Millennium Mash: Buck Duran Mysteries, #6

MILLENNIUM MASH

A Buck Duran Mystery

Robert Bogan

December 25, 1999

Detroit

ONE

Buck Duran leaned against the wall near the door of the Green Room. He watched everything going on in the well-lighted, crowded space. All the musicians in Tom Brodie’s touring band were mixing with friends, husbands and wives, plus a few roadies. Fox Theater on historic Woodward Avenue was next-to-last stop at the end of a five-month tour.

After tonight’s sold-out Christmas show, musicians and crew will pack instruments, luggage and equipment. Overnight, roadies will load baggage onto two semi-trailers, and the road show will leave Detroit in the morning. Tom Brodie and the Frio Rollers were scheduled to finish the tour with two New Year’s events in New York City.

Clouds of smoke billowed through the Green Room despite wattage of six ceiling exhaust fans. Rush Parker walked over and stood with his back to the wall near Duran. Rush folded his arms and surveyed the crowd.

Duran, Detroit Five-O just shot us another bullet. Channel Four received a third terrorist video. Whoever the terrorists are, they make more threats to our show tonight. Folks is on edge. I heard people talk stuff in the last hour.

Duran trusted Parker as his lieutenant in maintaining security on the road. Parker’s official position was captain of the road crew, a job Duran himself worked years ago. Parker was a combat veteran of Desert Storm who had a profile like Duran’s, but he was twenty-six years younger. Duran and Tubby Schoerr hired the veteran three years earlier when Tom Brodie came out of retirement and the Frio Rollers hit the road again.

What kind of threats do they make? Duran asked.

The new tape talks about blinding and disfiguring. Bullet warns some caustic material might be used tonight in an attack, said Parker. Acid or lye, something like that.

Probably because of the security we already put in place.

Copy that. Two lines come in through metal detectors. Scan every person. That cuts guns and large knives just about to zero. No backpacks, no large purses. Small purses and fanny packs we open and inspect. Acid might be the only option.

Does the bulletin say who these terrorists are?

All we know, it’s a militia from out west. But at this point, we have no BOLO. Be on the lookout.

So, we can’t see who we got coming at us.

Check. The bad guys remain faceless.

Duran said, I’m going to ask Chief Redding what he makes of that.

Holding court in the center of the Green Room, superstar Tom Brodie himself sat in a wing-back chair, balancing a red Santa Claus hat on his gray head. The hat nearly dropped to the floor when Brodie leaned over and talked to two sidemen, Slim Clendennen the fiddle player, and mandolin artist Kyle Guidry. Both men had made music with Brodie for decades. Roadies orbited the musicians like satellites, memorizing the moment. They would have stories to tell the grandkids.

Three lady vocalists, who sang harmony and backup, stood in a loose triangle near Duran and Rush Parker. The brightest light of this trio was Charlotte Hensley who was awarded a Grammy along with Tom Brodie earlier that year for their smash collaborative album Blood in the Delta. Charlotte also won two more Grammys: for writing and singing the hit single ‘Frontera Cerrada’, and the duet she sings with Brodie, ‘Widow Sorrow.’

Maybe Charlotte was the star of the three divas (she was also the oldest by two decades) but the dominant voice at the moment belonged to Jez Sullivan, a soprano. Miss Sullivan had striking red hair and the freckled white skin that often accompanied that strain of beauty. Fiery crimson lipstick matched the shade of her go-go tank top. In contrast, the black miniskirt hid only a few inches of alabaster thigh.

Gotta look our best tonight, girls, Jez projected her voice. Stand straight and smile! Like I been saying, my boyfriend is one of the cameramen making the video of this concert. He said tonight he’s going to zoom in and feature the three of us whenever the spotlight swings our way.

I look good every night, girl, said Marjo Chapman. You know that’s right.

Charlotte Hensley looked down and smiled. Long dove-grey coils dropped over her shoulder.

All three you ladies look stone-cold killer, Parker called over. Just go out there and fly, like you always do.

Tighten your belt, darlin’ said Sullivan. We’re about to blow the jeans right off your butt.

I want to be in on that! laughed Marjo.

The two younger women had a flirtatious game going with the roadie chief. Charlotte’s smile took over her face. She looked around and joined the laughter.

Parker continued unflustered, Ticket sales here at the Fox are sold-out again tonight. That means bigger paychecks all around. But the video special they’re making out of this concert? There’s the real money-maker. I tell you, they’ll replay this video every December for years, over and over. With the contracts Mr. Schoerr negotiated for you and me, that means on-going royalty income for each and every one of us.

The door to the Green Room opened near Duran’s left shoulder. Tubby Schoerr himself leaned through the door. His Hawaiian shirt billowed around him and the disks of his spectacles flashed

Five minutes, ya’ll. Bob Tom, time to get moving.

World-famous country-music star Bob Tom Brodie took one last toke from the roach he pinched before he set it on the edge of a saucer. His tired blue eyes, ringed with wrinkles, followed the current bottle of Shiner Bock as he tilted up and drained what remained.

Duran lowered his head and his voice, Tubby, any kind of ruckus breaks out, you switch on the house lights quick. We need to see who’s out there.

As head of Tom Bodie’s security detail, Duran was ultimately responsible for the safety of every person on the tour and every member of each audience. Local police officers, on and offduty, helped the band with traffic and crowd control but it was Duran’s responsibility to schedule and coordinate with local agents. Tonight, his liaison with Detroit Police was Chief of Detectives Herman Redding. The Chief personally led a team of fifty officers to patrol this Christmas night concert. The armed force was stationed inside and outside Fox Theater as a shield against terrorists.

Duran’s security job brought new challenges every week. As Tom Brodie’s popularity climbed, so did his notoriety. Last spring the unconventional music star was awarded his fifth Grammy for the collaborative album Blood in the Delta that told stories about the Viet Nam War and the plight of homeless veterans. The album helped solidify Brodie’s status as a national icon and public treasure.

Unfortunately, the album also caused a backlash among some patriots who accused Brodie of treason. Recently a little-known terrorist group released videos of a man talking hate behind a black ski mask, under a banner that read ERG. This was not the only terrorist group to charge that Brodie had dishonored the nation, the veterans and the flag. Death threats had been made. Attacks seemed inevitable.

Widespread mania charged the atmosphere like ozone as the giant wheel of Millennium’s End rolled ever closer. Now the end was only one week away. Alarmed by words of newsmen and churchmen, some citizens had excavated bunkers where they stocked food and water and stacked weapons. Men of means hoarded gold coin. Dread over job loss and market crash spread like measles. In many, apocalyptic millennium fear clouded clear thought.

A technological glitch electrified this panic. Over the past half-century, computers had become so commonplace that digital power now coordinated most personal and social activities. In the mid-century decades, few technicians could foresee the challenges that would arise when the time came to make the transition from the year 1999 to 2000.

Many predicted this glitch would precipitate a worldwide computer meltdown. Airplanes would drop out of the sky around the globe. Bank accounts would freeze and trigger economic depression. Elevators would stop between floors and trap riders. Traffic lights would fail and jam traffic from coast to coast. Some bad actors wanted to take advantage of this impending chaos to unleash their own pathologies.

The world as we know it is coming to an end? they told each other. We must trash and smash and burn!

TWO

Outside Fox Theater, the marquee’s gaudy light display fractured the night on Woodward Avenue. Down the block on the margin of this glow, a dark crew van idled at the curb. The van’s exhaust unfurled ragged flags in lightly falling snow. Tension was so high inside the ERG van, all six militia men jumped when a cell phone rang. Reverend Hammar flipped the phone open, listened, clapped it shut.

My inside man says Brodie’s band is about to take the stage. Now is the time to strike! Remember, we paid the gate guy on the right side so that’s where our attack goes in. Keep it to the right. Metal detectors are still up, so we’re going full B-P Bravo.

Battle Plan Bravo directed a four-man squad to attack two singers as they performed on stage at Fox Theater. To protect themselves, the attackers were wearing surgical gloves and black vulcanized raincoats. For the attack itself, they would wear rubber masks. Each attacker was assigned to empty into the faces of the performers a wide-mouth liter bottle full of sulfuric acid. The ERG militia desired to create an explosive sensation that would amplify the publicity they sought, and blast headlines around the world.

The four-man hit squad carried ceramic knives in their boots so they could stab the performers as they staggered on stage, blinded by acid. The squad would then escape as a unit, using knives to slash their way out. They would drop raincoats, masks and gloves in the darkness as they escaped. Two gunmen on the outside, Hammar and his driver, would use AR-15 long rifles to protect the attackers as they sprinted through the night, away from Fox Theater.

Hammar assigned Deacon Bower to lead the attack tonight, but the other ERG soldiers recognized the only real leader among them was the youngest: Píítaa (Eagle) Kiyo, a canny spy, deadly in combat with a knife. Tonight, the Blackfoot would undertake the crucial duty of rear guard.

The signal to attack is the opening chords of ‘Widow Sorrow,’ Hammar told them again. The entire nation is sick unto death over that tear-jerk song, okay? Radio plays living hell out of ‘Widow Sorrow’ these days. When the band strikes those opening chords, the cameraman Dick Strange will cut over and zoom in on your action. You hear those opening chords, get going! Make it look good.

Hammar had corrupted one of the three cameramen hired to record the Fox concert tonight. The Reverend bribed Richard Strange of Colorado Springs to zoom-in his camera and follow the ERG squad’s attack. Record it for posterity. The Reverend wanted the world to see, at long last, the true wrath of his god. He and his militia passionately believed the new Millennium would deliver world-wide chaos. Hammar himself wished to trigger the inexorable avalanche into apocalypse. Richard Strange’s video would help spark that explosion.

Secretly, the Reverend also wanted to take a shot at the cameraman’s girlfriend with the red hair and long white legs.

Hammar looked around at his soldiers.

Everybody got your juice?

Three acid-throwers answered affirmatively.

Got it right here, Reverend, said Loader Dzul. He patted the pockets of his coveralls. Even got me extra acid.

That’s good. Okay Low-Dose, go ahead and pull up to the front. We want to let these four out, square in front of the doors. Then you and me, we drive around and wait in that lot across the street until we see our boys come running out.

The driver pulled forward fifty yards and parked at the curb again opposite the theater’s entry doors under the bright marquee.

Reverend Hammar turned around as far as the bucket seat allowed.

Remember, the lord has instructed us to strike now, at the crash of the old Millennium. Strike at this very hour, to propel our message around the world and throughout history. Tonight, we kill two sacks of scum that are enemies of the United States and all Viet Nam veterans. All veterans, period. These two are enemies of America and enemies of god. Our parents in their day failed to put an end to this anti-war, anti-flag, anti-America crazy shit. And look what’s come of all that today. No one else is doing nothing about it. So, now it’s just up to us. Tonight, us six going to start putting things right again. Detroit’s going to blow up like a tank of hot gasoline, that I can tell you. The new beginning starts right here, right now, this very night!

Amen, Reverend. Let’s roll! said Loader pulling open the van’s side door.

Before we launch, Deacon Bower, would you please lead us in prayer? Everybody, bow your head and ask for the lord’s blessing.

THREE

Rush Parker walked to the wing-back chair in the center of the Green Room and pulled Tom Brodie to his feet. Chapulina, Bodie’s third wife, was never far away. Now she reached up and re-centered the Santa hat on Brodie’s thinning gray hair. She took the outlaw’s hand, giving him support as she guided him out of the Green Room and down the hectic corridor to the Fox stage.

Parker walked behind them carrying Brodie’s guitar case. The three came