Compact with the Devil: A Novel (10 page)

“Celebrating?” asked Holly, puzzled, as they arrived at the bus.

“It’s always like this,” said the drummer, coming out of the bus and pausing on the step above them to mime picking lice from Holly’s hair. “Who’s she?” he demanded of Holly.

“Burg, this is Nikki. Nikki, this is Burg. Our drummer. He thinks he’s a monkey.”

“Ape, darling, ape,” he said, as he shook hands with Nikki, and then responded to Nikki’s question. “The crew throws the best parties all the time. People think it’s the rock stars, but it’s the crew that really rocks the house.”

“Good booze, too,” said Holly, shoving a plastic cup at Nikki. Nikki sniffed it cautiously; it smelled like fruit-flavored nail polish remover. “Have some Jungle Punch.”

“I think I just lost a few nose hairs,” she commented, but took a small sip anyway. She had discovered in high school that refusing a drink made people dislike you. It made them feel like they were doing something wrong.

“So what can I do for you fine folks?” asked Burg, sitting down on the stairs and sipping from his own cup.

“The guy that was running the platform…” began Nikki.

“Ah, the dearly departed Ewart,” said Burg, shaking his head and scratching his armpit.

“I don’t suppose you know where I can find him?” asked Nikki.

Burg stopped pretending to pick lice and looked at her. “He’s down at the battle cruiser getting comprehensively banjoed.”

Nikki blinked and tried out the sentence in various formations on the big screen in her head.

“Sorry,” she said at last, “you’re going to have to try that again with different words.”

“Uh…” Burg looked flummoxed, linguistically stuck in a groove.

“He’s getting drunk,” Holly said at last.

“Down at the pub,” said Burg.

“Which one?”

“Why do you want to find this guy?” asked Burg curiously. “He screwed up; he was sacked.”

“He’s been doing this job the whole tour, right? And this is the only mistake he’s made?”

“Ook! Hell of a mistake!” answered Burg.

“Someone stuck a wrench around one of the hoses,” said Nikki.

“It was a wrench?” asked Holly.

“Yeah,” said Nikki, nodding. “Trust me, I was nose to nose with the thing.”

“Well, even if it wasn’t his fault, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Brandt fired him. When Brandt fires people, they stay fired,” said Burg with a shrug.

“Even if it wasn’t his fault?” asked Nikki, trying to make them actually hear the words.

“Brandt doesn’t really admit mistakes,” said Burg. “He just sort of keeps rolling forward.”

“He’s like the Adolf Hitler of the music industry,” interjected Holly.

“Well, let’s just pretend I’m Russia in winter and I actually do have the power to stop Adolf in his tracks. Can you take me to Ewart?”

“I suppose,” said Burg, “that I could do that. But, well, if shit goes down, then we pretend I’m Switzerland. Brandt can get vindictive when challenged.”

“Switzerland it is.”

Burg led them, occasionally pausing to leap on things, through clean, well-lit streets to a small pub. They entered the bar and spotted Ewart the Donut Eater almost immediately. He was sitting with his head on the bar but twisted sideways to watch soccer on the bar TV. At his feet were a number of bags and backpacks, presumably everything he owned at the moment. He was wearing some regrettable red stretch jeans and an even more unfortunate yellow-ochre T-shirt. Nikki slid into the seat next to him.

“Hey, Ewart,” she said. His eyes flicked from the screen to her.

“I know you,” he slurred.

“Sure you do, Ewart,” said Nikki easily, and waved to the bartender. “One for me and my friends, and another for my friend Ewart.”

Ewart looked down the bar at Holly and Burg.

“I didn’t do it!” he moaned, burying his face in his arms.

“Shh, Ewart. Here’s your beer.”

The bartender placed a frosty brown beer in front of each of them, the suds streaked down the sides. Nikki paid the silent bartender and slid the beer toward Ewart. “You want your beer, don’t you?”

“I didn’t do it,” he said again, but put out a hand and pulled the beer close to him.

“I believe you, Ewart.”

He raised one eye above his elbow and looked at her hopefully. “You’ll tell Mr. Masters that?”

“Yes. But I need something more to tell him. Do you know who put the wrench there?”

“I didn’t do it!” he wailed, and buried his head again.

“Why don’t you just tell me about the evening?” asked Nikki, taking the beer back. That brought his head up slightly.

“I set up my equipment and the guys built the platform.” He reached for the beer.

“Then what?” asked Nikki, pulling the beer just out of reach of his grasping fingers.

“Then the show started. Everything went fine.” His fingertips slid off the wet glass, unable to gain enough traction to bring the glass closer to him.

“Then what?”

“Trista came down from the upper stage and told me there were donuts on the craft services table. So I got a donut and hung out with some of the guys. Then Miss Angela came by to check on me. Mr. Dettling showed up and asked me about the specs for the Paris show. Wanted to know if the smaller stage size was going to be a problem. I told him no. They went away. You ran by. I got another donut.”

“Who’s Miss Angela?” hissed Nikki to Holly.

“The tour manager; she used to be Kit’s personal assistant. She and Brandt are like this.” Holly wrapped two fingers around each other.

“What did you and Angela talk to each other about?” asked Nikki, turning back to Ewart.

“She was looking for Mr. Dettling, like I said. She seemed in a hurry. Course it was time for her to meet Mr. Masters, so she’d probably been running.”

Nikki let him have the beer. He swallowed thirstily.

“She looked like she’d been running?” asked Nikki. Tracksuit could have been a woman.

“Well, hurrying,” said Ewart with a shrug. “Duncan was the one who looked like he’d been running.”

“Kit’s lead bodyguard,” said Burg. “Big moustache, ook.”

“He ran by while I was talking to Miss Angela.”

“Could you see your table the whole time?” asked Nikki.

“No, I guess I wandered around a bit. But who would want to hurt Kit?”

Nikki sighed; Ewart was fairly useless.

“Duncan did come and fiddle with stuff earlier, though,” said Ewart suddenly. “I saw him. He walked around the whole thing and touched stuff. I saw him. I was getting some ties from my gear bag.”

“When was that?” asked Nikki.

“Earlier. Between when Kit went onstage the first time and the break. Before Trista told me about the donuts.”

“Was it unusual for Duncan to do that?”

“Who knows what’s unusual for Duncan? He doesn’t answer to the likes of us.” Ewart gave a piqued sniff.

“Then what?”

“Then the second half started, and it got all ballsed up!” He rubbed his eyes sorrowfully, like a grown-up boy with his bottle.

“If you didn’t leave the wrench there, then who did?” snapped Holly, and Nikki shot her a warning glance.

“I don’t know,” said Ewart grumpily, and clutched at his beer. “It wasn’t me.”

“I know that,” said Nikki soothingly. “Who do you think it was?”

“One of those idiot German hire-ons, most likely,” he said. “I don’t know. It could have been anyone.”

He nursed his beer and Nikki drank some of hers, considering the matter; even Burg was quiet down at the end of the bar. “Holly, where does the tour go next?” Nikki asked.

“Paris. We’re doing a New Year’s Eve show.”

“Ewart, do you have a ride to Paris?” asked Nikki.

“Why would I go to Paris? I haven’t got a job there.”

“Well, you will if I get your job back.”

“No chance of that,” said Ewart sulkily. “Mr. Dettling doesn’t go backward.”

“But Kit would hire you back, wouldn’t he? If he knew it wasn’t your fault?”

“Yeah, yeah, he would.” Ewart agreed eagerly, a light shining in his beer-dimmed eyes. “Mr. Masters is a real gentleman. He’d take me back.”

“Well, you meet us in Paris for the show and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Really?” asked Ewart, looking at Nikki in disbelief.

“Sure,” she answered with a smile.

“Well, that’s a bit of all right then.” He grasped her hand in both of his and shook it enthusiastically. “Can’t thank you enough.”

“Wait till I pull it off before you get to thanking me,” answered Nikki with a wry smile.

“No, you’ll do it right enough. I saw you go up the scaffolds and come down with a wrench. You’re the kind of person who prods buttock and takes nomenclature. You’ll come through, right enough.” Nikki smiled at the compliment, but another thought occurred to her.

“What would have happened if I hadn’t gotten the wrench? Would the stage have kept tilting?”

“Oh no, it’s got a tilt sensor. If it goes past fifteen degrees it freezes. It wouldn’t have gone up too much farther on its own.”

“Hmm. Well, thanks, Ewart. We’ll see you in Paris.”

“We don’t really think Duncan put the wrench there, do we?” asked Holly as they exited the bar. The puddles in the street were frozen, and it smelled like snow.

“We don’t think anything just yet,” answered Nikki, “except that I’m freezing. Let’s get back to the hotel.”

“I didn’t know you were the one who fixed the stage,” said Burg as they walked.

“You thought I just did a face-plant into some grease?” asked Nikki.

“I didn’t know what you did. I just thought … I didn’t think about it at the time. Anyway, for what it’s worth, thanks.” Burg offered a hand and Nikki shook it, surprised.

“It’s what I’m here for,” said Nikki with a shrug.

“Actually,” said Holly, “what are you here for? Where did you even come from?”

“I’m…” Nikki hesitated. “I’m with Carrie Mae. I’m assisting Trista.”

“Sure you are, love,” said Holly. “You’re everything I expect from a Carrie Mae lady.”

“We’re multitaskers,” said Nikki.

“Well, you are a woman,” said Holly, laughing. “And women can do anything.”

“Just about.”

“Damn female liberation,” said Burg good-naturedly. “Why couldn’t you just stick to running things from behind the scenes?”

“You looked like you were having too much fun,” answered Holly with a grin.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Burg. “If someone put that wrench on the stage on purpose then that means someone’s trying to sabotage Kit. What do we do about that?” Holly nodded and then turned to Nikki, awaiting a response.

“We’re going to stop it,” said Nikki. “But first we’re going to talk to Duncan.” She hoped that was the right answer.

Nikki could hear the thumping bass from the roadies’ party as
they walked to the hotel, but it was the distant screech of tires on pavement that drew her attention. A silver Mercedes rounded the corner behind them; Nikki recognized Astriz as the car sped past.

“Damn Germans,” muttered Burg.

The Mercedes reached the intersection, slid to a halt, and then began reversing toward them, still at full speed.

“Damn!” exclaimed Burg, scrambling onto the sidewalk with Holly right behind him, but Nikki held her ground as Astriz came to a stop inches from Nikki’s toes. The window silently descended and Astriz tossed a cigarette butt on the sidewalk.

“Not real subtle,” said Nikki, stepping on the cigarette.

“What happened to your clothes?” asked Astriz.

“There was an incident,” said Nikki.

“
Ja?
” Astriz did not appear interested as she lit up a fresh cigarette. “Who are they?” She waved her cigarette at Holly and Burg, who were huddled together.

“They’re…” Nikki hesitated.

“We are with the band,” said Holly stiffly. Nikki smiled. She was really starting to like Holly.

“Ah,” said Astriz, stepping out of the car. “It seems that happenings have occurred.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” said Nikki. “Let’s take a walk; I’ll fill you in.”

Astriz shrugged and matched Nikki’s stride as she walked away from the band members.

“What happened after I went after the person in the tracksuit?” asked Nikki.

“Things did not go well,” she said, pursing her lips in frustration. “Cano had a second backup waiting outside. Camille hit the café, and the backup pulled up in a truck and sprayed some bullets while Cano made a run for the vehicle.”

“OK, well, did you at least get Camille locked down?”

Astriz cleared her throat and squinted up at the streetlight. “She got away.”

“So what have you been doing since I left?” asked Nikki, trying not to sound annoyed.

“I managed to plant a tracking device on the truck.” Astriz paused, and Nikki’s face brightened. “But I think it got damaged in the escape.” Nikki’s face fell. “The signal is not very strong. I had to go back to headquarters to see if I could find a way to boost the signal.”

“So we’ve got the possibility of a location on Cano, Camille is in the wind, and Kit Masters is a sitting duck.”

“I don’t know what that means,” said Astriz bluntly. “Why is Kit Masters a duck?”

“It’s an expression derived from hunting, meaning that he is an easy target. As in, a sitting duck is easier to shoot than a flying duck,” said Nikki without breaking stride, and Astriz nodded thoughtfully. “I chased Tracksuit straight to the backstage area, and someone may have tried to kill Kit tonight. And the tour has been hit with several unexplained ‘accidents’ in recent weeks.”

“You think Cano is behind it?” Astriz asked.

“It’s a possibility,” said Nikki. Astriz grunted in reply. “And I think Tracksuit is here.”

“It would be consistent with what I read in the file. Cano did make threats against Camille and her family. He may have been planning a strike against Kit,” said Astriz. “It’s unfortunate that Camille’s son is such a public figure; it only makes him more attractive to a terrorist like Cano.”

“My instinct is if we stick with Kit, Cano will come to us,” said Nikki.

“Use him as bait?” asked Astriz, and Nikki shrugged. “But no,”
said Astriz. “We’ve got a shot at Cano. We should pursue him directly.”

Nikki could tell by the way Astriz set her shoulders that she was willing to fight for her point.