We slipped out the back door of the hotel. I was on point, my Uzi loaded and ready. Rommel, Chez, and Hookie followed behind, carrying Og. We made it to the street, ran across it, and came to a halt at the opposite corner. Rommel almost bumped into me as I stopped.
"What is it? Why we stopping here?"
"I was hoping to drive to the concert in my jeep. But it looks like Allister thought of that, too. Take a look!" I pointed in the direction of a large crowd of teenagers, all dressed in punk rock garb. They were all gathered around my jeep. Looming above the crowd was a flag hanging off of my radio antenna, with the words 'Grated Chez's Personal Jeep - Keep Off' emblazened across it. Hookie's eyes went wide with terror.
"My God! Groupies! Will this fiend stop at nothing?"
"Don't worry about it, fellas. I had a special anti-punker protection device installed in the jeep especially for this case. I can activate it by remote-control from here." I pulled out a small box with a toggle switch, and flicked it on. Back at the jeep, my cassette deck turned itself on, with the volume all the way up. The punkers were suddenly exposed to Frank Sinatra singing 'Strangers In The Night', at point blank range. Several of them fainted on the spot, while the survivors screamed in agony and ran for their lives.
Rommel turned angrily to face me. "That was the most vicious thing I've ever seen someone do, even to groupies."
"Yeah, so?"
"So I'm just mad that I didn't think of it first."
"Get in the jeep, already!"
We could only seat four in the jeep, so I removed the spare tire and hung Og off the rack. Then I scrambled into the driver's seat, gunned the engine to life, and zoomed down the road toward the Hollywood Bowl.
It was about an hour and a half before concert time, so naturally the place was already jammed when we got there. I decided the safest route inside would be through the security office. So I drove the jeep through their glass door, and skidded to a halt in front of the desk of some overweight, middle-aged security guard. He spilled his coffee.
"Hey, now lookie here, boy, y'all can't park that thing in here! This is a PRIVATE office!"
Chez took charge. "Relax, Hank, he's with us. Where's Allister?"
"Oh, he's here and there. Y'all know how it is, a million things to do befo' the concert starts. Somethin' wrong?"
Hookie switched into cynical overdrive. "Oh, not much. Our head roadie wants us seriously dead, and he's spent all day here making arrangements for it. Our manager set himself on fire with a cigarrette, I was almost foamed to death, and worst of all, Rommel's favorite sunglasses were broken when our limo blew up. But other than that..."
I quickly formed a plan. "Alright, here's the deal. Hank, you got surveillance camera's running?"
"Sure thing. The monitor booth is set up next door."
"Fine. Get some guards, and escort the band to the dressing rooms. Search them before they go in. The rest of you man the monitors, and see if you can spot Allister. Call me by walkie talkie if you see him. I'll look around backstage for any little surprises he may have left us, then escort the band onstage when the concert starts."
Backstage was a maze of cables, mikes, amps, roadies, and beer. (Roadies seem to go better with beer than pretzels.) Most of the cables seemed to be emanating from a huge field generator. Standing next to it, looking much the worst for wear, was Tic Aspen. He was explaining to one of the roadies why he just quit smoking, when I caught his eye.
"I've discovered your killer, Apsen. It's Allister. Where is he?"
"Allister? I've no idea. Last time I saw him was right here, hooking up the lasers for the light show to the generator."
"Lasers? Isn't that a bit dangerous?"
"Low-power lasers, Guts. Completely harmless."
"But that's no low-power generator. That kind of juice could start a fire."
"The lasers can't focus that much intensity. It requires a high-powered, concentrated burst just to light a match."
Seeing as Tic was something of an expert when it came to starting fires, I decided to drop the matter and continue my inspection. I had a feeling that something was going on, but I just couldn't pin it down.
Finding nothing, I ultimately returned to the band, and we proceeded onto the stage. The lights went down, the boys walked out, and the crowd went wild. Before picking them up, they each examined their instruments from all sides, to the confusion of the audience. Finally, Chez looked at the others, smiled, and yelled "What the hell? If we die out here, we're legends!" He snatched up his guitar, and flicked off a devastatingly loud A-sharp. The lasers turned on, and the show began.
Tic stood beside me just offstage. "Wait'll you see the light show. The laser motions are precisely timed and computer controlled. They shoot into the air, bounce off the mirrors, intersect each other, and combine using different colors. It really sets the mood for the love ballads."
My eyes followed the laser trails upward to the mirrors mounted on each side of the stage. Suddenly, my walkie talkie crackled to life.
"Guts? Security here. Allister was just spotted leaving the control room, heading for the parking lot." As he said this, I noticed that the laser beams were reflecting off the mirrors, and converging in one spot - Og's drum kit.
"Hank, are the computers controlling the lasers in the control booth?"
"Ten-four, Guts, the whole thing's set up in there."
It was difficult to see in the weird light, but it looked as though there was smoke rising from Og's drums. I raced on stage, and squatted in front of the drum. This was a stupid thing to do, as Og was thumping it thoroughly, almost giving me a concussion. So I pulled out my machete, chopped open the front of it, and tore away the cover.
Inside were five sticks of dynamite, with a photo-senitive electronic fuse. The sensor was positioned where the laser beams converged. The beams had burned a hole through the drum, and activated the timer on the detonator. As bombs go, it was a real work of art. And any second now, I was gonna end up looking like a Picasso.
As the band played on, I snatched the drum, and ran for the back door. Hank was also running up to it as I arrived. "He's made it to the parking lot. He's probably heading for his truck, that red pickup over there."
As I followed his gaze, I spotted Allister running for the truck. It was parked at the end of a long ramp, which began right where I was standing. I turned to Hank and smiled. "Y'know, I think a dramatic escape such as this should be accompanied by a drum roll, don't you?"
As Allister opened the door and climbed into his pickup, I stepped up to the ramp, positioned the drum, and sent it rolling down the ramp. Allister started his engine, and began to pull away just as the drum reached the end of the ramp, and bounced into the back of his pickup. He must have already been doing fifty as he turned around to see what that crashing sounding behind him was, so he was well away from the building when he saw the drum. That was the last thing he ever saw.
Exploding drums, I've learned, make a fascinating sound as they go off. A bit rough on the pickup, however.
Tic had followed me from the stage. As the debris rained down upon the parking lot, he let out a low whistle, and turned to face me. "Now THAT's entertainment!"
The End