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Chapter Seven
Following directions from Central, they finally arrived at a scene where destruction ruled. A group of misfits calling themselvesWe’re Bad, a band who’d risen to fame almost overnight, had taken over the penthouse suite of one of the major hotels along Kalakaua Avenue. And they were out of control.
Partying was one thing, but taking the room maid hostage and trashing the joint was another. The management had called in saying the boys had weapons and shots had been fired.
When they arrived, other agents had cleared the lobby, shutting down all the exits. They’d sent an officer to every floor to stop the guests from leaving the safety of their rooms. Taking every precaution, they’d covered the stairwells too. Only one elevator was left working and Don, Nigel and Alia used that to join the SWAT guys on the top floor.
Being the lead, Don questioned the captain, “What’s up, O’Brien?”
“We just got eyes in the main room and it looks like there’re four in the band. Two are totally wasted, while the other two are crazy-high, I’d say probably cocaine lased with something else that’s driving them loco. The girls have locked themselves in the bathroom. We think one room maid and a couple of groupies the guys picked up after the show who’re terrified and refuse to open the door.”
“So what are they shooting at?”
“Everything. They killed two TVs, shot the glass out of both front windows and are now aiming at the bathroom door, trying to coax the girls out.”
Alia snorted. “Like that’s gonna work!”
“Kinda what we’ve been trying to tell them. Didn’t seem like they wanted to hear it though. They sent the next few shots toward us; we just dove out of the way in time. If we don’t put a stop to the nonsense soon, those idiots are going to end up hurting someone.”
“Maybe a woman’s voice will calm them down. Here, let me try.”
“Fine.” The captain handed over a loudspeaker and stepped back.
“What’re their names?”
“The two still functioning are Slade Trolling and Dave Raster. Better known as Troll and Ras.”
“Okay, here goes.” Alia stepped toward the door, keeping to the right so she wasn’t directly in front where bullet holes could be seen, and cleared her voice.
“Hey there, Mr. Slade, Mr. Ras, may I have a word? It’s Special Agent Hawkins here.”
Suddenly, a crash sounded in the room on the other side of the wall and everyone dove behind the bullet-proof barriers—everyone except Alia.
“Wow! I don’t usually get such a reaction when I ask men if I can speak with them. What’s happening?”
“Whaddya want, baby? Wanna come and join the party? Those other fucking whores won’t come out from their hidey-hole. Crazy bitches.” Another volley of shots was heard, and faint women’s screams followed.
Alia banged on the door to get the shooter’s attention. “Hey, calm down in there. You’re terrifying those poor women. No wonder they won’t come out. You’re behaving rather inappropriately, don’t you think?”
“Jus-s trying to have a little fun.”
“Well, they’re not having fun. Look, you need to stop this nonsense before someone gets hurt. If you and Dave drop your weapons and unlock the door, we’ll get this settled.”
“Can’t, we’re having a party. Need more booze, broke this stuff. Need more girls, wanna get high, forget…”
The voice dwindled down as if the speaker had lost his functions. They heard the sound of someone falling, and within a few seconds, the SWAT member with eyes inside announced that Dave had crashed, leaving only Slade still performing.
“Slade, are you okay?” Alia kept her voice concerned, hoping to reel him in so he’d calm down.
“Whadda you care?”
“I care, my friend. You’re obviously upset. Wanna talk about it, I’m listening.”
They heard a body slide down the other side of the wall, his voice clear through the holes in the door. “We got a sell-out crowd tonight, people loved us. We’re big stars. Did you know that?”
“Actually, I didn’t. It must be pretty cool having everyone cheering for you.”
“It’s fr-frightening, is what it is. All those faces, people yelling, everyone wanting a piece of your soul.”
