by Kelly Brewer
“My dad was like God to me when I was a kid. He told me, when I was little, ‘You have two ears and one mouth… Listen twice as much as you speak.’”
The audience quieted a little. Kyle took on a hint of preachy. “When I was little he told me…” He put his hand about three feet off the ground, indicating how tall he was then. “But now that I’m much bigger…”
The guys cheered for a different reason than the girls.
“Standing before the biggest hearts from the largest planet in the known solar system… I have twice as much to say!”
Kick drum kicked in on the eights, 120 bpm.
“So, I want to hear you too, Mega Dome! Twice as loud as before! Repeat after me…”
(Entire band peace sign in the air…Peco a little late, but Ox kicked those pulsing eighth notes at 120, girls already dancing.)
“HEYYYYYYYY ….YOU…….” Kyle sang,
The crowd mimicked, ‘Heyyyyy …. you!’… 6, 7, 8
“YEAHHHH…. YOOOOUUUU!!!”
‘…yeaaaahhh….. yoooouuu’… 6, 7, 8,
“Spend a little time with me…”
‘Spend a little time with me…’
“Now together!” Kyle sang the descending melody down with them,
“When you …
fall down ….
I’ll be around….”
They cheered when the line ended.
“By Jove, you’re kind tonight!”
The Beast morphed into chaos. A raucous mosh pit formed, circling tribally. Djembe’s lined up around the eye of the storm and played off Ox’s heavy groove.
“Sing it, Kyle baby!” Gina gyrated anatomically upstairs. Even Dock was dancing. Everyone was having fun. Kyle loved to see everyone smiling! The band rolled in smoothly, everybody sang with …
(Kyle)
“Hey you, spend a little time with me
When you
fall down,
I’ll be around. (Spin)
What …more…?”
(Kyle glanced backstage left. Moore was rallying, straining against a beefy security team. Angel brandished another surgical device.)
“Could we even ask for?
Someone willing, willing and able!”
Kyle took a bow… they thundered back! (they were applauding his Mars shot)
Everybody was ready with homemade smiley faces on a stick, handed out at the entrances. The back read “Grand Trine 2492, You made it! Thanks for being here!” Bonbon ran out and handed Kyle a big one, because he had a big head. He walked to the front of the stage waving it, beaming, crowing.
“If you want to see mine! …Put a smile on yours! (Raise em up!!!)
Baby baby baby I get high…
When you smile on this crazy guy!
If you want to see mine just smile at me with yours…
Baby you baby you got the cure!”
Folks loved it, he assured himself. It was cute, clean fun. The ten-year-olds there certainly got it.
He smiled at Mercy dancing in the wings, stage right. She so loved to watch her man perform and liked most of the songs, but thought some could be improved. He welcomed and listened to her opinion. She smiled back and gleefully blew him a kiss through her smiley face mask.
Kyle played to the audience, but silently conversed with his teammates between rhythm and rhyme. To make it look easy, it took casual eye contact and body language throughout the performance. Each man had his place on the squad, knew when to pass the burden and take turns burning shit down. It went from man to man, creating the heavy lift. Force x passion x levity held up under 434,987 fans. Peco was not up to speed yet, but he did great, considering he’d had an hour’s notice.
The set ripped to a close. Sobered but upbeat, the band exited the stage. Peco wouldn’t do the Jonah bit, nor was he expected to. He wasn’t Moore. Conference tomorrow would be brutal.
Tamer Tarzanna and the security detail, still piled on top of Moore, finally relaxed, exhausted, thinking he would back down once the show was over.
Sensing the slightest opening, the bull broke loose. Moore surged out of the wings and charged the expectant, waiting audience, leaping thirty-five feet in low grav before landing and sinking down into pandemonium. The audience knew the move, had been waiting for it and they wanted him in them.
Every nearby hand reached for him, lifting, ripping clothing, and trading bruises. Eyes closed, he floated above the waters, waiting for the silver tongue to lick him up. Fans jostled and groped him upon uplifted hands.
Eventually cold, robotic steel rolled smoothly under his body, urging a maniacal laughter out of him. He leapt to his feet, adroitly skating on the robot surfboard. Through tangled hair he defiantly glared red back at the stage where he had been irrationally subdued. Security bots sensed a different direction from his feet. Adrenalized, he skittered away from the stage.
He walked away from the stage, stepping down from the bot platform, then was immediately swarmed by fans. He embraced them all. Arms around fans around him, he turned to face his band. Anger grew as they fondled him, so he let them fondle him. He couldn’t tell which sex was touching him.
Pulling away and walking resolutely back towards the stage, chest puffed out, shirt torn, one shoe missing, face teary, snot-red, black-eye forming and chewing gum bigly, Moore gave them the mid-finger salute with both hands.
Ox was watching him on a monitor in the dressing room, toweling off. He ran back out, past the others, storming to the front of the stage and returned the compliment.
Moore strutted away, redeemed, his fans under his arms and theirs around him. Tamer followed Ox out front and watched Moore’s childish exit.
“No worries,” Tamer said worriedly.
Ox hulked past him, cursing under his breath. The manager watched his erratic blond charge ′round the corner and away.
Flatly he stated, “He’s microchipped. Angel did the honors while we had him pinned down. He never flinched.”
Tamer lingered onstage directing teardown, ruminating on the good ol’ days when all he had to deal with was sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. Medical teams removed several bodies, some charred, from an area in the upper section of the stadium. More casualties meant more damage control. He winced. This cluster was unprecedented!
He called Dock. “Did you notice medical in the nose bleeds?”
Dock answered, “Indeed. I’ve already cordoned off the area and scrammed any opportunistic fan-cams from recording. The detectives have been notified. You just handle your end, ok?”
“Good. Got it.”
The remaining fans went running out to see what Mark Moore, the quit guitar god, would do next. Out of the corner of his eye the road manager witnessed a commotion approaching him from across the unpopulated arena floor. It was the Boobie twins. The two had impressed him earlier during the show. No tumult can distract like that one.
They were up-front fanatics, singing along with every word and encouraging the lusty boys. Now they were jiggling towards him with a mission, high heels sliding across the littered floor, waving hologram phones.
Tamer would console these two squealers personally, privately, if necessary.
CHAPTER 45
BODI Blackmail
Yes, it could get worse, Tamer regretted two hours later.
The Boobie Twins knew it wasn’t Moore playing! Bini was the boss now ’cause she could prove it! “I got video to prove it!” She displayed a floating video graphic of Peco playing passionately in Moore’s place.
Barely nodded mutely.
“How much could we get if we keep your little… switcheroo to ourselves?” was all the clever blackmailer wanted to know. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t him. We know. We’ve been with him. Our cousin does a blog and she has like, a billion subscribers! She will pay for video and eyewitness test
imony. And me and her is eye witnesses. Got my overpriced ticket stub right here as proof we was here.” She held it high.
Barely smiled, smacking her gum. Bini prodded her miserable victim. “Right now it’s on you, manager man. It don’t matter to us. Say no! I know what my cousin will pay! Just make us an offer and maybe this can all go away.”
Bini stopped and put her hands on the hips Tamer thought he was about to embrace. Barely blinked her long magnetic eyelashes expectantly at him. Tamer hadn’t vetted them first and in his foolish eagerness had brought them backstage. He thought they were bringing a different game. Now everybody was listening and watching the spectacle. How many times had he fallen for a pretty smile and scantily clad body? He was better than this. He wouldn’t get fooled again.
The situation was hard to handle, so he’d hushed them into a small dressing room nearby. There had been no time to discuss any Peco fake-out fallout possibilities with the band. He wasn’t sure if he should pay the girls or not. It was all that idiot Moore’s fault! Don’t do drugs, kids. It affects us all.
The band had disappeared. They had bigger problems and would just tell him to handle it anyway. His real job was to deal with this type of contingency, so he wearily began to think of numbers that would make this all go away. He was getting a feel for where their heads were at. The girls were not hearing numbers less than 10k.
Angel stood outside the little room, listening. When the girls approached Tamer, he had sensed their ill will and was surprised when Tamer bit and casually let them into the fold. Waiting patiently, he counted out 10k in $100 bills from his wallet and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. He needed to go prepare for when they inevitably would bring Moore to his sick bay. He needed Tamer’s help and the manager needed his, mucho pronto. This blackmailing groupie needed to be dealt with quickly. Moore was dangerously erratic and required medical attention.
Tamer’s weak bartering was amusing. Recording, Angel cataloged the experience. Video proof would be available when Angel asked for his 10k back. Moore would get a copy too.
He listened quietly to the tones and counters of the negotiations. The girls were front row, zoomed in, and had shouted Mark’s name numerous times. A few feet away, Peco never responded to “Mark Moore!” once. Plus he was too skinny. They knew. Don’t ask, they just knew. They’d… sampled him.
Angel would always help his friends. He wished Tamer was a little quicker on the draw. It would come out eventually, but the band needed a day without controversy. Can we get one day please?
Angel was reaching for the door knob when his phone vibrated. It was his co-pilot.bot.
“An interplanetary inspector’s ship has just entered orbit.”
Damn, time to go. Right now. He stepped in quickly, closing the door softly. Tamer looked at him thankfully.
“Ladies, it is so good to make your acquaintance. We have passed a good time here with you. Thank you for coming to the show tonight. I am authorized to give you $10,000 now if you will each give me your phone and your promise of silence. We will have no loose ends.” He spoke with finality. There were no options.
They looked at each other. Bini was about to push for more. Angel stopped her when he pulled out a .45 caliber pistol and aimed it at her face, six inches away.
“Final offer. If you are not happy with this, then you must come with me to negotiate further. I insist.”
Her lips swallowed back the protest that tried to slip off the tip of her tongue. She stepped back, shaking, “Ok! Damn! You win.”
She snatched the money Angel held out in his other hand. Bini threw her phone on the floor, shattering it. Barely stood up, letting her sister’s momentum take her. She grabbed Barely’s phone and slammed it against the wall. The bits were still hitting the floor when she flung the door open and grabbed her sister by the hand. They bolted towards the stage exit.
The outer exit door banged open and both women shrieked a relieved laugh back at the two men standing in the doorway of the tiny room, high heels clicking quickly away, echoing down the hall, mitts clutching Moore cash.
Angel calmly put the gun away then put a hand on the exhausted road manager.
“Time to go. Sheriff’s in town.”
CHAPTER 46
Moore-on and ON
Kyle set the crew in motion before setting out to track his friend.
“Lulu, Bonbon, get us ready for Saturn jump. Angel reports Safety just landed and about to be here big time. I want to go to Saturn before we’re boarded. Government regs restrict them to jumps every 24 hours. It will piss them off but it will give us a breather. Y’all have to have us ready to jump outta here the minute I get back with Moore.
Derringer, contact security and tell them if they find him first, to bring him to Angel’s sick bay. Mercy is already gone, left with her parents. Mynas, keep recording. Put together a Moore-on montage, ok? Load the ladies and tell Angel to be ready with another sedative. Do it quickly! I will be right back.” Kyle went to collect his friend.
Everyone could hear Tamer had his hands full down the hall. The muffled negotiations behind the thin, metal door were clear enough.
Peco was reluctantly back in roadie mode, packing and barking at local union hands heaving cases into the ship. What a high the past couple hours were for him, like a dream!
Listening intently to Tamer negotiate, he secretly hoped the girls would break the story about Moore. Mark just quit the band! Peco was on his way! What a lucky break! Would he still be a roadie too? Not for long. He began treating Lulu and the other crew members roughly. They noticed and smirked incredulously, ducking around him to gather gear.
They would tell Kyle.
Kyle would tell no one what had happened. This had gotten much worse! Incredible! Moore walked off right when they should be bugging out. They did not need to get boarded by inspector zombies while the band was in chaos.
Angel handed Kyle the trace tracker as soon as Moore graciously left the arena floor. It indicated Moore was still in the facility.
As he walked rapidly towards the signal through the emptying, fantastical space arena, Kyle took a minute to breathe, chug some water, and think about what was about to happen.
He didn’t care if Moore quit… after the tour. It wasn’t the best outcome. And he could go kill himself later if he wanted to. Seems like that is what the nut wanted and where he was headed. But do it after the tour.
Why had he chosen now to completely lose it? At the height of success he’d helped engineer, at a crucial moment, his friend had failed them. So many lies. Kyle had to finally admit it to himself. Moore had one thing on his mind. Moore.
Kyle found him in the Grand Bar Room surrounded by groupies and hangers on. A pack of media were gathered around them, recording, goading him on to say something stupid, which wouldn’t be hard.
The bartender.bot was whirling arms and frozen smiles, setting up round after round of shots for the ex-Mechanic and his gawking admirers.
Moore was cussing Kyle and the band to a group of young beauties hanging from his lips. No one saw Kyle come in. He listened for Moore to hang himself. It did not take long.
“Hey, you know I’m the brains of this stupid band. I discovered Kyle when he was nothing. Those guys owe me everything. I wrote all the hits. They’ll be begging me back real soon. You watch…” Moore threw back his fifth shot in as many minutes and saw Kyle in the mirror behind the bar. The drunken guitarist whirled around, not too gracefully. “Ooohhhhh… what did I tell you, ladies and germs! Here he is now…
big spaceman…
great white hunter…
probably a murderer…
fracking rock star…
gonna marry a billionaire’s daughter…
liar!
If it weren’t for me, you’d be nothing! Have you come to amend your ways, young man?”
He laughed confi
dently, turning so the others would laugh with him. Some did.
The alcohol in his legs swayed Moore back into the pile of drunk, squeaky women circling him. He looked at them and then at Kyle.
“See? They love me. With the band… or without. You were wrong to deprive them of me.”
The women agreed and pulled at his rumpled clothing. He laughed sadly, turned from their grip, and ordered another round for the party. Bar-bot whizzed and slang booze behind the black oak bar.
Kyle waited silently. A few media turned from Moore and approached Kyle, questioning him about the shooting, the drug deaths, the alleged last-minute imposter, and the wedding. Had he and Mercy had sex yet? Were they submitting their daily blood work? There were rumors they weren’t. Was she already pregnant? Everyone wanted to know. Please, just a few details.
Kyle ignored them, squinting in the spotlight, waiting for Moore’s overreaction. Soon and it would be over. He knew his friend. Security androids had slipped into corners when Moore’s back was turned. Good. Just a few more moments…
The wild man threw back another shot, slammed the glass down, and began breathing heavily, shoulders hunching. Here it comes. He turned on Kyle, lurching forward, pointing that finger. Bodies untangled out of his path, recording, watching. Three security bots monitoring from the corners held their position, as Kyle had hoped.
Move slow, take your time, Kyle calmed himself.
Moore sang his sad, tired song. “You lied to me and all these good people. You’re not who you claim to be. You’re not some good ol’ boy from the sticks. Holier than thou prick. Everyone thinks you’re a fake!”
Moore stepped closer, finger extended, alcohol legs unsure, almost there. Kyle waited, silent and still. Cameras flashed wickedly.
Moore stopped, vaguely suspicious, and looked around at his audience. That made him dizzy, and he grabbed people close to him to keep from falling. He swung his head back to Kyle and that caused him to pitch forward. His friends held him up, wanting to see the finale. Even in his disappointment, Kyle felt sorry for him.
