Page 31 of What She Saw
5 Hours Into
It was pissing down rain. What had started as a cooling mist had turned into a downpour that would not let up. The bands were under cover. And without any cracks of lightning, they couldn’t stop without forfeiting their pay.
The crowd was growing larger. The air was cooling, and he half hoped that it would turn frigid and chase everyone off the site. The fewer bodies here, the better.
To his right, a young guy cocked back his fist and drove it toward a second guy’s head. The blow clipped the second guy’s cheek. Pain registered on his face and, seconds later, rage. The second man barreled into his attacker. The two fell through the thick rush of bodies and slammed into the mud. The crowd parted, ringing the two men as they threw fists at each other.
Taggart pushed through the crowd and pulled the top guy back as he cocked his fist, ready to strike again. Taggart wrenched his arm behind his back and reached for the cuffs on his belt. As he secured the cuffs around the guy’s wrists, he looked toward the second guy coveredin mud and blood. He reached for his walkie and called Paxton. “Yeah, get to the northwest quadrant. Got a man down.”
“Roger.”
A girl moved close to Taggart. She was in her late teens, had long black hair, wore faded jean shorts and a halter top that the rain had plastered to erect nipples. He could swear she’d been onstage about a half hour ago.
“What’s the deal?” As the girl spoke, the thick scent of pot and beer wafted off her.
“Back off,” Taggart ordered.
“Why? I’m asking a question. Can’t I ask questions?”
“I’ll have you transported to the station, and you can ask all the questions you want from inside a jail cell.”
She held up her hands, revealing the impression of a henna tattoo on the underside of her right wrist. “You don’t have to get all ugly with me.”
Rain dripped from his cap as the crowd pressed in closer. An uneasy anger rolled through the crush of people. It would take little to set them off.
“Let me go, man,” his detainee shouted to the crowd.
“Be quiet.” To make his point, Taggart tightened the cuffs.
The crowd around him began to chant: “No. No. No.”
“They’re going to eat you alive,” his prisoner said, grinning.
“Maybe,” Taggart said. The chants grew louder. “But they’ll get a chunk out of your hide, too.”
“I’m not the cops.”
“When a crowd turns and grows wild, they don’t care who they hurt or what they destroy,” Taggart growled. “You’re going to be my shield.”
“Fuck you, man.”
Paxton pushed through the crowd toward Taggart. The deputy surmised the situation, lifted the injured man out of the mud, steadied him, and pushed him forward out of the crowd. Someone threw a plastic water bottle. It struck Taggart on the shoulder.
Taggart shoved his man forward, his hand slipping to the grip of his gun. When they reached the edge of the crowd, he glanced back, ready to draw on anyone who challenged him. The girl with the long dark hair stared at them. He couldn’t tell if she was high or curious.
Taggart deposited the injured man in the first aid trailer and then loaded his cuffed detainee in a paddy wagon on-site. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to wait, but he’d have water and fresh air. In the morning, Taggart would take him to jail.
Paxton glanced at the woman before joining Taggart at the tent.
“Do you know the one with the dark hair?” Taggart watched the girl melt into the crowd.
“I met her earlier. Name is Tristan. She was handing out wristbands. She’s a dancer.”
“Right.” Taggart shifted his attention to Paxton. “Have you seen Colton?”
“He’s not up by the stage?”
“Not for the last few hours. Guy keeps vanishing.”
