Wes handed over the guitar and, looking at his phone, headed toward the door.
"Young man."
"Thanks."
"Say hi to Kayleigh for us."
They left the green room and walked into the theater itself, which was filling up. There were about eight hundred people here, Dance estimated.
Years ago, she had dreamed of being a musician, appearing in halls like this. She tried and tried, but however hard she worked, there came the point when her skill just didn't make the final bump into the professional world. She left that life behind. There came advanced degrees, a stint as a jury consultant, offering her kinesic skills commercially, then law enforcement. A wonderful job, a challenging job... And yet, what she wouldn't have given to have had the talent to make places like this her home.
But then that nostalgia faded as the cop within her resurfaced. Dance was, of course, aware that she was in a crowded venue that would be a perfect target for their unsub at-large. He was surely a hundred miles away by now. But just because Otto Grant had said he'd gotten sufficient revenge didn't mean he hadn't had his man set up a whopper of a finale. On the way back from Grant's shack, she'd arranged for a full sweep of the concert hall and for police to be stationed at each exit door.
Even now she remained vigilant. She noted the location of the exits and fire hoses and extinguishers. She noted no potential sniper nests. And checked that the red lights on the security cameras glowed healthily and, because these models didn't sport lights, unlike the one in the hospital elevator, she checked for emergency lighting; there were a dozen halogens that would turn the place to bright noon in the event of trouble.
Finally, confident of their security, Kathryn Dance sat back, crossed her legs and enjoyed the exhilaration that always accompanies dimming lights in a concert hall.
Chapter 80
Antioch March was enjoying another pineapple juice and studying the TV screen in the Cedar Hi
lls Inn.
The hotel was so posh that it featured a very special television--one with 4K resolution. This was known as ultra-high-definition video. The clarity was nearly double the current standard: 1920 wide by 1080 high.
It was ethereal, the depth of the imagery.
He was presently watching an underwater video, shot in 4K, flowing from his computer, via HDMI cable, onto the fifty-four-inch screen.
Astonishing. The kelp was real. The sunfish. The eels. The coral. All real. The sharks especially, with their supple gray skin, their singular eyes, their choreography of motion like elegant fencers.
So beautiful. So rich. You were there, you were part of the ocean. Part of the chain of nature.
There was not, as yet, much content in 4K--you needed special cameras to shoot it--but it was coming. If only the family on the rocks at Asilomar had lingered but a minute longer he might have given the Get their ultra-high-definition deaths; his Samsung Galaxy featured such a camera.
Somebody's not happy...
The landline phone rang and he snagged it, eyes still on the waving kelp, so real it might have been floating in the room around him.
The receptionist announced that a Larry Johnson had arrived.
"Thank you. Send him over." Wondering why that pseudonym.
A few minutes later Christopher Jenkins was at the door.
March let his boss into the entryway. A handshake and then into the luxurious suite. Once the door was closed, a hug too.
Mildly reciprocated.
Jenkins, who, yes, resembled March somewhat, was in his fifties, broad-shouldered, compact--a good six inches shorter than his employee--and tanned. His hair was blond, close cropped and flat against his skull. A military bearing because he had been military. He glanced up at March's shaved head.
"Hmm."
"Had to."
"Looks good."
Jenkins didn't really think so, March could see, but he'd never say a word against his favorite employee's appearance. To March, Jenkins seemed no older than when the two men had met three years ago. He was a bit heavier, more solid. Jenkins had his own Get, but it wasn't March's. Amassing money was what numbed Jenkins's demon. Whether buying a Ferrari for himself or taking a boy out for a thousand-dollar dinner or finding a Cartier bauble...that was what kept Jenkins's Get at bay.