Enemy Match Chapter 1

Enemy Match

Chapter 1

Today. 4 pm. School gym. You and me, Macdonald. We’re going to settle this.

You’re kidding, right? I said turning to face my arch nemesis—ok that’s a little overdramatic. Daryl Peters was tall and muscular and was good at every sport—especially basketball. All—well at least most—of the girls at Port Salser Collegiate liked him because he was a total jock.

Dumb jock to be precise.

I, on the other hand was not as tall nor as muscular and I wasn’t as good as Daryl was at sports. I was however, at least as good looking or even more than he was and I took consolation in that. Not that I’m vain, I’m just telling it like it is.

Daryl Peters was my enemy. No other way to say it.

Since day one of high school three years ago when our little feud started—he was a bully and I didn’t put up with his crap—and that annoyed him to no end.

No, I’m not kidding, he muttered, bouncing the basketball then twirling it on his finger like a pro.

What’s going to happen at 4? I said staring at him with a sneer. You going to finally learn to tie your shoes?

He ignored the jibe. I’m going to take you down. Once and for all.

I pointed my thumb to my chest. Me? I said.

Is there a problem, gentlemen, a voice piped up behind us. Mr. Detmar, our gym teacher and basketball coach.

No problem, coach, Daryl said smoothly. I was just giving Macdonald here some pointers.

Yeah, well, get back to practicing with the rest of the class, Detmar said glancing between Daryl and me.

Yes coach, Daryl said as he turned to walk away. He turned back to me and once he realized Detmar had moved off, did the throat slitting motion with his hand then pointed to me. Then walked away.

Dude, what was that all about? A voice said in my ear.

I turned to one of my friends, Reed Wyatt. He was about an inch shorter than my 6 foot and had spiked blond hair.

I don’t really know, but Peters had challenged me to something today at 4.

A fight? You’re kidding? Reed remarked.

What’s this about a fight, Reed’s identical twin brother Rhys said coming up to us at that moment.

Justin and Daryl Peters, Reed said. Justin

Whoa, dude, are you crazy? Rhys remarked.

What do you mean? I asked, affronted. You don’t think I can take that tall—massive—muscular jock? By myself?

Reed and Rhys just looked at me.

Suddenly there was a startled look on both their faces then something whacked me in the back of the head—hard!

The basketball that Peters had just twirled on his finger only a minute before bounced and rolled away across the gym floor. I turned around livid, to face Peters, my face red and my head throbbing.

What was that for? I said, rushing at Peters who just shrugged.

Sorry, I lost control of the ball.

Yeah right! Well I’m going to lose control of my fist, I blurted moving towards him with my fist clenched. I was ready to pop that jerk. Never mind waiting til 4.

Justin! A voice rang out across the gym.

Mr. Detmar.

I froze in place and turned around, Detmar approaching us again. What’s going on with you two? He muttered coming up to me.

Someone threw a ball at Macdonald’s head, someone called out.

Yeah, another voice remarked. That had to hurt.

Is this true, Justin? Detmar said, studying my face.

Yeah, I muttered looking at Daryl. This jerk threw it at my head, I motioned to Peters.

Detmar turned to Daryl. Did you throw the ball at Justin’s head?

No, coach, Daryl said with a smarmy smile. I was passing it to Jake here and he missed it. It was an accident.

Yeah, Jake said. I missed the pass. Sorry Macdonald, he said with a grin. Jake was a buddy of Daryl Peters so the two of them had orchestrated this little episode. But of course, I had no proof.

OK, that’s enough practise today guys, hit the showers.

Everyone headed off to the locker room. I started to walk with Reed and Rhys when Detmar called me back.

Are you OK, Justin? He asked.

Yeah, I said. I’ll have a headache for about a month or so. It’s all good.

You were ready to pop Peters. What’s up with you guys. I know you don’t get along, but there’s something more. Am I right?

It’s all good, coach, I said, with a grin. It’s nothing.

There was no point in telling Coach Detmar about our little feud. Whenever we had an altercation, Peter’s usually came out smelling like a rose. He was well liked at PSC and most people didn’t believe he was a world class jerk that I knew him to be. If there was one thing Daryl was good at it was not getting caught dishing out his pranks.

He had won the school many sport championship pennants over his high school career and this seemed to afford him some measure of slack with the teachers here. I on the other hand had not won the school any pennants so was not given as much slack.

And Peters knew this. And used it to his advantage whenever possible. He may not have good academic marks—he could barely tie his shoes—but if being cunning and manipulative and being a bully was a sport he would win pennants in that as well.

Very well, Detmar said.

He knew there was more but didn’t push me. In his eyes, Peters could do no wrong, so if I said anything he would just defend Peters anyway.

Can I go now, coach, I said wiping sweat from my brow. I have a history test next period.

Sure, Justin, he said resignedly. I moved off and headed to the showers.

Once dressed in regular clothes, I met Reed and Rhys in the corridor outside the gym. We were all dressed similarly in cargo shorts and t-shirts. Reed and Rhys in flip flops—I in my usual red high-top sneakers. We all had history as our last period of the day so we headed that way to get ready for the test.

We were silent as we entered the class room. Unfortunately Peters was in this class. He was seated at the back talking in hushed tones to two of his buddies—one of which was Jake Prestwick—the one who had “missed” catching that basketball.

They went silent when I came in the room. I took my seat on the opposite side of the room trying to ignore Peters. I glanced at him once and he was staring at me. I smiled back at him and he turned back to his books.

OK, class, Mrs. Clemens remarked. Put away your books and take out a pen. The test will start shortly.

At 3:30 after the last bell rang I headed to my blue SUV parked in the student parking lot at that back of the school. A slight breeze had sprung up and clouds scudded across the sky, threatening rain.

Someone was waiting for me.

No, not Peters.

It was my girlfriend, Melissa Mulhall. She was pretty and had dark blond hair. She had her hair back in a ponytail because of the heat. Her blue eyes looked concerned as I approached.

Are you OK? She said. I heard what happened in gym.

How did you find out? I asked.

Jori Prestwick is in my math class. She says her brother Jake missed catching a basketball and it hit you in the head. Daryl Peters threw the ball.

Yeah, I said ruefully. He got me again.

You have to do something about that guy, Melissa said as I opened the passenger side door and she climbed in.

I got in the drivers side and started the engine. I cranked the A/C to max and the pulled out of the spot. What can I do? I muttered. Peters is Golden Boy around PSC. Everyone likes him.

Not everyone, Melissa said.

Well a lot of people do. Remember Mr. Unger, our former homeroom teacher. He sided with Peters that one time. He said I got too much publicity solving my cases.

He was just jealous, Melissa replied as we pulled out of the lot and headed down Main Street towards the southwest part of the city, where Melissa lived. And he’s not the majority—well he wasn’t the majority at school. A lot of people think Peters is a jerk.

Maybe, I said. But Peters wants to meet me back at school at 4. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I can’t not show up. I’ll look like the wimp.

Why didn’t you tell me? Melissa exclaimed. I want to be there to support you. In whatever it is you’re doing.

Are you sure, I said, stopping at a traffic light. I never thought—

Yeah, you didn’t think, she muttered. Now turn around and lets go back to school.

I shook my head, but turned at the light and headed around the block. 10 minutes later we pulled back into the lot at PSC. Most of the cars had left but one familiar car remained parked in its usual spot.

Van’s still here. I mumbled. He’s usually the first one out of the lot at home time.

I pulled in next to his car and got out. Melissa followed me back into the school. The corridors were quiet now.

As we neared the gym I could hear the sound of a basketball bouncing.

Justin! A voice called out behind us. I turned to face my best buddy, Van Gilman. He was an inch shorter than my 6 foot with dark hair and a devilish grin. He was a good guy to have around in a fight as he worked out and was more muscular than me. He played goalie for the local hockey team and was what you would call a sports nut.

Heard you and Peters were facing off at 4. Why didn’t you tell me? he said coming up to Melissa and I.

Because I don’t know what we’re facing off for. Peters didn’t tell me. I think it’s just a joke.

Oh, it’s no joke, buddy, he said, clapping me on the shoulder. Jake Prestwick was telling us all in English Lit about the face off in the gym.

What—face off? I grunted. Peters just said “we’re going to settle this”. Settle what?

Dude, you don’t know about the challenge. What did you expect? You basically blabbed on Facebook that you could beat Peters at any sport and that he was a real loser and that you would challenge him anytime. I read it myself. You posted it last night.

I—posted that? I didn’t, I said, turning to Melissa who was just shaking her heard.

I read it myself, Van said. So did half the school. Peters reposted it this morning and is going to challenge you. All his buddies are going to be there. I’m surprised you didn’t ask us—your friends, to be there. Once Peters issued the challenge. For support, you know. You’re gonna need it, dude. I’m sorry, I am your best friend, but you are NOT better at sports than Peters.

I—didn’t say those things on Facebook. There’s been a mistake.

What? You’re kidding, Van said, sobering up. But it was there. Don’t you check your Facebook like every 5 minutes like everyone else?

No, I said. I don’t. I haven’t been on for days.

Van and Melissa both gasped.

Come on guys, you’re not serious. I wouldn’t say such a stupid thing on Facebook. I know I’m not better than Peters.

Well it’s too late now. Peters is in the gym waiting for you, Van said checking his watch. I checked mine. It was 3:58.

Suddenly the door burst open and Peters and a few of his buddies came out into the corridor.

So you did show up, Peters muttered. Let’s get this thing started. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. You can’t say those things and get away with it, Macdonald.

I looked at Van but he just stared at me.

I turned back to Peters. Let’s get this done!

Terror On Tour Chapter 12 FINAL CHAPTER!

Terror On Tour

Chapter 12

Suddenly a shrill shriek filled the air. The fire alarm. I was trapped in the office. Smoke billowed out from the desk, the first most likely started by remote by Darius. He had been planning to torch the TopFlight offices to add to the troubles plaguing the company. By locking me up in here he was in effect killing two birds with one stone.

But I was no bird and I didn’t plan on dying anytime soon. I had to get out of here—and now! The firemen would be along eventually, but I would be long dead from smoke inhalation before they arrived. Smoke quickly filled the room. I tried the door and it was of course locked, but a moment later I heard a click and tried the door again. It was now unlocked. How did that happen? I must have had a guardian angel.

I didn’t have time to worry about that, I went out into the hallway where the shrieking alarm was even louder. With my hands tied behind my back I headed to the elevator. It was not working, most likely because of the fire alarm. A small sign beside the buttons confirmed my theory. Another note on the same sign noted that all door locks would be disengaged during a fire alarm as well.

So that was why the office door unlocked. Darius must not have known about this little safety feature. Darn.

I headed to the stairwell, smoke billowing into the corridor now and headed my way. I pushed open the door with my foot and hurried down the stairs. We had been on the 6^th floor so it wasn’t a long descent. I burst out of the stairwell into the lobby and saw that the fire trucks had just arrived.

Firemen were milling around and heading to the stairwell to check on the fire. One of the firemen saw me and saw that my hands were tied up. He came over to me and asked if I needed help.

I nodded and he proceeded to remove the twine. The fire was deliberately set, I remarked. I need the police here. The person responsible is getting away and he had a friend of mine with him.

The fireman looked confused but called the police on his small radio. He sent me out to the parking lot where a crowd of people—the people from the record company party, were gathered. An ambulance stood close by in case anyone was injured. I was checked over by the paramedics who released me—I was fine. Soon the police arrived as well and I gave my statement—again. it seemed I was doing that a lot. An alert was put out on Darius Waldman and Seth Teller. They hadn’t counted on my getting out of the office—well, at all, but by sheer luck I had made it out unscathed.

Still, I needed to find Darius and Seth—they had Dylan.

Excusez moi, monsieur, the policeman said a few moments later. Venez-ici, s’il vous plait. Come here please.

 I followed him to the front of the building where paramedics were surrounded a prone figure. Dylan!

That’s my friend, I exclaimed. Is he—ok?

The policeman nodded. Oui, monsieur. We just needed a positive ID.

Dylan was sitting up. He broke into a wide smile when he saw me. Justin! He exclaimed. You’re OK?

Yeah, I muttered.

I thought—you were up there, he said pointing to where smoke was still billowing out of a sixth floor window.

I was, I muttered. Seth and Darius. Any idea—?

Dylan shook his head. Wait! He exclaimed, looking up at me. They were talking. They dragged me here, he said, looking down at his now bare feet which were bloody around the heels where he had been dragged.

Ouch! I said.

Yeah, he replied. It’ll be OK, I don’t need my feet to play guitar.

You overheard something? I urged. The policeman was standing beside me.

You know where the two men have gone, the policeman asked.

They said something about rigging something up. Something to do with our equipment. Back at the hotel?

Or the theatre. I said. Your concert is later tonight, I said glancing at my watch. It was now 2 am.

Right, Dylan said. That makes more sense. They said they had to do it now, then they were going to leave the country. They were hoping the fire would be the last straw and the damages would ruin TopFlight. By finding a body in the room where the fire started would not look good on the company either.

Yeah, my body, I said ruefully. I turned to the police officer. I explained about the band and their troubles since arriving in Europe, and also about their concert at Odeon Theatre later that night.

The policeman whose badge read “Simone” spoke into his radio in rapid French, then turned to us. We are heading there now. There has been a report of suspicious activity at the Odeon theatre in the last few minutes, he added. This is likely your friends, he added. Would you be able to accompany us to make a positive ID?

Dylan got to his feet and put back on his socks then his shoes—very carefully. Let’s go get those jerks, he muttered, finally. I nodded and we followed the policeman to his car, Dylan limping on his sore feet.

The drive to the Odeon was short as traffic was not too bad at 2 am, but there were still lots of activity on the streets. Paris apparently, like most large cities, did not sleep.

Two other police cars were there, at the front entrance to the theatre. Officer Simone went to speak to the others and returned. The two men we are looking for are around the back of the theatre. They have not yet broken in to the theatre. A security guard noticed them a while ago hanging around outside. I do not know what they are waiting for.

Suddenly a shrill alarm filled the air and the police sprang into action. Within minutes they had apprehended Darius and Seth. As they were lead to the car they glanced over and were surprised to see us.

You? Teller muttered, looking at me. How did you escape?

I ignored him and turned to Darius. Next time you lock someone in an office and set a fire to try and kill them, you should read the fire alarm specs. The doors automatically unlocked when the fire alarm went off. So, it looks like you were just—well, dumb.

Yeah, thankfully, Dylan said, glaring at the duo who were now being put into the police cars. Darius hadn’t commented on my or Dylan’s comment. He knew he was caught. What could he do?

But Seth had plenty to say—later at the police station. He spilled his guts about everything—the cancelled flight, then the cancelled reservations at the hotel, which Darius had orchestrated.

Seth had taken care of kidnapping Nate and Sam back in Port Salser once he found out about our flight on Dad’s client’s plane. Seems Billy Bob Morrow had been at Billy Burger and had overheard our plans to make that flight. Seth panicked and waylaid Nate and Sam hoping we would miss our flight. When we proceeded, he contacted Darius in London who promptly cancelled the hotel reservations.

Dylan and I were seated in a conference room at the station. Corey and Teresa had been called at the hotel and were with us now. Van was still in a deep slumber so was still back at the hotel. He would be sorry he missed this little get together.

We couldn’t sleep, Corey said. We were up and saw that you guys were gone and were frantic that Seth and his cronies had taken you.

We should have called, I said ruefully. I’m—we’re sorry about that, I added and Dylan nodded.

How are your feet? Teresa asked Dylan, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

Not too bad, he said, glancing at me. All in the line of work, being a detective is difficult. I think I’ll just be a guitar player from now on. Thanks to Justin our band can continue our tour.

So how did Darius get involved with Seth? Corey asked.

Seems Darius had interest in Seth Teller’s band the X-Communicators a few years ago and was counting on that grant money from the university. They had remained friends and when Darius wanted to sabotage TopFlight he enlisted his friend Seth to ruin the chances of an up and coming band that TopFlight had invested a lot of money on. I turned to face Corey, Teresa and Dylan. I guess you guys are a big deal. We didn’t realize how much was riding on this tour. If it had failed—those big wigs in London would have been out a lot of money. Filing for bankruptcy was their only option. If that had happened, Darius would have swooped in and bought them out to “save” them, but in turn become president—which he has wanted for years. I found out in my investigating that he was overlooked for a few promotions and he had a sour taste in his mouth and wanted revenge on the company.

And his relationship with Seth Teller fit right into his scheme, Corey muttered. I nodded.

It was never TopFlight’s intention to drop you guys, that was just Darius blowing smoke to get you—in particular Corey—very upset and not on your game, music wise anyway. They were counting on you desperately to succeed

We were silent for a moment, then a man came into the room. Good morning, he said brightly. I am Chief Inspector Anton Metier.

Nice to finally meet you, sir, I said standing up to shake his hand. I am Justin Macdonald. This is Dylan Price, Corey Cross and Teresa Simmons AKA ComfortZone.

Metier nodded. I would like to thank you for your help in bringing these culprits to justice, he remarked. I am not going to thank you for bringing me into work at 2 am, he added with a chuckle. But I can see you are all tired and want to get back to your hotel, so I will make this brief. We just need a statement from you so I can piece together the story. These young men you helped capture are in a lot of trouble from what the preliminary report says. Metier turned to Dylan. How are you, Mr. Price? I hear you were poisoned by these people back in London.

I’m fine now, sir, he said with a wry grin.

Well, that carries an attempted murder charge. We learned from the authorities in London—my friend DC Mendon, that there was enough poison in that fruit to kill someone. Thankfully that has not happened, he added with a grin and Dylan nodded.

So, could you please help me to understand the whole picture?

I related how two of the band members had been kidnapped back in our hometown, Port Salser to make the band miss the flight after failing to prevent the band from making their original flight—which had been cancelled by Seth Teller.

Metier nodded as he made notes on a pad.

We made the flight and arriving in London Waldman cancelled our hotel reservations. He was hoping all this trouble would show the record company that these guys were not serious about doing the tour and make them fail as a band, which under the circumstances would ruin the company, I continued. Which is of course what Waldman and Teller wanted all along. Waldman still had to play along and not give himself away, so he managed to get band replacements. This was more to throw suspicion off himself by looking like he was trying to help us.

We managed to get another room at another hotel very quickly and Darius panicked, Dylan went on. He had Teller send the fruit basket, hoping both Corey and I would be poisoned, he continued. That would of course totally derail the band.

He also attacked the desk clerk at the Princess Elizabeth Hotel, Henry Wilcox when Henry stumbled on Teller trying to sabotage our band equipment in the music room, Corey remarked.

Right, Metier said continuing to write. And here in Paris, M. Teller tried to steal your equipment and then lured your friend, a Mr. Gilman to La Tour Eiffel?

Right, I said. That was so I would go to look for him and be away from the hotel where he caused the gas leak earlier. They were getting desperate and were resorting to more and more dangerous methods to derail the band.

He must have known you would talk to the young woman at the theatre and find out where Van had gone? Corey remarked and I nodded.

Teller knew I was an amateur detective since he was from Port Salser. Once Waldman knew he tried to get me to go home.

And the threats, Teresa piped up. The note we got back home and then at the radio station in London. That punk called in a threat while we were still on the air. What a jerk! The guy is seriously deranged if he thinks a little threat like that is going to take us down. He doesn’t know us very well, does he guys?

Corey and Dylan nodded, grinning.

I was happy to see the band was getting along and were going to continue the tour. I was doubly happy to see that Corey was keeping stable as well, as these threats were certainly made to freak him out. I was also glad that TopFlight would not be filing for bankruptcy. They were still counting on the band to hit it big.

Later that morning we were surprised to see Nate and Sam at the hotel when we went down for breakfast. We related the adventure to them as we munched on French toast and tea in the hotel restaurant. We thanked Charlie and Renny, who had decided to stay in Paris and catch the concert that night at the Odeon. I had tracked down Alyce, the young receptionist at the Odeon, and had managed to give her some tickets. She had decided to accompany Van to the concert and Van was happy about this.

We have some serious rehearsing to do, Dylan said after finishing his tea and wiping his mouth on a napkin. So let’s get to it, dudes!

The band members went off to practice, leaving Van and me in the restaurant with Renny and Charlie.

So have you thought about the tattoos?, Renny said.

What’s this about tattoos, Van asked skeptically, taking a sip of his tea.

Oh, didn’t we tell you, I said with a grin. The band is going out this afternoon before the concert and getting matching tattoos. They were supposed to go out last night, but in all the excitement—well it was postponed. Since we’re honorary members of the band we have to get them done as well.

Van eyed me suspiciously. No you never mentioned this. I don’t know if I want one, he said. I like my arms the way they are, thank you very much.

Oh, but your arm would be much better with a tattoo on it, Renny said grinning at Van. Look at my arms. These are beautiful, no?

Van nodded. Yeah, sure, he said. They’re cool. But can I start off with something a little less—dramatic?

Oh, no we were all going to get sleeve tattoos, like Renny’s, I said trying to keep a straight face.

Van turned to me. No thanks then. Remember I said how cool it would be to be part of a rock band? I’ve since changed my mind. The pain and torture isn’t worth it!

Terror On Tour Chapter 11

Terror On Tour

Chapter 11

Van came out from his shower in his jammies (Batman) and crawled into bed, exhausted from his ordeal at the Eiffel Tower. I, on the other hand was too wired to sleep. I dug out my laptop and booted it up while Van snored quietly in his bed.

It had to be Darius or Remy, or someone else at the record company TopFlight. Who else knew the band’s itinerary?

I did a search of TopFlight records and found something interesting almost immediately. It was in the business news section of a business website.

TopFlight was nearly bankrupt!

So they had a lot riding on the success of ComfortZone. Did this revelation fit into the trouble the band was having? I didn’t really see how, TopFlight would want ComfortZone to succeed, not fail.

I almost logged off the website when my eye caught a sidebar article. I quickly read it. It proved very interesting.

I knew who was helping Seth Teller.

And I knew where Seth Teller was at this moment.

I logged off the computer and locked it away. I left a note for Van  then changed back into my shorts and t-shirt. I pulled on a jacket and my high-top sneakers, then left the room. It was now after 10 pm. Corey and the rest of the band were most likely sleeping as they had a busy day tomorrow.

Justin? A voice behind me as I headed to the elevator. I turned to face Dylan. He was still dressed in cut-offs and tank top.

Hey, Dylan I thought you guys would be asleep, I remarked.

No, I couldn’t sleep, he said. I was going to come to talk to you but you’re going somewhere? What’s up?

I think I know who’s helping Seth Teller and I think I know why, I said. I have no proof, only a theory. I have to go and check it out.

Can I come along? I mean, I feel bad that I didn’t tell you about my connection to Chris and Seth. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I remember Seth from school, but he’s changed a lot since then. Chris as well. When we were in the band together he wasn’t such a bad guy.

I know, I said. Sure you can come with me. We’re going to TopFlight records office. It’s only a few blocks from here, near the River Seine, I said. I need to check something out. Maybe it’s good you’re coming. We need to settle something with Seth once and for all.

Dylan grabbed a denim jacket and pulled on his combat boots and followed me to the elevator.

We descended to the lobby and asked the desk clerk to call a taxi for us. It arrived about 10 minutes later and we got in.

The trip to TopFlight was short. It was now almost 11 pm but the offices were still open. I guess they never slept in Paris.

The taxi let us off and I paid the driver and he left. We headed to the entrance and went inside the lobby. Laughter could be heard from down a side hallway and I realized some kind of party was going on.

Great, that’s why they’re still here, I whispered to Dylan who nodded.

What are you hoping to find? He asked as we made our way to the elevators. I checked the directory next to the door and found the name I was looking for.

The office was on the 15^th floor and the elevator ascent was slow. When the doors opened I could see light coming from an office about halfway down the corridor that stretched out in front of us.

I motioned for Dylan to be quiet. The elevator doors opening had made more noise than I had hoped as a familiar voice rang out. Who’s there?

Dylan glanced at me, a look of confusion on his face. That sounds like—.

I nodded and stepped out of the elevator. The door closed behind us as we headed down the hallway towards the lighted office.

Someone’s there, another voice remarked. Seth Teller.

One of the kids downstairs probably pushed all the buttons to make the stupid elevator stop at every floor, the other voice remarked. No one is here. Don’t be so paranoid.

I wouldn’t be so paranoid if you had just taken care of things back in London, Teller muttered.

You were supposed to take care of things back in Canada and they weren’t supposed to even make it to Europe, Darius Waldman remarked. My mind was racing. It was Darius all along. TopFlight had no intention of dropping the band. They wanted ComfortZone to succeed. Darius wanted to ruin the band—and in turn TopFlight Records would most likely go bankrupt. He would swoop in and buy the company from under their noses at a cheap price and then TopFlight would be his.

When you contacted me last year about ComfortZone, Darius remarked, I had no idea you would be so valuable a resource. You hated ComfortZone, so ruining their career would benefit both of us. I needed a band that was on the rise and had a great future and ComfortZone fit the bill.

Yeah, Teller muttered. They were only on the rise because of grant money they got and were supposed to use on another band.

The one your friend Chris was a part of? Darius said in a bored voice.

Yeah, Teller said again. That idiot Dylan Price drove the band into the ground so he could take the grant money and start his own band—which he did—ComfortZone. What a stupid name. I’ll take them out of their comfort zone—permanently.

So everything is in place? Darius remarked. That was a dumb risk, causing the gas leak at the hotel. Now your friend is in jail.

Not for long, Teller muttered.

What do you mean? Has he been released on bail already?

No, Teller said mysteriously. I’ve planted some evidence that implicates Price and his pals on the leak. Once the police have this evidence, the band will be arrested.

This was not part of the plan, Darius remarked. We should stick to the original plan.

That’s not going to work, Teller said exasperated. All we need is for the band to be arrested—they’ll miss the concert later tonight, then TopFlight will be furious—once again.  Then you move in for the kill—convince TopFlight that they are too much of a risk, then, voila! The wheels are in motion for them to declare bankruptcy.

I like our original plan, Darius remarked.

It was never going to work. This is better, Seth replied.

Darius was silent for a moment. I don’t like changing plans like this, but I see your point, he said finally. Very well. You do what you have to do. I’ll work on the boys downstairs.

Suddenly I heard a noise behind us, down the hall. The elevator doors were opening again. Someone was coming.

Quick, hide! I muttered to Dylan

There’s that elevator again, Darius mumbled. I’m going to check it out.

A second later he was in the corridor—facing us. We didn’t have time to hide. We were caught!

What are you doing here? He blurted out.

Who is it? Teller said, coming out into the corridor. He had shaved his mohawk and was now bald. Oh, you! He hissed. How long have you been here—listening?

Long enough, I said. Another man, a security guard came up to us. Heard about some unauthorized use of the elevator, he said to Darius. Got a report of two guys coming in off the street and heading up here. It would appear these are the two? He said, sneering at us.

Right, Darius said warily. I’ll deal with it, George, he added.

Should I tell Mr. Renaud?

No! Darius blurted. I’ll tell him. Thanks George, he said. George just shrugged and left and got back on the elevator. Darius turned to us. You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since this thing began, he said. I tried to get rid of you back in London.

You wanted to send me home, I remarked and Darius just nodded.

I tried, he said finally.

You won’t get away with this, Dylan blurted. The band isn’t going to fail. We’ve come back from everything you’ve thrown at us. He advanced on Seth. Even your poisoning the fruit basket, he added. You really hate us that much? Over some stupid grant money?

Suddenly Dylan lashed out to hit Seth, but Seth saw it coming. He blocked the punch and landed one on Dylan’s chin and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

There, that jerk is taken care of, Seth seethed, turning to me. Now to take care of you. He tried the same punch on me, but I was quicker than he thought and I landed one on his nose before he even knew what was happening.

Aww! He cried out, grabbing his nose, blood gushing out and splashing on the tile floor.

You deserved that, jerk face! I exclaimed.

Shut up! Darius said. Enough, we’ll take care of you here and now. Like I should have taken care of you back in London. This was never meant to get this out of hand.

He grabbed me by the arm and tried to pull me into the office, but I naturally resisted. My arm swung around and almost connected with his forehead, but he ducked at the last second. Seth came at me and landed a punch to my midsection and I keeled over, the breath knocked out of me.

Another blow to the back of my head and I was sprawled on the floor. I wasn’t knocked out, but lay there trying desperately to breathe. I felt my hands being pulled together and tied up with some twine.

Dylan moaned and tried to sit up. Another blow by Seth and he was out cold again. How were we going to get out of this one?

Take him into my office, Darius barked at Seth. And get cleaned up. You’re getting blood everywhere.

Seth grunted and pulled me to my feet. He pushed me into Darius’s office and closed and locked the door. What are you going to do with Dylan, I yelled through the door. No response.

It was all quiet now. Darius and Seth left with the unconscious Dylan. I was tied up and couldn’t get my phone from my pocket. What a right mess I had gotten into.

What were Seth and Darius planning? They had a definite plan, Seth had confirmed that. Dylan now being a captive was probably helping their plan. They were going to ruin the band once and for all. And in turn ruin TopFlight.

I was able to breathe again, recovering from the sucker punch to the gut, but my abdomen hurt as did the back of my head. I had removed the bandage from my previous injury but it hurt now as well.

I quickly scanned the office. There wasn’t much there. Darius had cleared most of it out, probably this was an empty office he had commandeered for his meeting with Seth. He was part of TopFlight London after all. There was a large wooden desk and a chair and a file cabinet in the corner. Just then I smelled smoke. Where was it coming from. A second later the desk burst into flames!