Gary Kilpatrick, master hypnotist, winds up in jail after the spell broke and his empire fell into ruins.
Gary Kilpatrick lit up a last Benson & Hedges, then slowly stripped off his valuables: the fancy mobile phone with the inbuilt camera, the fraternity ring embossed with a sapphire, the gold chain and the leather thong with a crystal pendant, the wallet from his back pocket.
He handed them to his sister, Abha, who was standing beside him on the balcony of the courthouse that muggy grey December morning last year. Then he hugged his 74-year-old mother, Ruth, who was no longer able to hold back the tears. "It looks like the Big House," he said, in the quaint, swaggering gangster-speak he picked up from some best-forgotten B-movie.