Stage Fright

by Marianne Delacourt

  ‘It’s just that I think some stuff might be going down and I don’t want you caught in it.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  I stared at him unhappily. ‘You know I can’t say.’

  ‘Is that why you were standing in front of the police kiosk?’ he asked. ‘Tara, you never go to the police. Is it that bad?’

  I bit my lip. ‘Please . . .’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Under no circumstances am I leaving you here alone if “stuff” is going on.’

  I should have protested more or, better still, told him that I’d changed my mind about us and had another date for the night. But the truth was I didn’t have the courage to do either. I needed him there.

  ‘Well, at least promise me that if anything does happen, you’ll stay out of it.’

  ‘As long as you’re safe, it’s a deal.’

  CHAPTER 21

  I showed the doorman my Reverb Promotions badge and told him Ed was with me. Ben Bower, the book guy, popped into my head, so I gave his name plus one as well.

  The doorman grunted about too many freebies but put Ben’s name on the list on his iPad. Then he let us in and shut the door quickly behind us.

  We walked up the stairs and into the club. The sliding doors were pulled back leaving a bare dance floor that could fit upward of five hundred people. Little Paolo was over at the bar talking to the bar staff and I waved at him and Brendan. Brendan waved back.

  ‘I’m going to do a sweep of the room,’ I told Ed, feeling restless. ‘Introduce yourself to the guy who just waved at me. His name is Brendan and he’s cool. I’ll catch you there in a bit.’

  ‘You don’t want company?’

  I smiled at him and pushed him towards the bar. ‘Not for this.’

  I was over by the stage scoping out the DJ—Slim didn’t have a backing band on his tour, just a guy who ran the music and cued the sound effects—when my phone rang. It was Stuart.

  ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘Coming up the back stairs.’

  ‘There are back stairs? Why didn’t I know this?’

  ‘Paolo keeps it quiet. You have to enter through another building. They’re near his office.’

  I glanced over at the bar. Paolo was on the move in that direction, so I gave Ed a reassuring wave and fell in behind the club boss.

  He grunted, ‘Evening, lesbo’ at me as I caught up with him.

  We walked past his office and went through a narrow open door to the left. It was nothing more than a small corridor with another door at the end. It had been locked when Bon and I were here before and I’d assumed it just led into another room, not a tiny passage and a back door. I wondered why Paolo hadn’t offered us entry that way for the media visit.

  Paolo reached into his baggy duds without speaking a word to me and brought out a fistful of keys. He chose one, keyed some numbers into the burglar alarm winking on the doorjamb, and stuck the key in the lock.

  Stuart, Juanita, Bon, Slim and an enormous dude I’d never seen before piled in, forcing me to back up into the main corridor.

  ‘Hey, baby girl,’ said Slim, knuckle-fiving me.

  ‘Looking good, man,’ I replied.

  And he was. Favouring black tonight, except for a white fedora and some gold bling, he looked so gangsta rapper I was semi turned on.

  ‘Sledge, would you care to follow me?’ said Little Paolo.

  ‘Hey, big guy,’ said Slim and followed Paolo through to the performer dressing room. The rest of us tramped after them.

  Juanita and Stuart both gave me strained smiles and nods which I returned. Juanita was doing rock chic with jeans, a choker, leather jacket and wedge heels that brought her up to my eye level. Stuart was doing this morning’s crumpled clothes.

  ‘Good you could make it,’ said Bon sarcastically as he shouldered past me. ‘This is Dragstrip. I got some boys on the front door as well.’

  ‘Hi, I’m Tara,’ I said, holding out my hand to the behemoth trailing Bon.

  Dragstrip gave me an unnervingly gappy grin, and returned my handshake. His hand pulverised mine.

  He positioned himself outside Slim’s dressing room while Bon walked me out into the bar. Punters had been let in and the bar staff were already run off their feet. I couldn’t see Ed, but just knowing he was here somewhere made me feel better.

  The DJ was working the room up with some rap and I recognised Bliss n Eso and Drapht numbers. The audience looked like they were going to be surprisingly diverse; some older, straighter types among the caps, hoodies and baggies. I guessed Slim had been around for enough years that some of his fans had grown up.

  ‘What’s goin’ on?’ said Bon.

  It was exactly the question I felt like asking him.

  ‘Not much. Haven’t seen Dickle and her lot yet.’

  I sure spoke too soon on that one. The crazy fan entered a moment later, surrounded by her band of believers. We locked eyes across the room and her lip curled.

  Bon saw the exchange and smiled.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t stand being next to him. ‘I’m going up on the side of the stage where I can see the room properly.’

  I left him and scooted past the club security near the stage, climbed the stairs and settled into a possie alongside the speakers and behind the DJ. From there, I could see all parts of the room; more importantly, it looked like a good place from which to keep an eye on Slim and Stuart.

  I sent the latter a text and told him to lock himself in Slim’s dressing room for the duration.

  Can’t do that, he replied. Will be on the floor with the punters.

  Shit.

  An expectant vibe filled the club as more and more people arrived. There was no seating here, standing room only capped at around five hundred people, though I expected Paolo wasn’t one to worry too much about fire and safety regulations.

  Looking for people I knew became harder and harder. The lights dimmed and faces blurred. I texted Ed and told him to stay by the bar, that I’d come and find him later.

  Little Paolo was up on the stage now and the DJ had wound down the latest Pitbull song so that it was a murmur in the background. Paolo waited there, experienced at milking the crowd, knowing how to build their anticipation. I took a few breaths to calm myself and let my eyes lose focus. An echo of Inigo’s clarity came to me as I relaxed. It helped me examine the aura blur in the room. Mostly it was the usual energy you’d expect. But with this many people, it was intermingled with slivers and flashes of all kinds of colours. My head began to hurt and I suddenly grew incredibly tired. I needed coffee—or . . .

  Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the small flask of ‘special’ tea Inigo had given me that morning. Without hesitation, I drank it down, grimacing at the vinegary flavour.

  Within seconds, a cold wind was blowing through my mind and my senses sharpened. The crowd’s aura was a mass of red, like a particularly bloody sunrise. I concentrated on searching out dark spots or any virulent yellow.

  There were a few areas marring the general vibe: one to the right of the stage, another close to the front, and one to the left, halfway in. I decided to go right first, as it was closer to where Slim would be . . . was.

  Just as I decided to move, Slim came by me, threading his way past the speakers at the back of the stage to make an understated entry.

  We exchanged glances. He looked terrified and excited so I gave him a confident grin and made a power fist. He nodded to me and took his place on the stage next to Paolo.

  The crowd went nuts at the sight of him and the line of club bouncers in front of the stage endured the first push of the night as they surged forward.

  In that moment, I totally understood all Slim’s fears—so much adulation and desire that was not really about him but about what, or who, they thought he was.

  I climbed down from the side of the stage and made my way to the bouncers. They let me walk behind them after I flashed my pass. Rap audiences generally didn’t do mosh pits but this was Australia, anything could
happen. The young guys at the front were already jumping in unison, arms linked.

  Paolo’s intro was over, the music started and Slim was making eyes at his fans. I climbed under the barricade and pushed into the crowd.

  Sweat, heat and energy hit me. I clung to the sight of the black spot against the crowd’s aura brilliance.

  Moving in the wrong direction against them was tough, but I was bigger than most and my gnawing anxiety drove me forward. Stopping a few people short of the dark shadow, I tried to get a glimpse of who it was.

  Slim started his first song and the audience raised their hands in homage. I had to push closer to my target than I wanted in order to see. Ash Machete and Johnny Viaspa stood there, cocooned by a bunch of their henchmen. Viaspa spotted me and started talking quickly in Machete’s ear.

  People around us began to jump on the spot and I backed away. Immediately punters took my spot. I changed direction and banged straight into a small guy, knocking him over. Automatically, I stopped to help him up. Familiar eyes blinked at me from under a rapper’s cap.

  ‘Harvey?’

  ‘Tara?’

  ‘Are you watching Johnny Viaspa?’ I asked.

  He gave me a blank stare and we both staggered as the crowd pushed forward again. ‘Who?’

  I glanced over my shoulder, expecting one of Viaspa’s bodyguards to grab me at any moment. ‘Listen, don’t bullshit me,’ I hissed in his ear. ‘I know you’re working for the government and that you’re watching these guys. I think someone’s going after my client, Stuart Cooper, Sledge’s promoter, tonight.’

  The expression in his eyes went from blank to focused in an instant. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I was at the hotel today where I saw them meeting.’

  ‘Impossible,’ he said.

  I glanced over my shoulder again and saw one of the thugs pushing through the crowd.

  ‘Gotta go!’ I shoved Harvey in front of the guy and dived forward again. My shoving had a ripple effect and within seconds a fight had broken out. I kept moving until I reached the middle of the room.

  When a hand tapped my shoulder I turned around swinging. Luckily, the person was so small that my fist kissed air. ‘Inigo? Where’s Stuart?’

  ‘Come with me.’ She grabbed my hand and hauled me along until we reached a wall. From there she pointed across to the back of the room. She looked so out of place here with her witch-like, flyaway hair and black clothes, her face a study in determination. ‘He’s near the bar. Be careful, the spirit plane is agitated.’

  No shit!

  As I plunged back into the crowd and pushed in that direction, Slim was in full voice. The room became a single unit of movement as he rapped out his classics ‘Kill a Boy’ and ‘Mama Said No’.

  The crowd at the bar was five people deep but I was taller than most and could see Ed in a corner on a stool. Stuart was next to him.

  It took me two songs to get to them. When I did, I gave Ed a quick kiss and pulled Stuart close.

  ‘Viaspa and Machete are here.’

  ‘Here? In the club?’

  ‘In the club with muscle.’

  He stared at me, the smile on his face fading. ‘You think they’re here for me?’

  I nodded. ‘Not during the show, though. It’ll be after. We have to get you out of here before they make their move.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he said.

  ‘Yep. And I’m pretty sure they’ll try and get me too, to save trouble later.’

  ‘You got a plan then?’

  ‘Working on it,’ I said.

  •

  I stayed near Stuart for the rest of the show. If my mind hadn’t been so overwrought and my senses strained, I would have had a blast. Slim gave his best and the crowd ate him up. His encore was his version of an old Flo Rida song that sent everyone home yelling, singing, fist-pumping, high-fiving and crumping like it was the last night on earth.

  Despite everything that was going on, Stuart wore a flush of satisfaction and elation.

  Ed was grinning like a madman and hugging me off and on. ‘Awesome, Tara. Awesome.’

  I wanted to join their celebration but my back-brain wouldn’t stop fretting. When would they strike? How would they strike? How could I stop them?

  After the last encore, Slim disappeared to the back of the stage and Little Paolo took the microphone, thanking his patrons and reminding them that the bar was now closed and not to drink and drive.

  He got a sarcastic cheer all of his own for that.

  The DJ put on ‘Closing Time’ by Semisonic and after more cheers and some rowdy singing along, the crowd began to trickle out.

  I told Ed that I had work to do and I’d meet him back at his hotel. He left me with a lingering kiss and a promise that I wanted him to keep.

  When he’d gone, I stuck like a limpet to Stuart while he wended through the remnants of the crowd, talking to people, accepting many pats on the back and congratulations on the great gig. A music journo cornered him for a few minutes, and the guy’s photographer took some happy snaps.

  Finally, Stuart and I headed up the stairs near the bar which led to the VIP box. Sofia and someone who had to be her sister were sitting on a couch nursing rum and Cokes. Behind them was a circle of men drinking beer and being thoroughly entertained by Juanita. I didn’t know any of them except the guys from the Hilltop Hoods, but she had them mesmerised. If I ever needed a publicist, I’d be sure to call her.

  While I hovered at the door, edgy, Stuart joined the schmoozing. From the VIP box window, I could see Viaspa and Machete still standing at the edge of the dance floor with their protection detail.

  Bon Ames was also watching them from his possie between the door and the stage. Dragstrip, the other bikie, had probably taken Slim back to his room.

  What if Viaspa and Machete waited until everyone left and then just took Stuart by force? Would Bon Ames help us? Would anyone call the police except me?

  I walked over to where Stuart was talking softly to Sofia.

  ‘We have to go,’ I said. ‘Now, before the club empties.’

  He glanced up and saw where I was looking. ‘Okay.’ He kissed Sofia gently on the cheek. She gave him a nervous look and me a quick nod. I wondered how much Stuart had told her.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ Stuart said to his VIPs. ‘We’re on a strict curfew here at Paolo’s, but we’d like to show you how much we appreciate your support by offering you a small gift, which you can collect from the bar.’

  His statement was met with approval, and the VIPs picked up their drinks and traipsed downstairs behind Juanita.

  ‘The Pied Piper had nothing on her,’ I said in Stuart’s ear.

  ‘She’s the best there is,’ he agreed.

  By the time Stuart and I caught up, Juanita had distributed the gift bags containing Slim’s new single and signed pictures of the rapper. She shooed the VIPs to the door and signalled for a bouncer to escort them out. Now only the bar staff, three other bouncers, Bon and the Viaspa–Machete crew were left.

  ‘What transport have you arranged?’ I asked Stuart.

  ‘We’ve got a limo booked for Slim.’ He checked his watch. ‘Be here in about twenty minutes.’ Now that Sofia had gone so had Stuart’s composure. Sweat beaded his forehead. I steered him over to the bar.

  ‘You okay, man?’ said Brendan, who was wiping down the drip tray.

  ‘Water,’ croaked Stuart.

  ‘They can’t do anything in here,’ I whispered. ‘Still too many witnesses. We have to get you back to the Stamford.’

  ‘They’ll just come at me another way—tomorrow or the next day.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  He sipped his water and stared at me. ‘I know why Grom likes working for you.’

  ‘What?’ I said, keeping one eye on Viaspa’s lot.

  ‘You’d never bale out on someone, would you?’ said Stuart.

  To be honest, I felt like baling right now. Other than on the aer
oplane I hadn’t been this physically close to Johnny Viaspa in a while. This was the guy who’d set a hit man on me. I felt torn between wanting to gouge his eyes out and wanting to run for my life.

  Bon walked by them on his way towards us. He didn’t look at Viaspa and Machete and they didn’t look at him. My hand tightened on the back of a bar stool and I turned my head so no one could see my lips but Stuart.

  ‘Listen, tell Bon the limo will be out the back in twenty minutes and that you want him to go and wait there in case Dickle and co try to get access. Tell Juanita to take Slim back to the hotel with Bon and that you and I’ll leave early and catch a taxi from the rank down near the police booth.’

  ‘Will Slim be alright?’

  ‘It’s you they’re after,’ I said.

  Stuart gulped the rest of his water and raised his hand in greeting to the approaching bikie.

  Bon didn’t like being told to wait by the back door, I could tell. But Stuart was quietly insistent. ‘Collect Slim and Dragstrip from the dressing room and we’ll meet you there soon.’

  ‘You okay with that?’ Bon said to me, nodding towards the Viaspa and Machete crew.

  ‘All good,’ I said.

  He gave me a strange look, part disbelief, part curiosity, then shrugged and headed across the floor to the back offices.

  Stuart beckoned Juanita from the door while I turned around and went over to speak to Brendan. ‘Hey, I need a favour,’ I said. ‘Can you take a couple of the club bouncers over to those guys there and run some interference while Stuart and I leave?’ I indicated Machete and Viaspa.

  Brendan had finished his cleaning and was leaning back against the drink fridge, stretching his shoulders. ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘It will be if you can help me,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He grinned. ‘Might be that someone saw them selling speed to the punters. We’ll have a chat with them about it.’

  He ducked through the gap under the bar and whistled the door bouncers over. After a quick discussion, the three of them and Brendan sauntered over to Viaspa’s group. As soon as they blocked the direct eye line to us, I grabbed Stuart’s arm. ‘Let’s go!’

  We hustled to the exit and down the stairs, bursting out onto the mall.