Las Vegas. The neon glare of the fables Strip could still be seen in Costa's rearview mirror as he drove home in his Land Rover. Overhead lights, insulated cases of film and other camera equipment rattled in the back of the truck-like vehicle as he turned up the drive of his home. The lights were on inside, meaning his mother, Dimitra, was waiting up for him. Costa smiled at that--no doubt she'd have dinner waiting for him as well. He was in his mid-forties, living on his own as a successful photographer and technical assistant to his brother Criss, and his mother still doted on him like a little boy. Once a mom, always a mom, I guess, he surmised.

He stopped the Rover in front of the house and climbed out. The minute he entered the foyer of the huge mansion he knew his suspicions were correct: the aroma of familiar foods wafted from the kitchen, triggering memories of his Long Island childhood.

"Mom?" he called out. "I'm home."

Dimitra emerged from the kitchen. "Hi, honey," she crooned. "Dinner will be ready in a moment. You have just enough time to wash up."

Costa nodded, smiling. Just like old times, he reflected. Dinner's ready, you have just enough time to wash up! And don't just wet your hands and wipe them on the towel--use soap! Three boys crowded around the bathroom basin, splashing each other, squirting the bar of soap from one hand to the other, baby brother Christopher not quite tall enough to reach the spigot so he needed a boost from one of his older brothers or had to stand on the toilet seat, then fumbling with the giant towel on the rack to dry off, then the mad dash to the table where their parents waited. Life had been so simple then, he mused. When did it get so complicated?

He went into the half-bathroom next to his office and washed his hands vigorously, as if prepping for surgery. Years ago, when he used to work in one of the family-owned cafes, his father had taught him how and when to wash his hands in the professional manner of all restaraunt employees: scrub thoroughly up to mid-forearm, making sure to get under the nails, then rinse. The hands were the biggest conduit of germs and bacteria, Dad had emphasized over and over again. Remember, he had said, no one wants to eat your germs!

Once his hands were immaculatly clean, Costa headed for the dining room where his mother had laid out dinner for two: stuffed tomatos with ground lamb and spices, pastitisio, and bread. Two long-stemmed wine glasses were filled with red wine--a long way from the standard family fare of meat and milk, he noted with some amusement. "Looks good, Mom," he said.

They sat down at the table, said a brief word of grace, and began eating. "So," Dimitra said, smiling, "how was your day?"

"It went all right," Costa replied. "Until someone broke into the editing office and stole some photos I gave to Criss."

"What sort of photos?"

"Well, there were some of Dad back in his bodybuilding days that JD found, and some of Criss," Costa replied casually. "We got the ones of Dad back, though," he added hastily.

"Well, that's good," Dimitra said with some relief. "I'm sure the ones of Christopher will turn up soon."

God, I hope they do! "Macaffey's on the trail for them right now. He's plenty ticked off about a break-in happening on his watch, even if it is just a bunch of pictures. You know how gung-ho that guy can be about security."

"I'm sure he'll find them," Dimitra said confidently. "What kind of photos were they anyway?"

That was the question Costa had dreaded to hear. "Just some eight-by-tens I took, that's all," he answered drily. Of him in the nude, that is.

"Do they have any idea who took them?"

"They probably got him on tape. All they have to do is run his face through the system and see if he's got a criminal record. If he doesn't, at least they got a profile on him."

Dimitra sipped her wine. "Probably one of his fans," she sighed. "They can be so...obsessive at times! They go to ridiculous lengths to meet him, or get a picture of him or something. I'm surprised he hasn't fallen victim to a stalker yet."

"Believe me, Ma," Costa said, "A stalker is the least of Criss' worries right now."

"What do you mean by that?"

Costa hesitated, realizing he might have overplayed his hand. "Oh, nothing, nothing at all," he replied airily.

Dimitra was not so easily placated. "It's something, all right."

"Mom, all I'm saying is that Criss can handle a stalker, so don't worry about it."

"I'm not talking about stalkers, Costa," Dimitra persisited. "It's something else. Does it have anything to do with those stolen pictures?"

Costa set down his knife and fork. She had him dead to rights, and he knew it; there was nothing for him to do but come clean. "Okay," he sighed. "Those photos of Criss I took? Well, he's posing...nude."

Dimitra was aghast. "Nude!"

"It's just for a personal portfolio I'm working on!" Costa hastily explained. "They weren't meant to be published or anything! They were for my own personal collection! I just took them to Criss' office to show him, and I accidentally left them there. The editor took them with the photos of Dad, but he never used them, I swear! Then they were stolen from the editing studio--we don't know who has them now! And if we don't find them soon, everybody in the whole world will probably be seeing him uncut and uncensored!"

"This could turn into a scandal!" Dimitra cried. "This could ruin Christopher's career! This could bring shame upon our family!"

"Okay, Mom, okay, don't panic" Costa said placatingly. "Like I said, Macaffey's on the trail for them. Knowing him, he'll hunt that guy down to the ends of the earth to get those photos back. It's his reputation on the line as far as he's concerned."

"It's more like Christopher's that's on the line here," Dimitra retorted. "if they don't find those pictures soon, God only knows what will happen next!"

[Veritas]

Macaffey looked at Criss warily. "So how do you plan to do this?" he asked.

"First, we find a place in the park where we can rendezvous with the thief," Criss told him. "Somewhere open enough for him to find me, yet have someplace for you guys to hide until he arrives. The minute he hands over the photos, and I give him the money, BAM! You nail him!"

"Sounds pretty standard so far," Macaffey said. "But you're not really gonna be carrying around a million bucks, are you?"

Criss grinned. "Leave that to me," he said, nodding. "Just get some backup to bring this (bleep)hole down when the time comes. I'll do the rest."

Macaffey heaved a deep breath. "I sure hope you know what the hell you're doing, Angel."

"Oh, believe me," Criss said confidently, "I do."




The midday sun beat down mercilessly upon Sunset Park. Waves of reflected heat shimmered up from the pavements, forcing parkgoers to seek the shade of the trees or the covered picnic pavilions. Under one such pavilion sat Criss Angel, a nondescript black briefcase lying on the picnic table in front of him. He was the sole occupant, but he was far from alone: a small videocamera strategically positioned to one of the support posts was trained upon him and the table with the briefcase, relaying his image to the police van parked behind the concession stand. Inside the van, two police officers watched the monitor carefully, waiting for someone to arrive.

"What time is it?" asked one of the officers.

"Almost noon," replied the other. "He should be here any minute now."

"He'd better," the first officer grumbled. "We've been waiting for fifteen minutes now, and so far all we've seen is Angel sitting there."

"C'mon, you've been on longer stakeouts than this!"

"Yeah, for drug dealers" the first officer retorted. "This is just for a bunch of his photographs!" He pointed at the monitor showing Criss waiting patiently at the picnic table.

"I bet they're pretty racy if he wants them back so bad," the second officer quipped.

"Whatever. Just keep watching the screen."

Suddenly, the second officer became excited. "Holditholditholdit! Right there, you see?"

The first officer looked closer. Sure enough, someone in dark clothes and a white facemask appeared on the screen. "Okay, zoom in closer," he said.

The image of Criss and the newcomer grew larger on the monitor. There was some discussion between them at first, then the mysterious stranger held up what looked like a large envelope. Criss tried to grab it, but the other man whisked it away, obviously demanding his money first. With a look of chagrin on his face, Criss opened up the briefcase, revealing what appeared to be hundred dollar bills. The man hesitated at first, then dropped the envelope, grabbed the briefcase and made off with it.

The two police officers in the van sprang into action. "Okay, let's move!" the first officer barked.

[Veritas]

In spite of the fact that he was part of a sting operation, Criss felt calm and serene. He sat alone at the picnic table under the pavilion, a plain black briefcase in front of him. To his left, a small videocamera attached to a post was trained on him, recording his image and every move, though for the past fifteen minutes or so he hadn't moved a muscle. He knew the police van was not too far away; once they had the guy with the photos in their sights, they would swoop down and nail his ass good.

He wished his "contact" would hurry up and get here, but at the same time he savored the moments alone. Solitude out of doors had become a luxury Criss seldom enjoyed; even on his rare vacations to Mexico there was always some snooping photographer hiding somewhere in the distance snapping pictures of him and whatever girl he happened to be with at the time. Today, however, there were no cameras (save for the one overhead), no nosy reporters demanding interviews, no overzealous fans clamoring for his attention. There was just the warm desert breeze playing on his skin, the fresh air filling his lungs, and the stillness of the park setting around him. It was a good place to meditate, to clear his troubled mind. Unfortunatly, he was here on business, so he had to stay focused.

From the corner of his eye he spied a lone figure approaching the pavilion, not so much walking as scurrying like a huge black beetle in his dark clothes with something white across his face. Criss rose cautiously--this had to be his contact, he figured. The beetle-man halted before Criss, staring at him as if to confirm his identity. Criss did the same, noting that the white thing over the man's face was an ordinary white paper filter mask, the kind available at any hardware store.

The beetle-man stepped forward. "You got the money?" he spoke in a muffled voice.

"You got the pictures?" Criss asked warily.

"I got the pictures," the beetle-man replied, holding up a large Manila envelope. "Right here in my hand."

Criss reached over to take the envelope, but the beetle-man yanked it away. "Ah, ah, ah!" the beetle-man admonshed tauntingly.
"Show me the money, and then I'll show you the pictures."

Chagrined, Criss opened the briefcase, revealing neatly stacked one hundred dollar bills. "One million dollars," he said, "just like you told me. Now hand over the pictures."

The beetle-man's eyes fairly popped out of his head when he saw all that money in the briefcase. He dropped the envelope, siezed the briefcase and tucked it under his arm. "So long, sucker!" he cried out as he dashed off with his windfall.

Criss bent down, picked up the envelope and examined it. It was the same one Costa had used--that was a good sign. He opened it up and removed the contents. Upon closer scrutiny, however, Criss realized he had been duped. Instead of the photos Costa had taken, he discovered they were cheap publicity stills from the original Star Wars movie. Outaged at this deception, Criss took off running after the creep. He is so (bleeping) dead! he said to himself. When I find that (bleeper), I'm gonna kick his ass from here to Mexico! I'll shove those pictures straight up his--!

To his relief, the police van had cut the beetle-man off at the corner. The thief skidded to a halt at the sight of it, then retreated the other way, only to collide into Criss. With a loud oof! the beetle-man slammed headlong into Criss' body, sending him sprawling backward onto the ground, the briefcase tumbling from under him. Before Criss could vent his spleen on the thief who deceived him, the two police officers had flipped the fugitive over, pinioned his arms behind him, slapped the cuffs onto his wrists, then hoisted him upright--all with practiced efficiency, as Criss noted with admiration.

"Get that thing off his face!" the first officer barked.

The second officer obeyed, whipping the filter mask away with a single yank. The beetle-man doubled over, howling in pain. When he straightend up again, both Criss and the two police officers saw the gauze bandage taped over his nose.

"So what happened to you?" the second officer asked.

"Ask him!" the beetle-man spat, nodding toward Criss. "His (bleep)hole cousin did this to me!"

[Veritas]

Criss stared in shock at the struggling figure before him. "You?!?" he gasped. "It was you all the time?! You stole those photos from the editing studio to blackmail me?"

"Blackmail? No." the flasher spat. "Kevin's the one who put me up to this! He promised me fifty-fifty if I got those pictures from you! I just wanted payback for what that big lug of a cousin of yours did to me!"

"Who's Kevin?" Criss demanded.

"You know who Kevin is," the flasher retorted. "He used to work for you, remember? You fired him, remember?"

Criss remembered all right, and his anger turned up a few notches. "So you and him were in it together, weren't you?"

The first officer hauled the flasher away to the van. "C'mon," he said impatiently, "we can discuss this at the station."

"Wait!" the flasher cried out. "What about my money? You still owe me one million bucks, Angel!"

Criss picked up the briefcase. "What money?" he asked, smiling as he opened the case to reveal nothing inside.

Both the flasher and the two officers stared at the empty briefcase, dumbfounded.




Sergeant Dolan, LVMPD, strode into the debriefing room where the two stakeout police officers waited for him. "Okay, what've we got?" he droned.

"Name's Zubrowski," the first officer said, handing the sergeant a file folder. "Alvin Dudley Zubrowski, aka the Vegas Flasher. Out on bail for sixteen counts of indecent exposure, one count of CSA against a minor; now he's in for bee-and-ee and petty theft, plus extortion. Broke into the editing studio for MindFreak Productions at the Luxor and stole an envelope containing photographs of Criss Angel--wanted one million dollars for them, so we arranged to rendezvous with him at Sunset Park. Alvin gave him fake pictures; Angel gave him a briefcase full of cash, but then made it disappear. Damndest thing I ever saw."

Dolan grunted. "So where is this guy?"

"You mean Angel or Alvin?"

"Alvin."

"Room Three. Angel's in with Meridian. Seems they're on familiar terms."

"Okay, I'll take care of our friend the Vegas Flasher. Good job, guys."

Dolan left the debriefing room and headed for Room Three. The other officers left for the break room for a much needed cup of coffee.





Detective Jim Meridian sat behind his desk, staring at Criss. "Quite a stunt you pulled this afternoon, Angel," he said with grudging respect. "I suppose I must thank you for bringing down the Vegas Flasher for the second time in a week."

"I didn't bring down the Flasher the first time," Criss protested. "That was my cousin, George. He was coming out from his boxing match at the Excalibur with my brother, JD, and he was the one who floored him. I mean, the guy flashed my mother, for God's sake! I would have done the same if I'd been there, but I had to leave early to do the evening show." He leaned closer. "Who the hell is this guy, anyway?"

Meridian picked up a photostat of the Flasher's file. "Name's Alvin Zubrowski," he read.

Criss suppressed the urge to laugh. Alvin Zubrowski? Geez, with a name like that, he probably got his ass kicked all through high school! He pictured a wimpy little nerdlike teenage Alvin with tortoise-shell glasses taped at the bridge, wearing a white dress shirt with a bow tie and plaid trousers coming up above his ankles, revealing white socks under black orthopedic shoes, being jeered at by the school jocks in the hallway. It was an amusing scenario, though Criss admitted he could be wrong about him.

"Forty-nine years old, unemployed, divorced twice, lives outside Las Vegas" Meridian continued. "Has a history of exhibitionism on his record: cost him three jobs and both his marriages. He usually targets women over forty, but one of his victims had her fifteen-year-old granddaughter with her at the time, so now he's facing up to fifteen to twenty years behind bars."

"In other words," Criss said, "a total loser."

Meridian set down the photostat and got down to business. "Okay, Angel, what happened at the park this afternoon?" he asked.

Criss related the theft of the photos, the meeting at the park, the flasher's deception with the Star Wars photos, his pursuit, and the capture. Meridian nodded in understanding: it was all pretty plausible so far. "My guys tell me you made a million dollars disappear from the briefcase you had," he said. "Care to explain that little trick?"

"You know a good magician never reveals his secrets," Criss reminded him.

"If that magician was smart, he'd tell how he did it or face a charge of noncompliance," Meridian retorted.

Realizing the veteran detective had a valid point, Criss produced the briefcase and opened it up before a grim-faced Meridian on his desk. "You see it's empty," he said.

"I get it, it's empty," Meridian muttered impatiently.

Criss closed it again, spun it around on the desktop, then opened it up again. Inside were the same neat stacks of hundred dollar bills. "And there you are," he said with a hint of triumph.

Meridian eyed him warily. "So what's the trick?"

"Swear you won't tell anyone? I mean, I can't go around producing a million dollars on demand every day, you know."

"Fine, I'll keep your little secret," Meridian snapped. "Just tell me how you did it for chrissakes!"

The detective could not help but be impressed as Criss showed him the mechanics of the illusion, as he called it. "Pretty good," Meridian said. "Next time we need a million dollars delivered to another blackmailer, we'll call you."

Criss set the briefcase aside. "Now, tell me about Kevin," Meridian said.

"Kevin was a cameraman I fired because he taped me taking a shower in my personal gym," Criss explained. "He posted that tape on YouTube just to spite me."

"You take legal action?"

"Not yet."

"You sure it was Alvin and not Kevin who stole those photos?"

"Beats me," Criss replied, shrugging. "You'll have to ask Alvin--or Kevin."

[Veritas]

Another training session ended, and George was showering away the morning's workout with his boxing team. Beside him, Tobe Lacie was scrubbing his forearms with a huge bar of green soap. Christian Ruhr stood stolidly across them, letting the stinging spray ease his aching shoulders. Conversation was kept to a bare minimum as the team showered, though Tobe couldn't resist speaking up.

"Hey George," Tobe said, smiling a little. "I heard about you nailin' the Vegas Flasher outside the Excalibur after the quarterfinals."

"Yeah, so?" George replied indifferently.

"So who was that mother(bleeper), anyway, goin' around flashin' little old ladies like that?"

"I didn't stop to ask his name," George retorted. "(Bleeper) flashes my aunt, I take action."

Tobe was appalled. "He flashed your aunt?"

"Yeah, he flashed my aunt, right out there in front of the Excalibur." George turned off the shower and retrieved his towel. "JD and me were going to pick her up at the entrance, and we see this guy in a black raincoat coming up to her and..." He mimicked opening a raincoat. "Surprise! We're (bleeped), so we go runnin' after him, and that's when I punch him. God, he was an ugly (bleeper)!"

"He hurt bad?"

George wrapped the towel around his waist. "Broke his nose in three places."

"(Bleep), man, I'd 'a done the same thing if it'd been my aunt. If it'd been my mama, then, (bleep), I'd 'a killed the mother(bleeper)! Break that (bleeper's) face in so bad, he'd wouldn't have a face left! They take him to jail?"

"Oh, yeah, they took him to jail."

Tobe laughed, gloating over the Flasher's fate. "Man, he won't wanna go flashin' his ass in there!"

"Wouldn't make any difference if he did," George said drily. "I mean, who'd wanna look at his ugly ass?"





Back at police HQ, Alvin Zubrowski, the infamous Vegas Flasher, sat sullenly in the interrogation room with Sergeant Doyle, his reddened face contrasting sharply with the white gauze taped over his broken nose. Doyle looked down on Alvin as if he was a cockroach under the sink. "Okay, Zubrowski," Doyle growled, "where's the Angel photos you took? Huh?"

"I didn't take no photos of no one," Alvin growled back.

"Like hell you didn't!" Doyle snapped. "We got video surveillance tapes from the Luxor showing it was you who broke into the editing office and coming out with the envelope! That envelope you used in your little switcheroo was the original envelope those photos were in! We also got the note taped onto the production office door, and it's got your fingerprints on it! That and your accomplice, whom we're bringing in right now!"

He lowered himself to Alvin's eye level. "So, you wanna do this the easy way, or the hard way? You wanna come clean, tell me where the photos are, or do I have to get tough? You're already in a (bleep)load of trouble, Alvin--don't go lookin' for more."

Alvin remained silent. "I won't talk without my lawyer!" he said defiantly.

Doyle stared at Alvin disdainfully. "'My lawyer'," he sneered. "Every crook and bum that comes in here always plays that same tune: I want my lawyer! I won't talk without my lawyer! I won't answer any questions without my lawyer! Well, you ain't got a lawyer, Zubrowski! You practically waived your right to a lawyer when we busted you again! And even if you did, you'd still be screwed! We got enough evidence against you to send you up for twenty or thirty years! At your age, that's practically a life sentence! Now, are you gonna co-operate with me or not?"

"Kevin's the one with the pictures," Alvin said. "Ask him."

Doyle rose. "Okay, fine, we'll ask Kevin," he said. "but you're not getting off scot-free, Zubrowski. You're up (bleep) creek without a canoe, let alone a paddle! Like Yogi Berra said, it ain't over 'til it's over!"





Kevin was jolted out of bed by a loud pounding on the door of his apartment. He was jolted even more when he heard the words "Open up! Police!" shouted from the other side. Panicked, he searched for an exit, but it was impossible--his was a third-floor apartment, and the windows were practically corroded shut from years of wind, rain and negligence. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

The pounding became even louder and more persistant. Kevin had no choice but to answer the door. With fear gripping his stomach, he opened the door and saw two police officers standing before him. "Why didn't you answer the first time?" one of them demanded impatiently.

"Uh, I-I had to get dressed," Kevin alibied nervously. "I was in bed, sleeping."

The officer held up an official looking document. "We have a search warrant," he said officiously, "as well as a warrant for your arrest for possession of stolen property."

"Stolen property?" Kevin was flabbergasted. "I didn't steal nothin'!"

"That's for us to determine," the officer retorted, pushing Kevin aside. He turned to his partner. "You take the bedroom, I'll search the computer desk."

The partner went into the bedroom while the officer began sifting through the piles of papers and other clutter on the computer desk. Kevin made an attempt to stop him. "Hey, that's my stuff!" he protested.

The officer whirled around angrily. "You stay where you are!" he barked, "or I'm gonna charge you with impeding an investigation!"

"Investigation of what?"

"Stolen photos from MindFreak Productions."

Kevin felt his bowels turn to water. "I ain't got no photos from MindFreak Productions!" he insisted. "I haven't been there since..."

"Since when?"

"Well, I got fired," Kevin explained feebly. "But it was wrongful termination, I can tell you!"

The officer resumed his search. "Not from what we heard," he said.

He pulled out a white mailing envelope from the stack on the desk and opened it. "Crane!" he shouted. "I think we found what we're looking for!"

Officer Crane came out of the bedroom. "What've you got?" he asked.

The officer handed the envelope to his partner. "Take a look for yourself."

Crane glanced at the photos. "Whooeeee!" he exclaimed, "no wonder Angel wanted 'em back so bad! We're talkin' Playgirl centerfold material here!"

The officer snatched the photos back and stuffed them in the envelope. "Never mind," he muttered. "Just cuff the guy and let's get out of here."

Crane approached Kevin with the handcuffs. Kevin bolted, but Crane was too quick for him: he grabbed Kevin by the shoulder, kicked him in the back of the knee to bring him down, pinioned his arms behind his back and secured his wrists with the cuffs. "You have the right to remain silent," Crane recited. "Anything you say can and will be held against you. You have the right to an attorney; if you can't afford one, one will be provided before questioning. Any questions?"

"I get it, Joe Friday," Kevin snarled. "I get it."

Kevin was hauled away to police headquarters. Though he was obviously upset over being taken into custody, he could still relish one triumph over his former employer, Criss Angel. The police may have the original photos, but he still got his revenge, and there was nothing anyone could do to reverse the mischief he had done.

[Veritas]

The phone in Detective Meridian's office rang. Meridian snatched up the receiver on pure reflex, disregarding Criss sitting before him. "Meridian here," he spoke in a clipped tone.

There was a long pause as the detective listened to what the other party had to say. "You did?" he said, his eyebrows raising with interest. "Good job, Dolan. Thanks."

Meridian hung up. A rare grin creased his face. "Good news, Angel," he said. "They found your photographs."

It was as if a huge boulder rolled off Criss' shoulders. "Oh, thank God!" he exclaimed, heaving a huge sigh of relief. "So, when do I get them back?"

"Well, we need to hold on to them for evidence against Alvin and his partner, Kevin," Meridian told him. "But don't worry, they'll be safe from prying eyes in the locker. From what Sergeant Dolan told me, they're pretty racy."

"They're not 'racy'," Criss protested. "I did them for my brother, Costa, as a personal project he was working on. They were solely for artistic reasons."

Meridian remained characteristically skeptical. "Artistic, huh?"

Criss was offended by the detective's tone. "It wasn't porno, if that's what you're thinking. There were no girls involved. It was just me. If you don't believe me, go down and look at them yourself!"

Meridian thought it over. "Okay, Angel," he said. "I might just do that. In the meantime, we need you to go down to Room Three. They got the guy who had the photos in his apartment."

"Alvin?"

"No, not Alvin. His name's Kevin Smythe. He says he used to work for you, but you fired him."

Criss nodded grimly. "Yeah, I know who he is. He was the mother(bleeper) who taped me taking a shower after my workout and posted it on YouTube." He rose to leave. "Thanks, Meridian," he said, shaking the detective's hand. "I owe you one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got some personal business to attend to."





Down in Room Three, Criss' former cameraman sat at the plain wooden table, his face defiantly blank. He did not look up at Sergeant Dolan hovering over him, but stared sullenly into space, completely indifferent to the lawman's presence. Dolan, however, wasn't buying this tough-guy attitude; he knew from experience that many perps put on a show of machismo when they first landed on his doorstep, only to crack like eggs dropped on the sidewalk when presented with the full force of the law. I give him five minutes, he wagered with himself.

Dolan sat down before Kevin, staring him down across the table. "Okay, Smythe," he said. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can either 'fess up right now, tell me all about the photos we found in your apartment, or I can make life very difficult for you. Your call."

"I don't know nothin' about no photos," Kevin snarled.

Dolan slapped down Costa's eight-by-tens of Criss in the nude. "Maybe these will refresh your memory," he said.

Kevin gave the photos a cursory glance. "What, you think I'm gay or something?"

Dolan leaned forward. "Don't get smart with me, Smythe," he growled. "My boys found these in your apartment--with you present! Now, are you gonna tell me how these got there or not?"

Kevin looked at the stack of photos again. "I didn't take them," he said. "I was nowhere near--"

"No where near where?" Dolan pressed.

Kevin thought fast. "Nowhere near...where they were. I never saw them before in my life."

One minute gone. "Look, I ain't got time for games here, Smythe. Either you come clean or--"

A knock interrupted Dolan's threat. "Don't move from that chair!" he ordered Kevin as he rose from his own seat to answer the door. Kevin swiveled his head around to see who had come to his rescue, hoping it was his appointed lawyer. His hopes were dashed when he saw the figure of his former employer standing in the doorway.

Dolan was underwhelmed before the presence of the famous illusionist. "You Criss Angel?" he deadpanned.

"Yeah, I'm Criss Angel."

The sergeant motioned him to enter. Kevin's bravado shriveled like a dried prune. Criss sat down in the chair across from his ex-cameraman, keeping his anger well in check. Dolan slid the photos like a deck of cards across the table. "Can you identify these pictures?" he asked officiously.

Criss picked them up and flipped through them, not so much looking at them as counting to see if they were all there. "Yep, these are mine," he confirmed. "Where'd you get them?"

"You asking me or Smythe, here?"

"Whoever has the right answer."

Dolan watched the color of Kevin's face drain of all color. Two minutes gone. "You gonna tell 'im," Dolan asked Kevin, "or do I have to?"

Kevin remained silent. "We found them in Smythe's apartment," Dolan told Criss. "His prints were on the envelope and the photos, same with Zubrowski's."

Criss thought for a moment. "Could you leave us alone for a few minutes, Sergeant?" he asked. "I wanna talk to this guy."

Dolan reluctantly agreed. "You got three minutes alone," he said. And you got three minutes left, Smythe, he added mentally as he walked out of the room.

Criss turned to Kevin. "Okay, Kev," he said, "what's the deal?" He tapped the stack of photos. "I know you didn't steal these--Alvin did--but you were in on it. Why? What reason did you have to try to blackmail me? Was it because I fired you for that little videotape you made of me and posted on YouTube?"

Kevin turned his head to check if they were being watched. "You really want to know?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Yes, I really want to know," Criss sneered back.

"In a way, yeah, it was payback for me," he said casually. "The blackmail was Alvin's idea. He wanted to get back at you for what Cousin George did to him. Him and me hooked up in a coffee shop one day after he got out of the hospital or whatever. I knew who he was right off because of the bandage on his nose. We got to talking, and it was his idea for me to get something on you. I was, like, hey, man, if you wanna get something on Criss Angel, do it yourself. So, he snooped around, you know, and he was the one who took those pictures from the editing room. I was nowhere near it."

"How did he know where the editing room was?" Criss asked. "Did you tell him?"

Kevin remained aloof. "I gave him a basic layout of the production office," he replied. "Kinda offhand, you would say."

"So you were an accomplice."

"Hey, I just told him about what happened to me, that's all," Kevin protested. "He's the one who acted on it."

"That still makes you an accomplice."

"Hey, man, I'm innocent! It was all Alvin."

"The photos were in your apartment," Criss reminded him. "Was that 'all Alvin' too?"

Kevin hesitated. "He planted them in there," he said quickly. "He's trying to frame me!"

"Don't whiz on my leg and tell me it's raining!" Criss snarled. "They found your prints on them! What'd you do with them after Alvin gave them to you, huh?"

"What difference does it make? You got them back!"

Criss pressed harder. "What did you do, Kevin?"

"Nothin', I swear--"

Criss grabbed Kevin's shirt and pulled him closer. "You don't go stealing pictures without reason, Smythe!" he snapped. "They said they were on your computer desk. You downloaded them, didn't you?"

Kevin smirked. "So what if I did?"

"Because if you did, I'm gonna kick your (bleeping) ass so hard--"

"Go ahead. It wouldn't make any difference, anyway. I posted it on every fansite that's got your name on it, and a few others, besides. You ever hear of xferret.com?"

"What is it?"

"It's a free online porno site, available to anyone who logs on. No ID, nothing. One click of the mouse, and eveyone will see your naked ass in all its glory! Think of it--Criss Angel, porn star! Could be a whole new career for you."

Criss tightened his grip. "You lying son of a--"

"Hey, you're the liar! You faked the briefcase full of money, remember?"

Criss flung Kevin back into his chair. "You are so (bleeping) dead, Smythe!" he growled. "You are so totally (bleeping) dead!"

He flung open the door. "Sergeant!" he shouted. "Get in here!"

Dolan strolled into the room. "No need to shout, son," he said casually. "I heard the whole thing from outside." He glanced at the clock on the wall. Five minutes, just like I thought. Still, I wish I'd been the one to make him confess. Oh, well.

He pulled Kevin up from his seat. "C'mon," he said gruffly. "You're coming with me."

Kevin still kept a triumphant smile on his face as Dolan hauled him away. "Doesn't make any difference what happens to me!" he jeered. "Everbody in the whole world is gonna see your (bleep)! It's all over, Angel! You're career is ruined! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"Like hell it is!" Criss shot back. "You just wait, Smythe! After I get through with you, we'll see whose career is ruined!"

[Veritas]

"Hello, Cos?"

"Yeah, Criss, what's up?"

"Well, I got good news and I got bad news."

"What's the good news?"

"We found the photos, or rather the police did. They were in Kevin Smythe's apartment."

"Kevin? The cameraman you fired?"

"Yeah, him."

"Did they arrest him?"

"Oh, yeah, they busted him good. Him and the Vegas Flasher were in on it together."

"So what's the bad news?"

"Kevin posted them on every fanboard in the country. Plus on this two-bit porno site called xferret.com."

"Oh, geez! What are we gonna do now?"

"Well, nothing's been made public about them yet, so maybe we still have time to do some damage control."

"Okay, I'll contact the fansites and tell them to delete those photos from the boards. I can't do anything about 'xferret' or whatever the hell it's called. You're gonna have to talk to Dave about that."

"Thanks, Cos. I owe you big time."

"Hey, they're my photos, you know. They stole them from me and posted them without my permission. That's an infringement on both our rights."

"Point taken."

"I'm really sorry I got you into this mess, Criss. I shoulda asked someone else to pose for me instead of you."

"Hey, no prob, Cos! I wanted to do it. You've done so much for me, I owed it to you. It wasn't your fault some (bleep)hole broke in and stole them."

"Thanks, Criss."

"Don't worry, everything's gonna work out okay."

"I know. Talk to you later."

"Yeah, 'bye."




"Dave Baram here."

"Houston, we have a problem."

"Criss?"

"Yeah, me. Listen, a few weeks ago Costa took some nude pictures of me for a personal project he was working on but they got stolen by that cameraman I fired for taping me in the shower and now they're all over the Web."

"Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down there, slow down! What's this about nude photos?"

"Yeah, nude photos of me that Costa took."

"And you say they got stolen?"

"Yeah, by that guy I fired for taping me in the shower. He and the Vegas Flasher were both in on it to blackmail me for a million dollars."

"Did you get them back?"

"The police found them in Kevin's apartment."

"Kevin?"

"The cameraman! Remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

"But that (bleep)hole went ahead and posted them all over the Web, including this porno site called xferret.com. Costa's gonna try to delete them from the fanboards, but I need you to do some damage control."

"Hoo-boy!"

"Look, I know it's a tall order, but I'm depending on you, Dave. It's not just for me, it's for Costa as well. He was doing it for a personal art project, and now his work's been splashed all over cyberspace on some cheap porno site!"

There was a long pause on Dave's end. "Okay, I"ll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Dave, I so totally owe you."

"Hey, I live to serve."

"Talk to you later."

"G'bye."




George entered the production office to see Costa with his face buried in his hands. "Did I miss something?" he asked.

Costa looked up. "You know those photos I took of Criss?"

"The nudies?"

"Yeah, the nudies."

"What about 'em?"

"Well, it seems the Vegas Flasher and our ex-cameraman Kevin got together and pulled a little scheme to blackmail Criss out of one million dollars. The Flasher was the one who broke into the editing studio and stole the envelope containing Criss' pictures, and Kevin posted them all over the Internet, from the fanboards to online porno sites."

"Oh, jeezus!"

"I just got through contacting the fansites, and I ordered those photos deleted ASAP. But there's nothing I can do about the porn sites." Costa got up and began pacing around. "All I wanted was to create a personal portfolio of my work, that's all! I worked hard on those photos, getting them just right, and now some (bleep)hole goes and turns them into smut!"

"It ain't your fault, Cos."

"I know, I know, but still I wish I had remembered to take those photos with me at the time. Now everyone's gonna see Criss totally...uncensored."

George smiled a little. "You know, I wouldn't get too worked up about the porno sites," he said.

Costa whirled around to face his cousin. "What do you mean don't get 'too worked up about the porno sites'? This is my work and Criss' reputation we're talking about here! Do you know how many people log onto those sites?"

"Yeah, but how many are willing to admit it?"

"They can download those photos and send them somewhere else," Costa pointed out. "You know, like the tabloids."

"A lot of these sites are self-censoring, like Yuku and others," George argued. "If they allow kids under eighteen on them, they're not going to show much."

Costa sat down helplessly. George clapped a hand on his worried cousin's shoulder. "Look, I know things look bleak now," he said, "but it'll all blow over. Sure, there's gonna be some embarrassment on Criss' part, and ours, too, but hey, we've weathered worse than this, haven't we?"

Costa turned and looked up at George. "No, George," he said grimly. "We haven't. If we don't do something, this could destroy Criss' career, which means we'll all be out of work. We're talking major scandal here!"

George sat down beside Costa. "Listen, I've seen my share of scandals in my day: Watergate, the PTL, ENRON, OJ, Monica Lewinsky, you name it. And if there's anything I learned is that if you're faced with something that is potentially destroying, the thing to do is to come clean with it before anyone else does. Tell it all, tell it early and tell it yourself. That's the only way to save face."

"You think that'll work?"

George shrugged. "Hey, it worked for Bill Clinton."

[Veritas]

In a small room somewhere in the MindFreak Productions office, Criss, Costa, JD, George and Dave Baram sat around a table wondering how to handle the photo scandal facing them, and the potential fallout that would result once it was made public.

"George says to come clean and tell the public like it is, " Dave said. "I'm all for handling this discreetly and quietly, no media. We press charges against Kevin Smythe and that flasher, what's-his-name..."

"Alvin Zubrowski," Criss told him.

George bemusedly mouthed the name to himself. Geez! he thought, with a name like that, no wonder he's a wierdo!

"Alvin Zubrowski," Dave repeated, "and we sue those sites for posting illegal material, or at least get an injunction against them."

"You'd be fighting a losing battle, Dave," Costa said. "Those sites have the First Amendement on their side. It'd take years to go through the system. In the meantime, it'd go public, and then everyone and their Aunt Harriet would be going on line to find those photos ,wherever they are. Discreetly and quietly isn't going to work here."

"You banned them from the fansites, didn't you?" Dave asked hopefully.

"The official fansites," Costa pointed out. "The unofficial ones are a different matter. I sent them emails about it, but they're pretty independent; they might just post them anyway."

"If they allow kids to log on to them," Criss spoke up, "they'd do well not to post them. If they did, they'd be shut down for showing 'inapproprate' or 'adult' material to minors."

"So what do we do?" Costa asked. "I mean, this is your reputation on the line here, Criss."

Criss thought about it. "I say," he began, "we go with George's idea--come clean about it before it's too late. If we do it right, we might come out of this in one piece."

"And if we do it wrong?" Dave wanted to know.

Criss smiled and shrugged. "How can we go wrong with the truth?"

CRISS ANGEL NUDE PHOTOS STOLEN

Several nude photographs of famed illusionist Criss Angel were reportedly stolen from his office in Las Vegas, NV, then illegally posted on the Internet. They were allegedly stolen by the man known as the Vegas Flasher from Criss' office at the Luxor Hotel, then tried to blackmail the star for one million dollars. A former cameraman is accused of posting them on various fan sites and adult sites as well. Both men are currently in police custody. The photographs were taken by his brother, Costa Sarantakos, as part of a personal portfolio collection and not meant for public display. Action has been taken by management to ban these photos from the fansites, as there are many of Criss' fans under the age of eighteen.

Criss Angel, Illusionist: "Needless to say, I am deeply embarrassed about all this. I posed for those pictures for my brother, Costa, who is an excellent photographer in his own right, as part of his personal project. I had no intention whatsoever to make those photos public in any way.

"I had fired that cameraman because he videotaped me while I was taking a shower after my workout when we were taping an episode of MindFreak, then he posted it on YouTube. There wasn't much to see, but it was still personally embarrassing to me, and inexcusable for him. It was very immature of him to do such a thing, just as stealing those pictures were. We got the original photos back, but by then it was too late--they were already on the Web.

"I'm telling you all this because I want to apologize in advance if you happen to see them somewhere and they offend you. These photos were posted without my knowledge or consent: I want to make that perfectly clear right here and now. I'm proud of my body, yes. I thank God for it, but I don't go showing it off in public like the Vegas Flasher did. He flashed my mother, by the way--that was why my cousin George busted him in the face like that. I would have done the same if I'd been there.

"Anyway, we have contacted all the fansites linked to my name and informed them about the photos. They've been given explicit instructions to delete them if they show up. As for the porn sites, well...if you're so depraved to actually log onto those sites, then I feel sorry for you. Get a life! Find a real person to make out with instead of wasting time and energy viewing someone else's perverted fantasies! The human body is God's mastepiece, not an object to use and abuse for some sick, twisted idea of sexual gratification."

(On the Naked Jail Escape and Fantasy episodes where Criss was nude on television): "The Naked Jail Escape was, well, unexpected. My crew pulled a prank on me by cutting off my briefs and locking my clothes in another cell. The editors did blur out my...private parts, you know. The Fantasy episode was a bit R-rated, I admit, but again, the editors censored out the more intimate parts of eveyone's bodies. As I said, I am proud of my body, but I know the limits the FCC has issued against nudity, and all my swearing's been bleeped out in the editing room, and I'm proud to say I've never whipped it out in public for any reason. And I never will."

[Veritas]

The Loyal Community > General Discussion > CRISS NUDE PICTURES STOLEN!!
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KrisLee: Criss made a statement concerning some personal nuded photos of his that were stolen from his office. Some broke in, stole his pictures (made by Costa BTW) and posted them on some porno site and the other sites too! I can't believe anyone wouyld go so far as to do such a thing. Criss says a former cameraman stole them to get back at him for firing him--how immature is that?!?
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Greekgoddess: Nude photos of Criss??? I WANNA SEE THEM!!!!!
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LoyalCaitlin: What an ___________ (fill in the blank) to do that to Criss. If he did things like that when he worked for him its no wonder Criss fired him!!
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RoseRed13: as much as I would like to see Criss in the nude that guy had no right to post them online like that--it's an invasion of privacy
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OU812: don't hate me for this but i went on one of those porn sites (don't ask which one PLEASE) and found those pictures Criss was talking about. i cant' post them here of course but they are really not that bad nothing obseence abot them. Costas a good photographer I'll tell you that.
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BlueSkye: I wanna see Criss nakie!!
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AdministratorStu: Sorry but we got direct orders not to post those photos. This forum is open to everyone thirteen or older, so we got to keep it clean.
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BlueSkye: I don't care *pouts* I wanna see Criss in his birhtday suit!! and I am going to search the whole web to find it!!
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Veritas: I admire Criss for coming forward and making his statement like he did. This way he avoided a lot of flack from the media, not to mention defusing what would have been a potentially career-destroying scandal. I also agree with him about the porno sites--only losers log onto them! (OU812 excepted, of course) That cameraman broke the law and violated Criss' privacy. He could--and should--be sued.
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"Hi, this is Criss Angel. Sorry I can't take your call right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks, and have a good day."

BEEEEEEEEEEP:

"Hey, Criss, this is Sully. Heard about your naked photo scandal. Who the (bleep) was that guy who ripped them off from you, anyway? I mean, geez, what an (bleep)hole! Anyway, sorry you got yourself into this mess. Hope everything works out okay for you. I'm here for you in case you need me."

BEEEEEEEEEEP:

"Criss, this is Dave. Well, so far so good. Been getting some positive reviews about your press statement. Let's hope our luck holds out. Call me when you get this message. Have a good day."

BEEEEEEEEEP:

"Heyyyyy, Criss! This is The Amazing Johnathan!! I checked out those dirty pictures of you on xferret.com, and man, you looked so gay in them! Didn't know you were into that sort of thing! Did the Luxor suspend you for showing your best side on the Web? They should! They suspended me for indecent exposure--what goes around comes around, you know. Have to grant you, though, your brother takes some damn good photos! Is he a professional pornographer or something? Just kidding, just kidding! Gotta go now, so enjoy your new career as a porno star!"

BEEEEEEEEP:

"Criss, this is Manny from Editing. I just want to apologize for my role in this whole mess. I should have cleared it with you before going into your office for those photos instead of just walking in and taking them like that. Guess I should have locked the door before I left the editing studio as well. I really feel bad about all this. If you want me to hand in my resignation, then I will. But I will stand by you all the way on this. I won't let this ruin your career. Gimme a call when you get this, okay?"

BEEEEEEEEP:

"Christopher, this is Mom. We need to talk about these pictures Costa took of you. I know it's not your fault, but I want to hear what you have to say for yourself about this. Call me back as soon as you can. I love you, good-bye."

BEEEEEEEEP:

"Angel, this is Detective Meridian of the LVMPD. First of all, thanks for getting Smythe to confess to his part in the photo theft. Second, give me a call ASAP about your cousin George. Alvin Zubrowski's formally pressing battery charges against him for breaking his nose in front of the Excalibur. Considering his record, I think we can mitigate the damages. Call back soon, and have a good day."

[Veritas]

No sooner did George Strumpolis walk into Linehan's Gym for his morning workout than he received a summons from his trainer to see him in his office. He felt his stomach turn into a lead weight--he knew the news wouldn't be good. Bracing himself for an Irish hurricane, George trod glumly to Seamus' office. He didn't bother to knock on the dented metal door because Linehan sat waiting for him in his old wooden office chair. The old man said nothing, but beckoned him inside with a wave of his hand.

George stepped inside. "You wanted to see me, Seamus?" he said evenly.

"Aye, I did," Seamus replied. "Shut th' door behind ye, will ye?"

The door closed, securing their privacy. "I got word about ye from the officials from the match," Linehan said. "They heard about yer little 'altercation' outside the Excalibur after the quarterfinals."

"So has everybody else," George retorted. "I mean, it was in all the papers, you know."

Seamus nodded. "Personally, I don't blame ye for breakin' that wanker's snoot for what he did to yer auntie," he went on. "Goin' around floggin' his willy in public like that--heh! I'd 've done the same meself! But it's still assault and battery, Georgie, and the officials don't like that one bit. They wanna keep things clean, y'know. So, they sent word to me that yer suspended from the match."

George stared incredulously at his trainer. "I'm suspended?"

"Only fer the match" Linehan reminded him. "Not from boxing itself: yer still in pretty good standing if ye don't get jail time fer it."

George buried his face in his hands. "Oh, jeez! And I was so close to making it!"

"Ah, don't ye be gettin' upset about it, Greek: it's only an exhibition match. It don't mean nothin'."

"Still, it was my first match ever!"

Seamus patted George on the shoulder. "They'll be other matches, Georgie," he said with uncharacteristic sympathy. "Just save that right hook of yers fer th' ring from now on, got it?"

George nodded. "Now, ye go about yer trainin' like usual," Seamus ordered him. "An' don't ye go wallowin' in self-pity, y'hear? It ain't fittin' fer a fighter!"

He slapped George on the shoulder to send him on his way. George left the office, cursing under his breath. Those sons of (bleeps)! They had no right to suspend me from the match like that! I did the world a favor by decking that (bleeper) and this is how they treat me? God!

"Hey, George."

Tobe Lacie stood beside the row of olive colored lockers. "Heard about your suspension," he said quietly. "Tough break, man. Wish I could help, but..."

"I'll be all right," George told him unconvincingly.

"At least that mother(bleeper)'s back in jail now," Tobe went on. "I read about your cousin Criss gettin' some naked pictures of him stolen and put on the 'Net. Man, I mean your whole family's going through some crazy-assed (bleep) right now."

"Really?" George retorted sarcastically. "You think?"

"Hey, man, you'll survive."

"Oh, yeah, I know I will."

"I know you will."

George's cell phone rang. "Hello?" he answered.

There was a long pause. Tobe waited patiently while George listened to the other party and watched as his face turned grim. "Okay, I'll be right down," he said.

He got up and turned to leave. "Hey, man where you goin'?" Tobe asked.

"I gotta go downtown," George replied. "I got an ever bigger fight on my hands now."