Jamaica Blue by Don Bruns

Author:Don Bruns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group
Published: 2002-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-eight

“Look at it, Mick. Twenty thousand seats, give or take a few. Gonna pack ’em in tonight.” Vane’s eyes were darting around the arena as they walked toward the stage. Men in orange uniforms set up wooden folding chairs on the temporary floor, a cold sheet of hockey ice directly underneath. With the trained observance of a seasoned promoter he watched the afternoon activities. He pointed up, motioning to Sever as the techs adjusted large can lights, pin spots, and an assortment of other stage lights from a narrow catwalk. Below, Derrick stood stage center, waiting patiently for a cue to move. “They did Brandy earlier,” Vane said. “Once they set Derrick, they’ll just leave ’em ’til the show.” He spread his arms wide. “Gonna be packed,” he repeated. “Our boy is gonna set ’em on fire, Mick. Got a call from Bono. He’s gonna be here. And Barry Gibb. I think he lives somewhere down in Miami. Gonna be a night for stars.”

The lighting crew passed commands down to the stage with small wireless microphones and headsets as the band dutifully moved to different positions.

“Press is gonna be at the hotel at five. I’d like to think we’re gonna talk about the tour and the new CD, but we’ll probably end up talkin’ about Roland.”

“Who’s doing the conference?”

“Derrick wants to handle it. He says he needs to recapture the tone of his message. He figures it got off track these last few days….”

“Before it ever got on track.”

Suddenly Derrick’s voice boomed from the stage, “We testing.” A huge stack of speakers amplified his voice and shook the wooden chairs on the floor like a clap of summer thunder.

“Now they’ll do the mike checks.” Vane seemed to be talking to himself as if checking off the list of duties before the show could go on. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his eyes roamed the hall, avoiding a direct look at Sever. “Marna said you’ve been writing a piece about the murders, and, uh, she seems to be under the impression you’re gonna try and implicate Randy or Derrick.” He seemed to be exhausted, as if the accusation had drained him of all his energy.

“Come on, Bobby, we’ve been through this way too many times.”

“Yeah,” he paused and scratched his stomach, “I thought so, too. Any plans on running with it?”

Sever started to speak as the musicians broke into a new number. He stifled his comment as the band music rattled through the nearly empty hall. A ragged, up-tempo beat, with bass and drums punching the indoor arena atmosphere. Derrick, loose and limber, prowled along the lip of the stage. Flame, a.k.a. Jerry Washington from Idaho, riffed on the bass and Sever swore he caught Sudahd playing a lick from one of the Quick’s songs. Buzz’s influence, no doubt. Then the keyboards and finally Derrick.

“Don’t think that anyone will take your blame, no no…. If you blow out the candle and you blow out the flame, no no…I

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