What She Saw - 13

CJ Taggart

5 Hours Into

It was pissing down rain. What had started as a cooling mist had turned into a downpour that would not let up. The bands were under cover. And without any cracks of lightning, they couldn’t stop without forfeiting their pay.

The crowd was growing larger. The air was cooling, and he half hoped that it would turn frigid and chase everyone off the site. The fewer bodies here, the better.

To his right, a young guy cocked back his fist and drove it toward a second guy’s head. The blow clipped the second guy’s cheek. Pain registered on his face and, seconds later, rage. The second man barreled into his attacker. The two fell through the thick rush of bodies and slammed into the mud. The crowd parted, ringing the two men as they threw fists at each other.

Taggart pushed through the crowd and pulled the top guy back as he cocked his fist, ready to strike again. Taggart wrenched his arm behind his back and reached for the cuffs on his belt. As he secured the cuffs around the guy’s wrists, he looked toward the second guy covered in mud and blood. He reached for his walkie and called Paxton. “Yeah, get to the northwest quadrant. Got a man down.”

“Roger.”

A girl moved close to Taggart. She was in her late teens, had long black hair, wore faded jean shorts and a halter top that the rain had plastered to erect nipples. He could swear she’d been onstage about a half hour ago.

“What’s the deal?” As the girl spoke, the thick scent of pot and beer wafted off her.

“Back off,” Taggart ordered.

“Why? I’m asking a question. Can’t I ask questions?”

“I’ll have you transported to the station, and you can ask all the questions you want from inside a jail cell.”

She held up her hands, revealing the impression of a henna tattoo on the underside of her right wrist. “You don’t have to get all ugly with me.”

Rain dripped from his cap as the crowd pressed in closer. An uneasy anger rolled through the crush of people. It would take little to set them off.

“Let me go, man,” his detainee shouted to the crowd.

“Be quiet.” To make his point, Taggart tightened the cuffs.

The crowd around him began to chant: “No. No. No.”

“They’re going to eat you alive,” his prisoner said, grinning.

“Maybe,” Taggart said. The chants grew louder. “But they’ll get a chunk out of your hide, too.”

“I’m not the cops.”

“When a crowd turns and grows wild, they don’t care who they hurt or what they destroy,” Taggart growled. “You’re going to be my shield.”

“Fuck you, man.”

Paxton pushed through the crowd toward Taggart. The deputy surmised the situation, lifted the injured man out of the mud, steadied him, and pushed him forward out of the crowd. Someone threw a plastic water bottle. It struck Taggart on the shoulder.

Taggart shoved his man forward, his hand slipping to the grip of his gun. When they reached the edge of the crowd, he glanced back, ready to draw on anyone who challenged him. The girl with the long dark hair stared at them. He couldn’t tell if she was high or curious.

Taggart deposited the injured man in the first aid trailer and then loaded his cuffed detainee in a paddy wagon on-site. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to wait, but he’d have water and fresh air. In the morning, Taggart would take him to jail.

Paxton glanced at the woman before joining Taggart at the tent.

“Do you know the one with the dark hair?” Taggart watched the girl melt into the crowd.

“I met her earlier. Name is Tristan. She was handing out wristbands. She’s a dancer.”

“Right.” Taggart shifted his attention to Paxton. “Have you seen Colton?”

“He’s not up by the stage?”

“Not for the last few hours. Guy keeps vanishing.”

“Check by the trailers near the woods. I saw him headed that way earlier in the evening.”

Rain thrummed on his jacket, dripping down his arms and legs. “Any sign of the security team?”

“Nope.”

“I’m headed to the trailers.” As he moved around the edge of the crowd, he glanced toward the hamburger tent. Patty was handing out burgers and collecting money. She was smiling but looked exhausted. The world was full of hardworking Pattys. These women sacrificed their youth and beauty in the hopes they’d crawl out of poverty. A few made it out of the hole, but most would spend their lives chasing enough money to make rent.

The collection of six festival trailers was located at the edge of the venue. This area should have been off-limits, but the crowds had spilled beyond the rope marking the area for staff. He passed the two tractor trailers that had brought in the large equipment. Under both were couples huddled together, wrapped in soaked blankets, and sleeping bags. The ground was muddy, but the trailers stopped the bulk of the direct rainfall.

The next three trucks were smaller. They had transported in A/V equipment for the different bands. He checked each cab to ensure the front and back doors were secure. They were. The final vehicle was an RV that Colton used as his office.

The interior of the trailer was dark, and there were no signs of movement. He pounded on the door with his fist. There was no answer, but when he tried the door handle, he discovered it was unlocked. He twisted and opened the door.

“Sheriff CJ Taggart. Is anyone here?”

There was no answer. He stepped inside and stopped to swipe his muddy boots on a mat already covered with dirt. Water dripped from his hat and rain jacket to the floor. “Colton. It’s Sheriff Taggart.”

Silence echoed from the cabin. The light switch didn’t work. He unhooked his flashlight from under his rain jacket and shined it around the cabin onto a small sofa and a simple white bra and panties on the floor. A coffee table sported a glass ashtray, which held a discarded cigarette still smelling of smoke.

Outside the music kicked up into the band’s final, violent notes. The crowd roared and cheered like a bellowing giant.

Five more bands were set to take the stage before sunrise. But the seven hours remaining felt like a lifetime.

As he turned, he spotted Colton moving toward the trailer. He was rain soaked. Head bowed, he was at the trailer when he looked up and saw Taggart.

“Sheriff, is there a problem?”

Taggart blocked the man’s entrance into his own place. “Where’s my extra security?” he demanded.

“They just arrived,” Colton said. “I’ve been on the walkie for the last hour, trying to find more guards here. There was a paperwork mix-up.”

“Your crowd could go feral any minute. Two men cannot keep them under control if it goes sideways.”

“I know. And I appreciate how hard you and your deputy are working. I’m going to see you both get a bonus.”

“I don’t want a bonus. I want to keep this event from going sideways.”

“I’ve done concerts before. It always gets a little dicey about this time.” He motioned for Taggart to step aside. “Mind if I go in my trailer? I need a change of clothes before I head back out there.”

Taggart shifted to the right but didn’t leave the trailer. “Sure. Make yourself at home.”

Colton grinned. “That’s nice of you.”

He watched Colton walk by the discarded underwear as if it were par for the course. Colton didn’t bother to close the folding door as he stripped off a wet sweater. He tossed it into the small bathroom. The garment hit the floor with a loud plop . Next came the jeans, and soon he was standing naked, rummaging through a pile of clothes on an unmade bed.

Colton yanked on a new sweatshirt and jeans. Shoving hands through his dark, wet hair, he grinned. “That helps a lot. You and your deputy are welcome to stop here if you need to change or need a quiet moment.”

“I’ll worry about both after the concert.” He nodded toward the bra, which had a small pink flower on the right cup. The garment reminded him of something a young girl would wear. “Where’s your guest?”

Colton glanced at the undergarments. “Back to the concert, I guess. She was sleeping when I left.”

“Didn’t take her clothes?”

“She was soaked to the bone. I told her to take one of my shirts. She’s out there somewhere now, I guess. Or she left. She didn’t like the rain.”

“What’s her name?”

“I didn’t catch it.”

“How old was she?”

“I didn’t check her ID.” He brushed past Taggart. “Look, Sheriff, these events can get raw once the sun goes down. Girls are here for two reasons. They want to get on the stage, hoping for a break. We’re a small festival, so they assume they’ll get noticed easier. And then the others are looking to party hard and explore their darker sides. On nights like this, good and bad girls are all the same. And if I can have some fun along the way, then no harm and no foul.”

Taggart didn’t believe Colton, but there was no way of proving he was lying. This guy was not what he presented to be. And if he had any kind of complaints or evidence against him, Taggart would haul his ass into jail now. But he had nothing other than a damp set of women’s underwear.

Taggart turned and reached for the door handle.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Colton asked.

“Not my job to like or not like. I keep the peace.”

But Colton had hit the nail on the head. Taggart didn’t like Colton. He created perfect storms like tonight so he could watch them spin out of control and soak up the chaos.

“I like you. I appreciate how you care about those drunken slobs out there.”

“That’s what you think of them?”

A brow arched. “Am I wrong?”

Taggart stared at him a long moment. “Radio me if there’s any trouble.”

“Will do.”

Out in the rain, Taggart braced against the cold and the wet. The previous band had finished its set and the next was setting up equipment. These lulls were good for about thirty minutes. The latrines and food tents would be swamped. And anyone who’d brought a tent or had a car parked nearby would have retreated to dry off.

A feeling of helplessness washed over him as he stared at the crowd. The odds had been stacked against him in the past. And when disaster unfolded, he cleaned up the mess later. It was like that now.

Head bowed, rain pelting his hat, he moved toward the crowd. A group of three men dressed in security guard uniforms moved toward him. He hoped this was not the team Colton had mentioned.

He greeted the first man to reach him with an outstretched hand. “Glad to have the assist.”

“Sorry we’re late,” he said. “The dispatcher sent us to the wrong location. I’m Kevin Pascal and this is Ben and Roger. We’ve got more men coming, but it’ll be another hour.”

Taggart swallowed a curse. “Get into the crowd and do your best to keep the peace. A lot of drunks and drug use. Don’t focus on detaining anyone unless it’s dire.” The complaints would start rolling in tomorrow. He could already imagine calls for robbery and sexual assault.

“We’re armed with Tasers and nightsticks,” Kevin said.

“That works best in conditions like this. We have a security wagon by the main entrance. There are extra zip ties if you need them.”

“We have a few dozen each. But we’ll get more if necessary.”

The new band onstage struck up a chord, and the lead singer sauntered up to the microphone and shouted, “Hello, Dawson, you dirty motherfuckers!”

The crowd roared to life, fists pumping in the air as bodies jumped up and down. More guitar chords blared out from the stage.

Four songs in, a young female singer drifted to the edges of the stage. When the lead singer beckoned her forward, she strode toward him. She was tall and lean, with blond hair that skimmed her waist. She wore a halter top and jeans that rode low on her gently rounded hips. She crossed the stage, her blue guitar slung over her body, and stepped up to the microphone. The girl from the hamburger tent. Laurie.

As the lead singer began a cover of Tina Turner’s “Better Be Good to Me,” Laurie moved toward him, smiling as she strummed her guitar. She looked a little nervous as she belted out a few solid notes. The crowd cheered. And by the second refrain, she was smiling. When the song ended, the singer shouted, “Give it up for the superhot Laurie!”

Laurie waved. She grinned from ear to ear as she left the stage. Her moment in the spotlight had ended as fast as it started.