July 1, 2016, MANHATTAN BEACH MARRIOTT, Room 431
Special Agent-in-Charge, Roy Starky reviewed the profile of suspect
Jacob Sage with Special Agent Francis Darling.
“You know why you were selected?” Starky didn’t look up.
“Because I was lead singer in my high school band, Sir,” Darling
replied.
“Correct. What we want from you is swagger. You’re a barfly.
You sing karaoke with attitude, but you sing badly.” Starky looked up and
smiled.
“How bad, Sir,” She was amused.
“Fingernails on chalk board bad. You will butcher every
note. Special Agents Scott White and Daniel Dorsey have established cover as
lounge lizards. You will be fawned over. You will mooch off everyone. Sage
hates karaoke. He complains because his band has to endure it while they set up
their equipment at the Starboard. Sage hates barflies. He especially hates people
who can’t sing but think they can. Special Agent Thomas Dufay has been living
undercover in the same El Segundo flop house as Sage for six months and the
only thing he learned was by accident last night when Sage got his hand sliced
open by a junkie who tried to steal Sage’s Gibson Les Paul. Dufay drove Sage’s
van to the emergency room. Sage didn’t say a word. No ‘thank you’. Sage takes
off without giving Dufay a ride home. What’s your take, Agent Darling?”
“My impression, Sir, is maybe Sage didn’t say much because
he has nothing to say. He’s a loser. His roommate may have hacked into the CDC
during their dorm days but Gabriel Tyler’s skills did not rub off on Sage. With
all due respect, Sir, if Jacob Sage had been paired with a different roommate,
I don’t believe he’d be on the watch list today. He flunks out of Harvard. He
alienates his rich parents. He can’t maintain a relationship. His band has
different members every week. I’m amazed he can complete the task of performing
an entire song. He’s a drug addict, just end-stage-Elvis-damaged-goods, Sir,”
Darling gave her opinion.
“Well then, it might surprise you that he drove to his gig right
after they sewed up his hand last night and played a hell of a set. What might
surprise you even is more what Agent Dufay did find,” Starky pushed away his lunch,
took a swig of cold coffee and grimaced. “We got a blood sample. I wish my
blood was so pristine,” Starky shook his head, “All the footage of Sage
shooting up under the pier, all the meetings with his dealer, all the squalor….
staged. Find out what he’s up to,” Starky tossed the coffee in the trash.
“Yes, Sir,” Darling ate the pickle from Starky’s plate.
“I was going to eat that,” Starky grumbled.
July 2, 2016, STARBOARD ATTITUDE, REDONDO BEACH PIER
Agent Darling roller skated around the pier at King Harbor
all afternoon. She climbed the stairs to the Starboard Attitude Cocktail Bar
when her partners signaled that Sage’s van had pulled into the pier parking
lot. As Sage and his band were setting up their equipment, Darling rendered the
worst ever rendition of Patsy Cline’s “WALKIN’ AFTER MIDNIGHT”. Agents White and Dorsey clapped and whistled.
Darling beamed with pride. Dorsey demanded an encore. Not to be outdone, White
gave Darling a standing ovation.
Sage was not afraid to deliver a mean comment to anyone who
earned it but bit his tongue when he got a good look at Darling. He trusted his
instinct to keep his disgust to himself.
Dorsey bought Darling drinks and left with her just before
Sage’s gig was up. Sage didn’t bat an eye.
July 2, 2016 CROWN PLAZA HOTEL, REDONDO BEACH
Darling waited in Dorsey’s hotel room until Agent Scotty
White finally ambled in.
“It’s about time,” Dorsey blurted.
“You two are a sight. Why so glum?”
“When you sober up you might realize we didn’t exactly make
an impression tonight,” Darling sighed.
“I wouldn’t say that. After you left Sage said some pretty
nasty things about ‘Patsy Cline’” White smiled.
“Really….” Darling leaned in. “Tell me every word he said.”
July 3, 2016 STARBOARD ATTITUDE, REDONDO BEACH PIER
Darling sat on Scotty White’s lap while she sang Patsy
Cline’s “CRAZY” as off key as possible. Once again Jacob Sage ignored her.
Darling’s rear was jutting out of her daisy dukes. She
leaned on the bar, shifting her weight from one foot to the other so that her
see-sawing butt cheeks hypnotized every man in the bar except Sage.
“This is the martini James Bond really drinks,” Darling rudely
shouted over Sage’s rendition of Stevie Ray Vaughan’s “TIGHTROPE”. Darling
dragged White to the dance floor and upstaged Sage so seductively that Agent
White blushed in spite of himself.
Sage made his Gibson squeal like a pig and transitioned from
“TIGHTROPE” to a jacked up rendition of the opening riffs of “IMMIGRANT SONG”. He
nearly ripped the strings off his guitar. His normally deep, buttery voice gave
way to an earsplitting falsetto as he called out at the top of his lungs:
“Ahhhhhh a Ahhhhhh Ah!”
“Mother of God!” a startled drunk fell off his stool.
Sage looked at his frozen band as if they were stupid.
“What the fuck?” the new drummer was pissed.
“Roll with it. It usually works out,” the base player kicked
the drummer’s foot.
Sage just kept ripping the opening riff from of his Les Paul
until his band caught up with him. When everyone was on the same page, Sage
tore into the body of “IMMIGRANT SONG” like a jackhammer. Sage’s guitar was so
terrifying that everyone stopped dancing. Sage jumped off the stage and spun in
circles on the empty dance floor, screaming in the incredible high octave. His
guitar made sounds no one had heard before. He used his teeth as a slide. He
blew on the strings so that his breath caused magical sounds. His grip on the
neck tightened and the stitches on the palm of his hand burst open. Blood
gushed down his arm.
Sage stomped out of the bar. He abandoned his band and drove
off without them.
Agent Darling heard Sage mumbling under his breath, back in
his sweet and low buttery voice, “Dance to that, bitch!”
The bartender mopped the blood off the dance floor before
anyone could slip and break their neck.
July 4, 2016 STARBOARD ATTITUDE, REDONDO BEACH PIER
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re early tonight so you can enjoy
the fireworks,” Sage purred in his deepest sexy voice as if nothing insane
happened the night before.
Agents White and Dorsey were called away suddenly. Darling
was on her own. She sipped her trademark James Bondish martini that the
waitress gave her before she could even order it. The waitress nodded towards
the band. Sage bought her a drink. Sage never bought anyone anything. Darling
was excited. She wished White and Dorsey could see this.
Sage’s band kept repeating the opening rifts of “ZOMBIE” by
the Cranberries for a long while to create more tension in the crowd.
“Alas, no karaoke tonight,” Sage grinned. “Ya’ll know what
karaoke means to me. But hey, I’m not mean. I won’t deprive you of your
darling. Darling, don’t disappoint your fans. Come up here and help me sing
this song,” Sage stared over the crowd into Darling’s bewildered face.
Darling fought to stay in character. Did Sage call her
“darling” or did he say her name, Darling? The crowd squished together to clear
a narrow path for Darling. Mercifully the loop ended. The song began.
Sage was under Darling’s skin. It wasn’t supposed to go down
this way, but Sage was in control, completely. Without warning he handed
Darling the mic. She picked up the next line. It did not come out bad. It felt
good. It felt like when she was young and the world was hers. She belted out “ZOMBIE”
with the force of a volcanic eruption. Sage chuckled and nodded to the band. “Let’s
see what she does to Adele.”
Sage yanked a chair from a customer and put it on stage
because Agent Darling was soon going to fall on her ass from what Sage put in
her drink. He didn’t hate her enough to let her suffer that indignity.
Darling’s rendition of “ROLLING IN THE DEEP” had the crowd
bouncing in place like a single organism. The new drummer stopped bitching let
all hell break loose. The old timber of the STARBOARD ATTITUDE creaked. Drinks
bounced off the bar like lemmings leaping into the sea. Young girls wept.
Outside the crowd completely blocked all passage surrounding the bar.
Sage glanced up at the police station across the way and saw
White and Dorsey waving their arms in the air, shouting. They were trying to
fathom what happened to the East Coast and the Midwest. All the information was
coming from drones and automated feeds. There was not one person left who could
answer any of the questions White and Dorsey were frantically screaming. White
and Dorsey suddenly froze. Sage knew they must be watching the Times Square
loop of Sage performing “PURPLE RAIN”. Yep, they saw it. They both looked up
and glared at him with hatred in their eyes. They would never make it through
the crowd in time.
“Ok, Darling, let’s try some hellacious harmony, ‘DON’T CALL
ME UP’, Mick Jagger”, Sage purred.
Sage pulled Darling to her feet and kicked the chair into
the crowd. Sage and Darling sang “DON’T CALL ME UP” as if they had practiced it
together a million times. The crying girls began blubbering when Sage and
Darling crushed the lines, “I will hold my head high and just gaze at the sky.
I was under your spell! Ya took me to hell!”
“We’ll be back after a short break,” Sage dragged Darling to
the bar’s tiny restroom. The band played an extended all instrumental version
of “PURPLE RAIN”. Sage and Darling made mad love in the cramped restroom.
Afterwards their lips softly brushed for a moment. Darling couldn’t help
herself. She pressed in for a deep kiss. Sage stabbed her in the neck.
He plopped her outside on the narrow balcony.
“White! Dorsey!” Darling cried out, panting into her no
longer hidden microphone.
“Two thirds of the country is down.” Were the crackling last
words she heard from Dorsey.
“I made you when you showed up with that ridiculous sunburn
trying to pass yourself off as a wharf rat. You people put the wrong guy in
prison. Gabriel Tyler took the fall for me in exchange for immunity. I just
gave you immunity.” He pulled the syringe out of her neck and flicked it into
the ocean.
“Thar she blows!” Sage pointed to the purple fireworks in the
sky. The crowd suddenly started milling about aimlessly. “I call it “PURPLE
RAIN” but marketed it as “PURPLE MOUNTAIN MAJESTIES” to be patriotic. I
undersold competitors and gave away the firecracker and sparkler forms in every
neighborhood across the country. The coastal eddy and fog make a nice extended
delivery.”
“What did you do?” Darling cried.
“It’s a weaponized version of the Zika virus. It doesn’t
kill. It doesn’t pass on to the next generation. It only affects those exposed
and reduces them permanently to a two year old mentality.”
The next firework launched directly through the crowd and
into the parking structure where it caused cars to explode.
“Ok, it doesn’t directly
kill but if you are driving a car when you inhale it, it’s probably not going
to end well for you,” Sage corrected himself.
“I’ll be back, Darling,” Sage went back into the STARBOARD.
Everyone had wandered off to find their ma-ma. The new drummer was sitting on the
floor playing with a tub of maraschino cherries. Sage took up his Les Paul and
played “PURPLE RAIN” while civilization fell all around him.
~ the
end ~
