The Serpent's Kiss

93

Bruce Lippman brought Derek Stillwater out of a hallway into an open area behind the stage. It was a mass of electrical connections, wires and cords strewn across the floor like a snake pit. Three men were going over a checklist. They looked up when Lippman and Derek entered.

Lippman said, “Steve, this is—”

”Show me the fog machines,” Derek demanded.

Steve, a wiry guy with shaggy brown hair mixed with gray, eyed Lippman, who nodded.

“One’s over there.” He pointed to a barrel. “The other one’s over here.”

Derek hobbled over and studied it. “Anybody opened it lately?”

“It’s loaded with dry ice, ready to go when we get the signal.”

“Who’s setting off the smoke machines?”

Steve frowned. “What’s this all about?”

“Who, dammit?”

“Go ahead, Steve,” Lippman assured the man. “We don’t have time to explain.”

“I’ve got the remote. I’ll set them off at the right time. I’ll be in the lighting booth. What’s going on?”

“Let me see the remote control,” Derek asked.

Steve unclipped what looked like a garage door opener remote control from his belt. “It’s got a decent range.”

“And Kevin Matsumoto set these up for you?”

Steve’s face twisted. “That jerk. Quit without giving notice, just got up and walked out. Left me short-handed.”

“Did he set them up?” Derek repeated. His hands were shaking and it was all he could do to keep from grabbing this guy and shaking the information out of him.

Steve shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Changed the frequencies so they all run off a single remote.”

“Have you tested it today?”

“What? No. Why? They’re all set to go.”

Derek pried open the device, removed the batteries and pocketed the remote control.

“Hey!” Steve reached for it, but Derek brushed his hand aside.

“What’s the range on this thing?” Derek said. “Can you set it off from outside?”

“No. We tried once, just for fun. Too much interference. Anywhere inside the arena. Anywhere inside the arena, but it’s not reliable out in the halls. Line of sight works better. What’s going on?”

Derek turned back to the barrel. “When did the dry ice go in?”

“About five minutes ago. Bruce, what’s going on?”

Lippman raised a hand. “Just cooperate, Steve.”

“Who put it in?” Derek asked.

“Me and Frank.” Steve jerked a thumb at one of the other guys.

Derek nodded and opened the top of the barrel. There was a mesh tray filled with dry ice. It could be lowered into the water. He reached in and lifted out the dry ice try, setting it on the floor. A huge block of dry ice smoldered and vented carbon dioxide. Reaching into his pocket, Derek pulled out his flashlight and shown it into the water.

Steve looked past him. “What the hell’s that?”

The bottom of the barrel appeared to be filled with red metal canisters. Coils of tubing ran from a central regulator into the outflow hose. A red light glowed on what looked like a radio receiver. Derek recognized it immediately as being similar to the radio receiver that had been used at The Boulevard Café.

Derek took a deep breath. He didn’t have time. If The Serpent booby-trapped these devices…

“Move back,” he snapped, and plunged his fists into the water.