Forsaken (8 page)

The musical instruments and bleachers were easy to check. It was the speakers and plants that gave me heartburn. Since I couldn’t dump all of the potting soil out on the stage or tear apart a gazillion dollars worth of speakers, I tried to get comfortable with the people who brought them. One of them happened to be pulling two eight-foot palms onto the stage on a cart as I inspected the back of a giant amplifier. He was young and red and doughy—an Irish potato with acne scars. Dried mud flaked off his tennis shoes as he walked. A rusty trowel jutted from his back pocket.

I tapped him on the shoulder. “You work for the Mid America Center?”

“No. O’Reilly’s Interior Landscape.” His breath smelled of onions and cigarettes. I turned my head away. He didn’t seem to notice.

I had to force myself to look back at him. “Did O’Reilly’s provide all of the plants?”

Fortunately for my nostrils, he was not about to stop for me. He dragged the cart across the stage, and I trotted after him. A trail of dirt clumps marked the cart’s path like a brown vapor trail. “Far as I know.” He stopped, pulled on a pair of leather garden gloves, and wrestled one of the palms onto the stage.

“Is your boss Mr. O’Reilly?”

“Mrs. O’Reilly. Dad’s been gone for ten years.”

“I’m sorry.” I had no idea whether I should be sorry, because I had no idea why Mr. O’Reilly was gone, but I supposed it didn’t matter for my purposes. “So Mrs. O’Reilly is your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Is she here?”

He chuckled. “The nursing home doesn’t let her deliver plants.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked up at me and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask whether “I’m sorry” was going to be my response to everything he said. He pulled the trowel out of his pocket, bent over, and dug into the potted palm. “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder. “She’s still sharp as a tack. Just can’t get around anymore.” The conversation smelled better with his face over the planter.

“So are you in charge?”

He laughed. “Believe me, she’s in charge. I’m responsible for important deliveries, that’s all. I’m a CPA with an accounting firm in the Loop. I just do this to help Mom out. She doesn’t trust the regular guys with this kind of thing. Simon Mason is big, you know. Are you a reporter or something?”

“I’m with the Mason staff. Where did all of these plants come from?”

“Our greenhouse in Elmwood Park. I’ve got the delivery ticket if you want to see it. Are we in some sort of trouble?”

“Not at all. Were you with the plants in the truck from the greenhouse?”

“I drove the truck. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got to get finished here. This thing is starting in thirty minutes. There must be ten thousand people out there already.” He pointed at the giant video screen that blocked the stage from the auditorium seats. For the first time, I noticed the low rumble of the entering crowd.

“How many more plants are you bringing out here?”

“These two are the last ones. Are you security?”

I threw up my hands. “You got me.”

He looked me over. “Wow, security in our building doesn’t look like you.”

“Thanks.” I thought about saying the polite thing:
You’re not so bad yourself.
His breath and oily hair simply made it impossible. “How long has O’Reilly’s been in business?”

“Forty years, last November.” He rolled the other palm off the cart and stood it up.

“Good enough. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“You’re welcome.” He slid a hand through his hair and then wiped it on the pocket of his khakis, leaving a greasy splotch. “What are you doing after the show?”

“Sorry, I’ve got a boyfriend.” That was entirely untrue. “By the way, they tell me it’s not a show. It’s a celebration. They’re very particular about that.”

He shrugged and turned his back, then stuck a finger into the soil around one of the pots. He grabbed a plastic watering can from the cart, leaned over, and poured water around the base of the palm. As far as he
was concerned, I was no longer there. I tapped my foot on the floor and watched him work. This guy was gross, but I would have liked to think that I could hold his attention for more than thirty seconds. I know exactly how ridiculous that sounds, but it’s the way I think sometimes.

I turned to leave, then stopped and turned back. “One more thing: Do you know who’s in charge of the sound system?”

“No idea.” He didn’t even look up. I was yesterday’s news.

I walked to the back of the stage and examined a six-foot speaker.
Windy City Speaker Hut
appeared in white stenciled letters across the back. I trotted down the steps to the floor behind the stage and looked around. Though people were milling everywhere, they all appeared to be part of the show. I pulled out my phone, dialed information, and within a few seconds was listening to an after-hours recording for Windy City Speaker Hut. I punched zero for the operator but got another recording.

Only twenty minutes until the first performers were to take the stage. I bounded back up the stairs and moved from speaker to amplifier to speaker. Some of them had removable backs that I pulled away to check inside. Most were screwed shut. I shook the smaller ones to see if anything rattled. This was getting me nowhere. I headed backstage to look for Simon.

The area behind the stage was like a train station during rush hour. Any terrorist worth a nickel could have walked in with a grenade and wiped out half of
the traveling cast. I finally found Simon walking up the steps from the lower concourse. Behind him Elise hurried to keep up, a laptop clutched tightly under her arm. I waited for them at the top of the stairs.

Simon carried a tattered leather Bible in one hand. He offered a tight-lipped smile and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Hi, Taylor.” His eyes moved, from me, to the stage, then back to me. Elise had been right. He was nervous.

I gathered that this would be a poor time to talk about security details. Besides, there was little that could be done at this point. I motioned toward the stage. “I checked some things out. Maybe we can talk after the show.”

Elise’s face darkened.

“I mean, the celebration.”

Simon moved over to the curtain that served as a stage door and pulled it aside. The youth choir that I had seen earlier was hustling onto the bleachers near the back of the stage. To the side of the bleachers, a rock band scrambled into position and screeched out a few tuning notes. The drummer climbed onto a glass-encased stand that held bright-orange drums of various sizes. Elevated and isolated, covered with tattoos and wearing a stocking cap, he reminded me of a clown perched on a trap door in a carnival dunking booth.

“Don’t see any terrorists with machine guns,” Simon said with a weak laugh. He stepped aside and held the curtain open for me. “Want to take a closer look?”

From where we were, just at the edge of the giant
screen, we could see both the stage and a part of the auditorium. People moved up and down the aisles. The floor seemed to vibrate with the buzz of thousands of conversations.

“Machine guns aren’t what worry me at an event like this,” I said. “Bombs loaded with nails and ball bearings are what keep me awake.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

The bass player thumped out the first chords of a gospel tune. The singers swayed on the bleachers. A few of them put their hands to their mouths for a last, throat-clearing cough. In front of them the giant screen scrolled up toward the ceiling. A wave of applause began in the front row of the auditorium and washed toward the back as the rising screen revealed the stage.

I frowned. “Hey, where did those two plants beside the podium come from?”

Simon looked around the curtain again. “What plants?”

“The bushy things on each side of the podium— those weren’t there twenty minutes ago.”

“I don’t know what was there or not there. I’ve been practicing my Bible talk.”

“It’s a pulpit, not a podium,” Elise said, nudging me aside. “Let me see.” She peered through the gap in the curtain. “It doesn’t look unusual to me. I don’t remember for sure, but it seems that we always have plants beside the pulpit, don’t we Simon?”

He extended his hands, palms up. “Honestly, I have no idea.”

I looked again. “I know those were not there before.”

“Someone must have brought them out after you left. What’s so unusual about that?” Elise said.

“I was talking to the son of the landscape company’s owner. He told me the two palm trees that he was taking off the cart were the last of the plants for the stage. Those two by the podium—the pulpit—were not there.”

“What if they weren’t?” Simon was frowning now. “Do you really think someone can hide a bomb in a potted plant?”

“You better believe someone can hide a bomb in a potted plant! Granted, the odds are overwhelmingly against it; but the odds are overwhelmingly against just about any threat. The point is that you are the focus of attention of some very dangerous people. If they did put a bomb in one of those plants, it would almost certainly kill you. Those plants weren’t there when I checked the stage earlier, and according to the landscaping company they’re not supposed to be there now. I’m telling you that it would be prudent to check them out.”

Elise tapped her fingers on the laptop she was holding under her arm. “Well, what do you want us to do, call off the show because there are two potted plants that are unaccounted for?”

I raised an eyebrow. “The
show?”

“The celebration.” She scowled at me.

“No, we don’t need to call off the celebration. We simply need to check out those two plants.”

Simon sighed. “How are we going to do that in front
of fifteen thousand people? You know, Taylor, I’m not the president of the United States and it’s not practical to do some of the things you may be accustomed to doing for security. Besides, if we check out the plants and they do contain bombs, won’t whoever planted them just set them off?”

“It’s possible. More likely there would be a timing device. Whoever planted them would probably stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd. Besides, the printed programs give a great timetable for what’s going to happen and when it’s going to happen. You’re scheduled to be on the stage three-quarters of the time. A timer wouldn’t have to be precise and would still work just fine.”

He put a hand on his hip. “Fine, but that brings us back to the question: What now?”

“Can I see that?” I reached for the program Elise carried in her hand.

She pulled it away. “Why?”

I looked at my watch. “There’s very little time. Would you please just give me the program?”

She glanced at Simon. He nodded. She handed me the program.

“The song leader’s going to pray right at the beginning, isn’t he?”

“That’s right,” Simon said.

“We can dim the lights. No one will think anything about it. I’ll get the plants off during the prayer. Most of the people won’t notice. If a bomb blows up, at least you’re back here and not out on the stage. Elise, who’s running the lighting?”

“Wait a minute,” Simon said. “This seems like a huge overreaction to me. We can’t cart potted plants around during a prayer. What will people think?”

I threw up my arms. “If you’re dead, it won’t matter what people think!”

He took a quick look around us to see if anyone had heard. “Okay, calm down. We get the point.”

I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry if I sound impatient, but dangerous people have threatened your life and you are acting as if you don’t take that seriously. Apparently you don’t know what people like this are capable of, but I do. We are not overreacting. We are using common sense. Your life has changed. You’d better get used to it if you want to stay alive.”

Elise chewed her lip. I wondered whether she had the authority to fire me before I’d been hired? I was just about to tell both of them that this was a bad fit and I should just hop a plane back to Dallas when she turned to Simon. “She’s right. Your life is in danger, and we’ve got to get serious about protecting you.”

I did a double take. “Excuse me?”

She turned back to me. “Whatever it takes to protect Simon, we’ll do. The arena runs the lights, but the operators are way up in the third deck. We’ve got walkie-talkies to communicate with them.”

There was no time to stand around with my mouth hanging open. “Get them on one of those things and tell them there’s been a change and you want them to dim the lights real low during the opening prayer. I’ve got to find two strong guys and a cart.” I took off down the stairs.

The plan was simple, and it could have gone off smoothly. I did find a cart, and I did find two strong guys, and the lights did go down during the prayer. On the other hand, we happened to choose Chicago’s squeakiest cart, so everyone in the auditorium was already peeking toward the stage and wondering what was going on before we even got the cart to the pulpit. To top it off, the two big strong guys were actually much bigger than they were strong. They dropped one of the plants when they were loading it onto the cart. The pot shattered on the stage, spilling potting soil everywhere. At least that saved me the effort of digging through the dirt.