by Ben Langdon
“Perhaps.”
“No,” she said, turning on him with a smile. “Not perhaps. You know this is nothing to me.”
Miranda stopped as she realized the words which had come out. Sully raised his eyebrows. He seemed amused.
“I mean it doesn’t bother me, no stress. Those kids last night just wanted to get close, to see me in the flesh instead of on websites or whatever. It’s part of the job. There wasn’t any protest, no hatred. I wasn’t in any danger, not really.”
“And what about the boy?”
Miranda had a flash of the burning boy again. She clenched her jaw and pushed the image away, replacing it deliberately with memories of Box Springs Mountain, its reddish hue reminding her of childhood summers, with just Miranda and her dad.
“The pizza boy?” Sully added.
“Who?”
“The boy last night, the one who came to your rescue,” Sully said, enjoying himself. His short dark beard only barely hid the grin.
Miranda hadn’t actually seen the pizza boy; she’d been surprised by the weight of the crowd, especially since she only planned to go for a short stroll to clear her head. But her security detail showed her CCTV footage of the boy from the hotel cameras: a scrawny blonde kid in a striped blue and white shirt.
“What about him?”
“He is entourage,” Sully said. He was making fun of her. “Three local uberhumans for the final show. This young man is on security detail with me; the others are dancers, I believe.”
“Hang on,” Miranda said. “Back up a bit. That pizza kid is my bodyguard?”
“No, Miranda. I, as always, will be your bodyguard. The boy will assist us. He has very interesting abilities.”
Miranda shook her head.
“What? He can flip a pizza?”
Sully shrugged.
“That I do not know, but he has an affinity with electrical devices, quite useful for us. Last night he diffused the crowds and allowed you your privacy. For that, I think, you should … how do you say it? Cut him some slack?”
“You’re a comedian,” she said.
“At one time, perhaps,” Sully said. “But today I am simply your Sully. And as your Sully, may I turn your attention away from boys for the moment and to more peaceful, dare I suggest, relaxing pursuits. We have organized two excursions out from the city, for your pleasure. The first is to visit with those koala bears you were interested in.”
“I was only half serious,” she said.
“Then you will be at least half very happy. And that is an improvement from what I see here this morning. The second excursion will be tonight after the party. You will be flying to an island. Very exotic, some friends of yours from Hollywood are having their own private party. Very private. You will be able to relax.”
“Maybe,” she said. She didn’t really have many friends, let alone ones she could relax with. And the ones from Hollywood were hardly going to give her a break. Mostly they were keeping her close so they could exploit her if she made it big. She knew the friendships would only last as long as her music career maintained its top ten status. After that she would be sent packing, back to Riverside.
“That sounds great, actually,” she mumbled.
Sully nodded and checked his silver watch. It was a habit and Miranda knew he hardly ever noted what the time actually was. He gave the room a second glance from the balcony, and then bowed his head to her, smiling widely.
“We will see these koala bears after breakfast,” he said. “Until then, I have to untangle some of that red tape these government people like to spin whenever a celebrity comes to their shores.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, waving his hand. “It’s just a matter of clearing the use of uberhumans on the tour. They have agencies here to monitor ubers, interestingly they have an employment agency also. Australians!”
Sully’s laugh echoed through the suite as he waved goodbye again and left, leaving Miranda out on the balcony enjoying the morning sunshine. The idea of going to an animal sanctuary suddenly sounded good. Australian animals surely wouldn’t be impressed by her.
As he inserted his room card into the slot, Sully could sense someone was already inside. He wasn’t psychic, but he was right; so when the door clicked and he pushed it open, Sully gave the man in the pinstripe suit a casual glance before ignoring him.
“Good morning, Mister Sully,” the man said. He spoke with an English accent: private education, born into money.
Sully took off his jacket and hung it carefully. His back and shoulder muscles flexed in the man’s direction. Sully was not about to be intimidated.
“My name is Curtis,” the man continued. Sully caught a smirk on the man’s face in the narrow mirror. “I’m here on business, from Mister Klein.”
Thurston Klein was Miranda’s manager, as well as the one who signed Sully’s cheques each month. A self-serving entertainment expert, Klein managed to position Miranda at the right places at the right times, and even Sully admitted there was some form of art in that.
“I have never heard of you, Mister Curtis,” Sully said. “You bring bad news.”
“Terribly sad, what happened in Indonesia,” Curtis said. “A boy like that; in front of all those cameras, those adoring fans.”
Sully remembered the concert, remembered the boy and his five seconds of fame. But it wasn’t the boy’s face which kept him awake at night. It wasn’t the tragedy of his death. It was the effect it had on Miranda which troubled him so much more. She was nineteen, a child, really; even if she would never admit it. And Sully could still see the horror on her face, the shock, the brutal awakening, as the boy smiled his way into death to please her.
Sully said nothing. His fingers loosened the shirt from around his neck before carefully undoing the top three buttons. It was good to be able to breathe again, he thought.
“Unfortunately this whole mess in Indonesia won’t be fixed with apologies and sad faces, Mister Sully. The girl needs to shake it off, laugh at the whole thing, take it in her god-damned stride.”
Miranda would never laugh it off. And that was why Sully worked for her, to protect the integrity, the beauty which held court in her mind and body.
“Do you have a message from Mister Klein, perhaps?” Sully asked.
Curtis opened his palm and gestured to the table, deeper within the room. Sully’s eyes tracked the movement and took in a sophisticated laptop and projector. Sometimes Klein would negotiate terms via the internet, or hold conferences across continents. Personally, Sully preferred the face to face negotiations, but perhaps Klein was reluctant because of Sully’s physical presence. He didn’t blame the man, of course.
Curtis shifted to the laptop, tapped the keyboard twice and a beam of light spread from the projector to the blank wall over Sully’s bed. Klein’s bald head appeared a little too large on the flat wall, the perspective a little off, transforming him into something not quite human.
“Salaam,” Sully said.
“Is it morning over there?” Klein asked. “Did I wake you, Suleyman?”
“It is not inconvenient. And you have, as always, my full attention, Mister Klein.”
“I’ve sent Curtis to assist with these latest developments,” Klein said. “Miranda needs to use this or she’s finished. I can’t work miracles, Suleyman, no matter how hard I try.”
Sully shrugged.
“Miracles are not our vocation, Mister Klein.”
“This is make or break,” the manager said. “If she has a breakdown, good. If she goes a little crazy, even better. But we can’t have her moping around when every damned teenager on the planet is looking to her right now.”
“We all react to these things differently,” Sully said.
“No kidding. I’m saying, and I’m saying it very clearly to you, right now Sully. If she doesn’t react, and react in the way we need her to, then I’m cutting her off. She can go and sing country and western for all I care. We need
razzle, here. We need drama, movement, insanity if we can muster it.”
Curtis moved to stand a little to Sully’s side. In his hand was a briefcase, silver and sleek. Sully hadn’t seen it before.
“Perhaps we should give her more time,” Sully suggested. “The rest of the tour has been quite successful.”
“Successful?” Klein shouted, his face turning a little red despite being plastered across the hotel wall. “You aren’t here, Suleyman. Here, in the heart of things, she is a complete disaster. A complete farce, from Seattle to bloody Indonesia. Her girl-next-door game doesn’t wash with the fans anymore. They want extreme.”
Klein wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he realized he was losing his composure.
“Perhaps I should continue?” asked Curtis. His clipped voice was in stark contrast to Klein’s rant. The manager nodded his head and reached for a glass of water, off-screen. “We have a solution,” Curtis continued. “It will require a little game of cat-and-mouse, but ultimately harmless to all concerned.”
Sully wondered what kind of cat-and-mouse game was ever harmless. He had known a number of mice in his time and none of them had ever reminisced happily about being the subject of a game.
Curtis handed him the suitcase. It was lightweight, with a chain and cuff dangling from the handle.
“Inside this briefcase is our young lady’s salvation.”
“Possible,” Klein added, leaning forward on the screen, his face filling the wall again. “Possible salvation. I’m not even one hundred per cent certain she has a chance anymore.”
“Go on, Mister Curtis,” Sully said, testing the strength of the chain and its overall design.
“The financial people want publicity, which translates into sales and profits, of course. The Human Tour has been somewhat lackluster in that department up until now. There was hope that with the buzz surrounding that poor boy’s death on stage, but… well, things didn’t turn out as planned.”
Sully’s eyes narrowed, but Curtis was unimpressed.
“Our people in Los Angeles and London have begun work on a new angle for our dear Miranda, but it requires a little prop at this end of the operation.”
Curtis smiled and moved his hand to caress the air above the briefcase.
“What’s inside?” Sully asked.
“Air and magic,” Curtis said. “The magic of innuendo, the sorcery of scandal. Our people will generate a story and you will simply be required to carry this briefcase in your entourage.”
“You don’t need to know anything more about it,” Klein said.
“There is one other thing,” Curtis said.
“There always is,” Sully said.
“Quite. There is a boy, an Australian boy; and our people require that he be a part of this attempt at salvation. Kind of a balance, perhaps, bringing in this new, living boy to replace the burnt-out one from the last concert.”
Sully ignored the crass comments and turned to Klein.
“What boy?”
“All in good time,” Curtis continued. “It’s all set up, Mister Sully. You just need to do your job and we shall do ours.”
“And if you don’t do it, Suleyman,” Klein said. “We’ve always understood each other. If you don’t do this, then we part company.”
“Of course,” Sully said, and bowed slightly to the screen. “There is always, in your line of business, Mister Klein, a point when the snake can no longer take the risk of basking in the glory and profit of a fading sun.”
Klein sat back, his lips turning into a smile as he shook his head.
“It has been a pleasure, Suleyman. A real pleasure.”
And then the connection was cut and Sully found himself alone with the Englishman. Curtis closed the laptop and began to pack it into a larger briefcase.
“Is it a bomb, then?” Sully asked. But it was Curtis’s turn to ignore the comments in the room. He clicked the case shut and straightened himself, turning at last to Sully who stood between him and the door.
“A bomb to kill the boy?” Sully asked again, louder.
“I simply cannot answer, Mister Sully,” Curtis said, slowly. Sully noticed the man’s eyes were hard. His voice was pleasant enough, but there was nothing pleasant about what lay behind Curtis’s eyes. “The boy will be the only one who can unlock the case, when it is time.”
“How? Who is this boy?”
“Your little delivery boy, Mister Sully. I know you’ve already been prepped on his addition to the entourage, and now you know why.”
“You overestimate my knowledge, Mister Curtis.”
“Quite possibly, and yet, there is something about you which does not add up. You aren’t exactly hired muscle, are you, Mister Sully? No, and when the boy comes to meet Miss Miranda at the airport in the morning, it is then that you will ask him to open the case. If you don’t do this, then we move to Plan B.”
“How many will be hurt, do you think?”
Curtis smiled.
“What if I took her away from all of this?” Sully said, possibly more to himself than to Curtis. “What if she didn’t want this life you have made for her anymore?”
“Well, I suppose we shall just have to wait and see.”
Miranda had been at the rehearsal for twenty minutes before she got to step up to the stage. Her retainers were elsewhere, preparations underway, so she walked to the performance space by herself.
The last time up in front of the crowds was still fresh in her mind, but she didn’t feel the anxiety or fear as she walked out under the bright lights. The seats were empty. A few maintenance people moved about the rows and she saw a small crowd of security reviewing exits, but there were no fans there.
Just her on the stage.
The arena could hold 15,000 fans, apparently, and from overhearing Christie on his phone earlier, she had already sold over 12,000. It wasn’t the biggest concert she’d played, and there was disappointment in Christie’s voice. Somehow 12,000 wasn’t good enough. She turned her attention back to the stage spreading out around her. She walked up the steps to a platform which would lift her higher still on the night.
This was the entry point. She would come in from the roof, the platform like an elevator from the heavens.
One of the dancers was there at the top, stretching one leg like a ballerina up above her head. She had bright pink skin and ornate blue tattoos up and down her arms. As Miranda came closer, the girl smiled at her and more tattoos emerged on her face, the ink welling up from within her to make the intricate swirls of blue.
“I’m Kyla,” the girl said, switching her legs.
“Miranda.” She felt foolish for saying that and sunk her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket. “Have you performed here before?”
The girl shook her head.
“First time,” she said. “I’ve been here for the tennis though. Roof was open. Beautiful day.”
Miranda looked to the roof which was sealed. Her team had transformed the stadium into a concert hall, but she knew it would be easy enough to change back. Everything about this business moved quickly.
Kyla slid slowly to the floor in a perfectly controlled split. Miranda could tell the girl was a trained dancer. She was surrounded by professionals even if she felt like a phony the whole time.
“When did you… I mean, when did you know you were uber?” Miranda asked.
“I was born like this,” Kyla said. “Pink skin, you know, but the ink came later. I can’t do anything useful or anything.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s freakish, come on,” Kyla said and laughed. Miranda laughed too and then waved goodbye, leaving Kyla to her warm-ups. Todd Christie appeared at the bottom of the steps, his face sweating under the lights. He gestured to her and she stepped down, her hands still in her pockets.
“The pyrotechnics will be housed here,” he said, waving to a raised section either side of a runway. “And along here. Insurance was a nightmare, but we’ve got the flare
guns for the girls.”
Miranda hadn’t wanted the fire routine, but management had insisted. Said it was a tribute to Jakarta. Christie passed her a stylized ray-gun and she hefted it in her hands, testing its weight. She hadn’t ever handled a real gun, but it felt lighter than it should have.
“Do I get to shoot one?” she asked, striking a slow-motion pose, aiming the gun at the invisible crowd.
“God no,” Christie said, taking it away from her. “Can you imagine the costs if you got hurt? Leave it to the rest of us, princess.”
Miranda frowned as he stashed the gun along with the others in the box. Everything about the Australian show was beginning to look like her swan song. Christie hardly met her eyes, probably knowing she was finished.
The party that night was a last chance to hold on to her career. Sully knew it, although he wouldn’t admit it. Christie certainly knew it too. The Human Tour was coming to a close, and Miranda wasn’t sure what she would be doing after the final act.
A part of her wanted to slip back into obscurity.
She could ride her bikes in the mountains, kick up mud and camp for a week with her dad. She could fold everything back where it came from and go back to Riverside.
Miranda shifted her eyes back to the seating as posters unfurled along columns at each of the levels. Her frozen-smile face stared back at her from the promotional photographs: so confident, her stars aligned.
Chapter 9
Dan
Dan found it difficult to take his eyes off the electric billboard advertising The Human Tour. It featured a carousel of images meant to capture the freakishness of ubers with extreme close-ups of fangs and feathered appendages, flaming hair and cracking fireworks. He stood outside in the rain for a long time. If he went inside he was selling out. If he left the assignment he was inviting trouble Alsana-style.
The billboard glowed above him, wiping the images away with large letters spelling out Miranda’s name. The crowds behind him exploded into cheers and shouts. The two suited gatekeepers at the door looked at him with impassive faces. Most of the guests had already arrived.
