What She Saw - 11

CJ Taggart

The concert begins

The air was thick with the scent of booze, sweaty bodies, and rain. Taggart glared up at the three-quarter slice of the moon. It spilled what light it could through thick clouds. Thunder and lightning could give him an excuse to shut this nightmare down. But so far all he got was thick gray clouds ripe with rain.

The country music band onstage was covering Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.” The crowd jumped up and down as they pumped their fists in the air. It wasn’t the best cover he’d heard. But the energy remained positive and upbeat except for a few fights he and Paxton had broken up. The first aid trailer was already treating cases of intoxication, scrapes, and bruises. Nothing critical. So far so good.

The crowd had well exceeded five hundred. There must be two or three times that number of people here. The masses still had a positive aura, but the energy of a large crowd could change on a dime. The next band up was a hard rock group, and their music would stir the crowd.

He spotted Colton standing by the stage, smiling, and waving his arms as if he were a member of the audience. He’d finally reappeared from wherever he’d been. If he was worried about weather or overcrowding, he gave no sign of it. Several young girls approached Colton and swarmed around him. One brunette leaned in close and whispered in his ear. He laughed. Her body jiggled with excitement. Another woman in cutoffs and a cropped T-shirt danced in front of him, and he watched but wouldn’t join her. He was the king, and this was his court. He wasn’t worried about their argument over security. This festival was now underway, and if it became a runaway train, there wasn’t much Taggart could do to stop it.

He turned toward the food tent and saw Patty handing out burgers. Even after hours of setup and cooking, she had a smile on her face. When a couple of drunk guys approached her tent, her expression grew guarded. They ordered burgers, and when she was ready to serve, they began searching for money. One tried to reach for his order, but she snatched it back. That bright smile had vanished.

Taggart strolled toward the tent, coming up behind the guy as he reached over the counter for the bag. Taggart clamped his hand on the guy’s shoulder, startling and pissing him off with the one move.

The man whirled around. His fist was half-cocked when he realized he was staring at a cop. The uniform tamped down some of his anger, but the guy wasn’t going to let it go easy.

The offender was in his early twenties. He had full sweeping bangs that no self-respecting man would allow. Taggart guessed he’d wrapped up university finals or was headed into a summer session. Frat boy. Rich.

“Is there a problem?” Taggart asked.

Frat Boy shrugged. “She won’t give me my order.”

“You pay for it?”

“I did.” Frat Boy had a straight face, as if lying were an entitlement.

“Got a receipt?” Taggart asked.

“It’s a burger tent at a concert. They don’t do receipts here.”

“He didn’t pay,” Patty said.

Frat Boy didn’t bother a glance in her direction. “She’s lying. I paid her twenty bucks.”

“For a five-dollar burger?” she asked. “That was generous.”

“She owes me change,” Frat Boy challenged.

“He didn’t give me anything,” Patty said.

Taggart didn’t need convincing. “I was standing behind you when you tried to snatch the burger out of her hands. Now you can pay her five bucks or move along.”

“I paid.”

“Don’t press me,” Taggart said.

The band guitarist dived into a long riff. It was hard to hear over the noise. He hoped Frat Boy would push back. He could think of nothing better than tossing this guy to the ground and cuffing him. It would be a major pain in his ass to haul him to jail, but he’d make the sacrifice.

Frat Boy glared at him and then at Patty. The young man looked pissed, as if Taggart had crossed the line between the rich and working poor. Taggart flexed his fingers.

Fishing a crumpled five from his jeans pocket, Frat Boy tossed the bill over the counter. It sailed past Patty onto the dusty ground.

As she reached down to pick up the money, Frat Boy tried to grab his burger. Taggart stopped him. “Wait for the lady to say you can take it.”

Frat Boy fumed but waited until Patty pushed the burger toward him. He grabbed it, and as he stalked off, he tossed a glare back at her. He wouldn’t forget this townie’s slight. Taggart lingered around the hamburger tent until Frat Boy vanished into the crowd. “If he bothers you, let me know.”

“Par for the course, Sheriff,” Patty said. “He’s not the first tough customer I’ve dealt with.”

“Other than him, how’s it going?”

The growing line behind him didn’t seem to rattle or rush her. “It’s fine.” A few raindrops hit the top of the tent. She glanced up toward the sky. “Weatherman said fifty percent chance of rain.”

Droplets splashed his hat and starched shirt.

The guitar player’s fingers must have been moving at a thousand miles an hour as the singer hit a high, sharp note. The crowd cheered, and he could feel the energy ratchet up several notches.

Two more gals stepped up to Patty’s table. Both were young, dressed in those damn jean cutoffs. They swayed until they noticed him, then stiffened as if they were focusing on not looking buzzed. They each ordered burgers. Good. Food in their belly would at least soak up some of the booze.

Taggart tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table and ordered one burger. She handed it to him and reached in the cash register for change.

“Keep it,” he said.

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

“Food supplies going to hold out?” Hungry concertgoers always ginned up trouble.

“We might. I radioed Buddy and told him to bring more, but he’s so worried about overordering. I’ll sell until I’m out.”

“Call if you need backup.”

Her genuine grin softened all the night’s frustrations. “Will do.”

As he took his first bite of the burger, the raindrops plopped slow and unsteady. He moved to the edge of the crowd by the main gate and took another bite. He demolished the burger in three mouthfuls. He’d learned as a young marine to eat chow quick if it was hot.

The sky was quiet, no signs of thunder or lightning. Fat droplets hit the dry dirt.

The band didn’t break stride and rolled right into “Any Way You Want It.” The audience remained jazzed, as if they’d never heard this song before. Shouts of excitement rolled over the crowds.

He moved to his car and pulled a poncho from the trunk. He slipped it on, hoping the rain wouldn’t come.

By 11:00 p.m., the rain picked up speed. At first, the cooler air was a relief. But as the water pounded and soaked his poncho, his irritation doubled. Damp fabric chafed skin and chilled skin to the bone.

But no one here realized that yet. It was still fun and games. Cool rain. Plenty of food to be had. Booze. Maybe a dry tent or two for now.

But none of it was going to last. Cars filled the limited parking at the edges of the field, and the overflow snaked halfway down the mountain’s main and service roads. Getting out of here now was damn near impossible. These folks were trapped.