Kill Tone

by Lance Winkless

  He has seen the reports on the TV about people overdosing on these types of pills. Jack himself has used MDMA. He knew it as ecstasy in the past and knows the effects it has. He also did some research when he was debating his plan, and deaths do happen. The statistics are low, but nevertheless, people can die from the drug even though the statistics say they are less dangerous than alcohol or even cannabis.

  Jack puts the block back into the bag and picks it up, debating where to store it overnight. He takes it into the kitchen, opens his oven door and pushes the bag inside, before getting a rubbish bag from one of the cupboards. He can’t wait for bed and goes back into the bedroom, thinking of Veronica lying seductively on his bed last night as he goes. He strips all of his clothes off and places them into the rubbish bag, his favourite shirt and all. He will get rid of the bag in the morning and shoves it under his bed before going to use the shower.

  Chapter 6

  Bobby wanders through the festival’s grounds from the staff registration hut where his taxi has dropped him. Sound checking for the bands is due to start in a few hours, and he has plenty of work to do while the artists are still sleeping. His head is slightly heavy from a few drinks in the hotel bar last night, but not as heavy as yesterday morning after his night out with Tanya. It seems the chatter he had heard about the hot weather in this part of the world is true. The sun hasn’t long been up and already, the temperature is rising; it’s going to be a hot one.

  That hasn’t stopped Bobby dressing in his usual attire, dark grey jeans and a dark patterned shirt that is open casually to reveal his lightly haired chest. His access-all-areas lanyard dangles on its yellow strap, swinging across his front in unison with his stride.

  This is the part of his job that he loves, the build-up to a gig. Professionals from all over the world and all walks of life congregating at a venue to get it ready for a few days of heaven for the people who will be attending the festival. The comradery and buzz of people doing a job they love is fantastic and he counts himself lucky to be part of this business, even if it does get stressful as showtime approaches. The excitement of local people who have been drafted in to help, many of them volunteers, is intoxicating and if only for a few days, they are a vital part of the crew.

  Bobby doesn’t rush; he is due at the main stage soon, but if he is a bit late, so be it. He wants to soak in some of the quiet atmosphere and anticipation that is happening in the fields around him as he strolls along. The buzz will build when the gates open to the public tomorrow and build again as the opening band is about to take to the stage. It will build throughout the day as the crowds get larger and the acts get bigger, until the final crescendo when the headline act takes to the main stage tomorrow tonight. The comedown when tomorrow draws to a close won’t last long. This is a festival, and Friday is only the first day. There will still be Saturday and Sunday for the fans to look forward to.

  As soon as Bobby reaches the main stage, he will be too busy, throughout the weekend, concentrating on his job to be able to soak up the atmosphere properly. There will be moments for sure, but they will be fleeting and only then if everything is running smoothly.

  This is Bobby’s only moment to relax and soak up some of the atmosphere; even if it is only from the street food vendors setting up their stalls or the merchandising people pinning t-shirts to display boards, the excitement is still there.

  He sees the massive main stage in front of him, surrounded by flashing lights as the lighting rigs are being tested. He could almost be fooled into thinking the first act is already on stage if it weren’t for the lack of music blasting out from the towers of black speakers strategically dotted around. Two big marquees are in the same massive field as the main stage, for more bands to play in. Behind him, in an adjacent field are two more marquees, one of which is absolutely ginormous together with a funfair and more stalls. As Bobby nears the main stage, he passes one of the long bars that will soon be busy serving the revellers. But right now, staff are the only ones around, setting up barriers for crowd control. And crowd control will be needed. It is hard to believe now but there will soon be one hundred thousand fans, and more swarming around the festival’s fields.

  “Hey, Bobby,” a familiar voice shouts.

  “Hey, Tanya. You did it again, you broke me, I’m only just recovering,” Bobby jokes as Tanya comes around one of the main steel crowd barriers that run parallel to the main stage.

  “What? Don’t be silly! That was only a light session. I was in bed for three.”

  “I’m obviously not as hardcore as you! How’s your prep going?”

  “We are getting there, it will be ready in time for curtain up,” Tanya says, looking back at the main stage.

  “I never doubted it,”

  “How about you?” Tanya asks.

  “I’ve just arrived and going up now, I just hope you’ve plugged everything in,” Bobby jokes.

  “I have, it's all the other numbskulls you need to worry about,” Tanya says seriously.

  “Listen, I’ll catch you later, I’d better get up there,” Bobby says, trying to escape.

  “Drinks when you’re finished?” Tanya asks, smiling.

  “With you, no chance. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

  “Lightweight,” Tanya teases. “But seriously, did you hear about the violence at that club in the downtown area of the city? I’m glad we weren’t in that area.”

  “No, I haven’t heard anything. What happened?”

  “Some kind of riot kicked off, and thirteen people were killed. The police shot some of them, but the others were killed by each other, horrible,” Tanya tells him with a look of dismay.

  “Crazy times. What were they rioting about?”

  “Nobody seems to know. It came out of nowhere from what I saw on the TV; they said it could have been drug related?”

  “You’re right, it’s lucky we weren’t there. Anyway, I’d better get to it. I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

  “Break a leg,” Tanya announces.

  “You too,” Bobby replies, walking off.

  The tall sound tower is Bobby’s destination, like an island jutting up from the summer burnt grass, set back from the main stage and overlooking it. From the top of it, he will control the sound quality of the concert at the same time as having the best view of the festival, which he is sure will be awesome, especially when the crowds kick off and really get involved.

  Bobby flashes his pass to the burly security guard controlling access to the perimeter barrier that surrounds the tower. He is granted access and heads straight for the door to the staircase that will take him up to the inner sanctum, where he shows his pass again. Bobby climbs the stairs up the temporary tower to the sound level where three engineers are already testing and adjusting the equipment.

  Good mornings are exchanged with the other engineers, and Bobby puts his bag down next to his station with its banks of sound equalisers and controls that slide and turn, turn up all the way up to 11.

  Before Bobby sits and gets down to the nitty-gritty, he wanders over to the front opening of the level that looks over the main stage. He gazes out over the railing to the scene below and in front of him, trying to get a feeling of how the music waves will react in their surroundings. This is why his skill is so sought after and he is paid so well. He has a sixth sense of how to make the artist's music sound the best it possibly can with the controls at his fingertips. Bobby doesn’t rush; he studies the contours around the main stage and beyond and sees in his mind's eye where the sound waves will flow and how he can help their journey to the fans’ ears.

  Satisfied, Bobby turns and moves to his station, then sits down wondering if he will catch sight of Veronica over the weekend. She will be here, for sure. She has emailed him to confirm she will be and to thank him for the passes he sent her.

  Chapter 7

  Jack pushes his key into his front door, fat and full after returning from taking Sophie to lunch. He loves spending the little time he
gets with her. She is always happy to see him and is probably the only person in the world who always is. Jenny, his ex, certainly never is; she always has a sour face on when they see each other.

  In front of their daughter, the two parents are always cordial to one another but Jack picks up on the undercurrent that Jenny’s forced smiles don’t hide from him. He wonders what she actually thinks of him now. He knows how her angry side feels; he has seen it enough times when Sophie isn’t around, when they have met to discuss one thing or another. Jack gets nervous every time he is due to see her now, feeling like a naughty little boy in her presence. Funny how someone he knows so well and had a child with almost seems like a stranger to him now. He supposes that in some ways, that is exactly what she is.

  Checking his watch, he sees that he has half an hour until Daryl is due to arrive and the next part of his misadventure—as Jack is starting to think about his plan—is due to get underway. How he would love to rest for a while. He didn’t sleep well. With every small sound he heard, his mind convinced him that someone was trying to break into his apartment to steal the sports bag, its contents and to possibly kill him. He had kept the gun beside him, next to the bed, but even that didn’t help him rest; in fact, it probably made things worse. He’d got rid of the bag containing his bloodstained clothes this morning and seriously considered getting rid of the gun at the same time. In the end, Jack decided to keep hold of it, stashing it somewhere safe, just until his plan was finished, over and done with.

  He gets ready for Daryl’s arrival as quickly as he can. At least then, he might get a fifteen or twenty-minute sit-down before he arrives. He retrieves the sports bag out of the oven and takes it to put back onto the coffee table. Then he gets the rolls of food wrap and the plastic food containers Daryl had told him to buy and puts them next to the bag. Are these the tools of my trade now? Jack thinks, looking down at the coffee table. Only for a couple of days, he thinks, then onwards and upwards.

  Jack backs away from the table and slumps down onto the couch behind him. He pulls his eyes away from the sports bag sitting ominously in front of him and flops his head back, finding himself looking up to the ceiling and thinking about the next few days. When this is over, he promises himself he will have a day or maybe two of doing nothing but chilling out.

  A loud knock on the front door startles Jack, waking him from his unplanned nap. He pulls his mouth closed and fumbles to get his bearings. He had closed his eyes only for a minute, he must be wearier than he realised. Another knock gets him up off the couch to go and open the door.

  “I thought you had bailed on me,” Daryl says as he invites himself in.

  “Sorry, I had nodded off, I’m not used to eating a big lunch.”

  “I didn’t mean to disturb your afternoon nap, old-timer,” Daryl jokes.

  “It comes to the best of us,” Jack retorts.

  “Too true,” Daryl agrees.

  “Have you heard anything about Andrei’s condition?”

  “I called Rouben earlier. He didn’t give any details on Andrei, only that he is on the mend.”

  “Any other repercussions I should know about?” Jack asks nervously.

  “None for us to worry about. It won’t affect our business.”

  “I hope you’re right. We don’t want any more surprises.”

  “I hear that, brother, but I think we are in the clear,” Daryl says with some confidence. “Where’s Andrei’s car, have you taken it out again today?”

  “I parked it a couple of streets away last night and it hasn’t moved since. I’m not keen to use it. Why, did Rouben ask about it?”

  “No, he didn’t mention it. I was just wondering. We are going to use it to get to the festival tomorrow,” Daryl states.

  “Are we?”

  “I’m not taking mine and I wouldn’t recommend taking yours. Andrei’s isn’t connected to either of us, you get me?” Daryl asks.

  “Good point, it’ll still be wet in the back and could be misted up, though.”

  “Yes,” Daryl says and ponders for a moment. “Okay, I’ll go and get it and park it in this block’s car park and wind the windows down a bit to help it dry out overnight. I doubt anyone will bother with it there. Where did you park it?”

  “Shall I go and get it?”

  “Nah, best if I do. Your neighbours don’t know me.”

  Jack agrees, gets him Andrei’s car key and tells Daryl where the car is parked. Daryl is soon reversing Andrei’s car into a space at the back of the apartment block, and Jack watches him from his bedroom window as Daryl leaves all four windows of the car open about a quarter of the way.

  “It’s still warm out there but there’s a breeze, so hopefully, it’ll dry out some,” Daryl tells Jack as he comes back through the front door.

  “Was it misted up?” Jack asks.

  “Yes, it was like getting into a sauna, but it was okay once the windows were open. I could murder a beer before we get to it,” Daryl prompts Jack.

  Jack apologises for his lack of manners and gets them both an ice-cold beer from the fridge. They sit on Jack’s couch, refreshing themselves with the beers and taking a moment before they start, both looking at the sports bag in silence and with some trepidation.

  “Well, shall we?” Jack asks.

  “They aren’t going to wrap themselves,” Daryl jokes.

  “Unfortunately,” Jack adds.

  “Make sure you keep your drink right out of the way; the last thing we need is a spilt drink on them.”

  “We definitely don’t,” Jack agrees, putting his drink down on the floor to the side of the couch.

  Daryl leans forward and pulls the coffee table closer to the couch so that they can use it as a work surface. He picks up the sports bag and puts it on the floor next to the table and opens it to get one of the blocks of pills out. Holding it up, he tries to peer through the cellophane wrapping, just as Jack did last night.

  “Blood red, very discreet,” Daryl questions.

  “Yes, but at least they should be easy to find if we drop any,” Jack tries to joke. “How do we do this?” he then questions.

  “First off have you got some scissors, to cut the wrapping with?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jack says and gets up, stepping around and over the table to go to the kitchen.

  “Thanks,” Daryl says as Jack hands him a pair of scissors. Daryl then places the first block onto the table and carefully cuts the top open. The red of the tablets is more vibrant than Jack thought. Without the cellophane covering them, they are almost a dark pink.

  “Here we go then,” Daryl says as he carefully starts to turn the block over to tip the pills free. Pills start to spill out onto the tabletop, chattering against the hard surface as they land. Daryl shepherds the pills that try to escape with his hand, redirecting them back to the growing mound.

  Jack leans down and picks one up for closer inspection. The pill is smaller in diameter than most ‘legal’ pills that he has seen, like a paracetamol but a bit thicker. They are almost spheres. There are two flat sides on the top and bottom of the pills, however, one of which has an imprint of a heart stamped into it.

  “They look like the real deal,” Daryl says as he also inspects one.

  “They certainly do, very professional, they look like they were made in a real laboratory.”

  “They could very well have been, my friend,” Daryl agrees.

  “There is only one name we can use for them. Hearts.”

  “Yes, Hearts,” Daryl agrees, still inspecting his pill.

  Jack places his pill back onto the table and retakes his seat ready to get to work. “How many are on the table do you think?” he asks.

  “Hold on,” Daryl says, leaning over to look into the bag and putting his hand in. “There’s one thousand on the table, and there are nine left in the bag. So a thousand in each block.”

  “How do we do this, then?”

  “The first thing is not to touch them with your fingers. Residue wil
l build up on them and then if you put your fingers in your mouth, you will be off your head in about thirty minutes. So use the food wrap like this to pick up the pills.”

  Jack watches as Daryl picks up one of the rolls of food wrap and starts to unroll a section of it. Using the corner, he picks up the closest pill, rolls it in his fingers and finally pulls the wrap, tearing it off. Giving the pill another roll in his fingers, he then drops it onto the table. Taking another corner of the wrap, he repeats the process again. Jack understands the process straight away.

  Daryl has it down to a tee and Jack wonders how many times he has actually done it before. Without delay, Jack picks up another roll of wrap and joins Daryl in wrapping the pills.

  Gradually, the pile of unwrapped pills gets smaller and the pile of wrapped ones grows as Jack picks up speed until he is banging them out as quickly as Daryl. Jack’s fingers start to ache a bit as he’s sure Daryl’s are with this many pills, but neither men say anything, wanting to keep their pride intact. It isn’t long until the first batch is complete and when it is, Daryl picks up the first of the plastic food containers and sweeps the majority of the wrapped pills into it off the table. He squashes as many as he can into the container before placing the container's lid on top and snapping it closed. The remaining pills are swept into a new container by Jack and the containers are put to the back of the table.

  “One down, nine to go,” Daryl announces as he retrieves the next block from the bag.