Chapter 35: Concerts, Bombs, and Heroes

The concert Crystal Lee and I were to give started at eight o’clock. Actually, that was the time our cover band, The Hobo Palace, started to play with their cute and sexy little singer Cindy Wonder. Every time I thought of Cindy, I recalled several pleasant sexual interludes we’d shared, sometimes with others. Cindy was a pint-sized blonde sexpot nymphomaniac, not unlike the rest of the people I hung out with.

Earlier in the afternoon, Crystal and I walked the Aviva Stadium just outside Dublin, getting a feel for the seats and how various attendees would be able to view the stage. Billy our band leader came with us. We also had a long coordination talk with the audiovisual people supporting the concert with our laser light show and special effects.

I still got nervous before performing, so I took a walk around the stage, even taking a look under the elevated stage and checking the aisles Crystal and I would run down to get to the stage. I walked the various corridors of the stadium too, at least those near the stage and the green room. I marveled at how clean, and neat everything was; I learned the stadium had opened in 2010 but even so I could tell the people of the city took care of their jewel.

I noted as I walked the careful attention to security. At the entrance gates, there were metal screening machines, and more subtly to the sides modern equipment to sniff out explosives. A large contingent of police and special security guards were starting to take up their positions around the arena as well. Later, I’d realize what a false sense of security these machines offered.

Guinness breweries hosted a buffet dinner for the singers, both bands, and the rest of our entourage. I must confess that the burnt flavor of the revered brew did not suit my American taste buds. I explained I needed a clear head for the concert, and stuck with Diet Coke. Crystal and Cindy followed my lead as well. Cindy was so cute the way her nose crinkled up at her first taste of the brew.

Just as we finished dinner about six-thirty, the doors opened up and the fans that had been waiting poured into the arena. Terry told us there was a sellout crowd of 51,000. The program would have five parts: starting at eight, The Hobo Palace would play for twenty minutes or so; there’d be an ‘in-the-dark’ two-minute drill by the roadies to change out band instruments as some random country chords played through the audio system of the stadium; at the end of two minutes, our band would segue in with the opening bars of Texas Dawn, the first song that Crystal and I had done together – now a song that had sold over sixty million copies worldwide. There’d be a buildup of the music, from simple chords on various instruments, to the entire band playing the song’s intro, and then Crystal and I would come racing down different aisles, climb opposite stairways, and move together at stage center, just as we needed to start singing. We’d do forty-five minutes; there’d be a fifteen-minute intermission, and then we’d do another forty-five plus an eight-minute encore.

I kept walking around in the lower corridors of the stadium, rehearsing some of the lyrics and holding a vision in my head about what the concert would be like – song by song. Crystal found me about seven-thirty; “Want a blow job, Lover? You seem unusually tense tonight. Anything wrong?”

“No, it’s just my being my usual nervous before a gig. You’re used to doing this. Remember up until a couple of years ago, most of my time was spent alone behind a computer and a keyboard; there weren’t 51,000 people I had to please either; only my boss and a dozen or so others that were our clients whom I rarely saw. Oh, and thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll save myself for the party later.” I ran a finger down her cheek, and she turned and sucked the digit into her mouth in a lewd gesture. After that we kissed.

About fifteen minutes before eight, I heard some canned music come on the PA system. The idea was to get people in the mood. Despite the sound of the music that filled the place, I found a relatively quiet corner. I sat on a bench and meditated, focusing on a small niche in the wall as I let my mind become calm and rise to a higher level of consciousness. I was aware but turned off. Somewhere in the ten-minute period, I felt a surge of chi – spiritual energy, and a sweep of love for all mankind. A great sense of well-being also swept into me. When I rose, I felt renewed, as though I’d slept for eight hours and finished an energizing run. I made a mental note to come back to this state during intermission; I was ready for anything at that moment.

I stood with Crystal, and we watched The Hobo Palace open and excite the audience. Cindy sounded much like Stevie Nicks, but with a tight trim little body that probably made every male tongue in the place water, and probably many female tongues as well. They belted out five songs, about three or four minutes each. Cindy thanked the audience for their support to a large round of applause, and then the stadium went dark – well, almost dark.

About twenty-five roadies were split almost evenly between getting rid of The Hobo Palace’s band equipment, and getting the Jim & Crystal band set up. The ‘idle’ music had started, slowly building to the point where our band would take over just after a loud PA announcement about our part of the concert. I moved over to the other doorway I was to burst through. An usher with a walkie-talkie stood beside me to be sure we exited at just the right moment. We’d done this entrance before with great success.

After a squawk on his radio, the usher turned to me and said, “GO!”

I burst through the curtains in front of the door and looked across to see Crystal coming out her door. Two spotlights picked us up instantly and followed us as we ran the short distance to the stage, touching hands of fans in the VIP section along the way. Cameras flashed. The crowd roared in welcome. The music volume went way up, especially as we climbed to the stage level.

Our timing was spot on. We came together, picked up our wireless mics from a stand, and started singing the first verse of Texas Dawn precisely on the mark. We gave each other a big smile as we got into the song. Around us some large screen LED displays showed close-ups of Crystal and me, the band members, our backup singers, and various other scenes of excited fans, and other visual eye candy such as tumbleweeds rolling through a western ghost town.

We did eight songs, but each of the eight ran an average of five minutes, plus one of them was a longer medley. Every song got a standing ovation and huge cheers. Intermission time came, we segued from out last song into some pre-recorded music, and Crystal and I left the stage.

Back under the stadium, as Crystal and I walked down one of the corridors, she said, “I need some water. My voice was getting gravelly towards the end of that set.”

“Take a bottle back out with you for the next set. No one will care if you use it.”

“I think I will.”

We went into the green room, and both got some water. I hit the men’s room. When I came out, Crystal was pacing. I told her, “Try meditating. I’m going to take five to center myself a little – to pick up some more Chi. Get mindful. I’ll be right around the corner.” I gestured to one wall.

We both meditated and knew the language. She nodded and went to a corner of the room and sat quietly.

I left the room to find the bench and niche in the wall I’d used before the concert started. I found the corner; the place was still quiet, although overhead I could hear the thunderous noise of the crowd in the first tier of the stadium stands.

I closed my eyes briefly; told my inner clock I wanted three-hundred seconds of peace and Chi. When my eyes opened, I’d locked onto that little niche in the wall, no bigger than the tip of my finger. It was just something to focus on and otherwise held no existential meaning.

Exactly five minutes later, I arose, felt renewed, and started to head back to the green room. Somehow, I’d managed to ignore the five thousand or so fans directly overhead despite all the noise they made.

As I turned the corridor from my meditation spot, I saw a large backpack leaning against the wall of the green room and directly under one of the main supporting columns for the first and upper tiers of the arena.

It hadn’t been there before, even when we arrived from our first set.

It looked out of place.

My intuition kicked in. My Chi.

I went over to it and carefully opened the top of the bag and peered in. I remember thinking it odd that no one else was around.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

The backpack was a bomb. A GREAT BIG FUCKING BOMB! One part of my mind screamed, and the other remained calm and started to list the steps I needed to take to assure people’s safety.

I backed away from the bag and ran into the green room. Crystal, Terry, and a few others were standing around waiting for the cue to go back out.

I yelled, “GET OUT OF HERE NOW; THERE’S A BOMB ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT WALL.” I pointed to the one wall. “Get security or the police down here. But get away from here. See whether you can clear the stands above us. Get people diverted away from here. FAST!”

We all burst out of the room in different directions.

I went back to the bomb. I had to see if I could defuse it. I had training years ago in Army Special Forces in explosives, although most of the stuff I did involved blowing things up instead of stopping explosions.

I knelt down beside the bag, and carefully examined the bag for trip wires or booby traps. I didn’t see any, but my intuition told me there had to be at least one. I carefully unzipped the side of the bag, searching every fraction of an inch for some triggering device. I did love my life, and didn’t want to end up in little pieces all over the stadium grounds.

As I bared the guts of the bomb by folding down the zippered flap of the backpack, I could see the bomb was made up of twenty or thirty pounds of PE4, a plastic explosive similar to C4 but with slightly more deadly effects. As I recalled the exit velocity of the explosive particles topped 30,000 feet per second; C4 was about two-thirds of that. Either way, if the bomb you were disarming exploded you were dead – D. E. A. D. and splattered all over creation; there would be no bone or soft tissue fragment larger than a pea.