It was opening night of Ashe’s play, and the parking lot of Montego Prep was packed. The rest of the stately campus was quiet, poorly lit, the other buildings completely dark. A broad patch of concrete was adjacent to the auditorium, with the outdoor eating area and the cafeteria building on the other side.

Parents and kids muttered and mumbled as they filed into the auditorium, two hundred conversations rising up to fill the big hall in a single rolling sound. Wooden seats creaked while people sat down, glancing at their programs and buzzing with anticipation.

Griffin was in the front row alone, with Lorraine and Ashe backstage and Jeremy home with Kayla. Griffin looked around, accepting the congratulatory handshakes from those around him.

Behind the closed curtain the stage was set, props ready to go. Lorraine was in costume as the character known only as ‘The Mom’. The timing couldn’t have been better, as the following Sunday was Mother’s Day. Around her, actors were stretching, reviewing their lines, getting into makeup, students who provided tech double-checking the lights and the sound.

Ashe stood with Rachel, both looking around nervously. Lorraine approached them with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, even though she was more than just a bit nervous herself. “Hey guys,” she said buoyantly, “how’s it going? Are we ready for curtain?”

“I hope so,” Rachel said. “ Mike keeps forgetting the words to the second verse of his song, and I dunno about the manhole prop, I don’t think it’s gonna come down right — ”

Ashe said, “Rachel, it’ll be fine. It may not be perfect, but it’ll still be fine.” Lorraine couldn’t help but be impressed with Ashe’s confidence and maturity.

More and more like his father every day.

* * *

Griffin glanced around from the front row, the crowd filling up to the back rows. He checked his watch and shook his head. The schedule of the evening wasn’t the most troubling thing to grab his attention.

A large man in a black coat and hat had slipped in the side doors, meant as an exit, and was sliding down the wall to the door leading to the backstage area. Griffin didn’t recognize him, but something about his appearance there seemed odd. Griffin quietly stood up and walked to the door himself, pulling it open and walking through, making sure it clicked closed behind him.

The bustle of backstage preparations filled the dark hall that was created between the wall of the auditorium and the elevated stage to Griffin’s right. At the end of the that long area, Griffin glanced around but caught no sign of any man in any coat, black or otherwise.

There was a small, concrete staircase, only five or six steps, leading to a small door. It was unlocked, and Griffin was certain as he pushed through that he’d find the man in the black coat on the other side.

He quietly pushed the door open, carefully, knowing that the man could be armed and that he might be stumbling blindly into an ambush. Griffin eased the door open, ready to jump back at any time. The muffled sounds of the cast and crew above, their thudding footprints on the stage, only made Griffin more acutely attuned to how close the children were, how vulnerable.

Pkew, pkew! The wall just inches from Griffin’s head kicked up little clouds of plaster and paint dust and Griffin ducked and bolted into the big basement, rolling on the floor and finding cover behind a stack of book boxes. Pkew, pkew! The bullets dug into the filled boxes, lost in the reams of books inside. Griffin knew that sound all two well, a silencer, which meant a handgun with perhaps ten rounds in the magazine, perhaps more.

“Everybody run,” Griffin screamed out, his voice echoing in the concrete basement area under the auditorium. “Get out of there, on the stage, everybody flee for your lives.”

“They can’t hear you, Mr. Phoenix. It would take a lot more than that to get through that concrete floor. It is supporting an entire auditorium, after all.”

Griffin peered around, unable to spot his adversary. The basement was littered with boxes and metal shelves lined with books like some forgotten library after the apocalypse. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” Griffin screamed.

The unseen man chuckled, footsteps getting louder, echoing just a bit as he approached. In a high, spiteful tone, he said, “I’m the hand of justice, Mr. Phoenix, the great equalizer. Do you know your Bible, Mr. Phoenix?”

“In passing,” Griffin said, crouched near those book boxes and waiting to leap at the first sign of the man. He opened one of the boxes’ top flaps and pulled out a large, hardcover textbook, sliding it into his shirt.

“The exalted shall be humbled, and the humbled shall be exalted.” Griffin offered no answer, sensing that the man was almost close enough to reveal himself. He also needed a second textbook, just as thick and heavy as the first. The man, who spoke in a thin, high voice, almost womanly, went on, “You can’t buy your way out of this, my friend, or your family.”

“Who are you working for?” Griffin growled.

“You’re all going to die tonight, Mr. Phoenix; your wife, your son … you.” A sickening smile forming on the man’s face.

That was the moment when the man’s round shadow reached its zenith, the front of that black jacket exposed. Griffin charged, textbook raised. Holding the book with both hands, Griffin smashed it down into the area parallel to his own head and down four inches, where he calculated the man’s head would be.

Thump!

It hit the man’s forehead, knocking his hat from his round, pale head.

Pkew!

Griffin felt the punch of the shot, nearly sending him scrambling backward. He got another swipe of that heaving book into the side of the man’s face, which Griffin still did not recognize. The move and the gunshot jostled the textbook from inside Griffin’s shirt and it slid to the side.

Pkew! Another silenced shot hit the mark, this time with nothing to block it. The bullet tore into Griffin’s torso, about six inches beneath the sternum. Griffin felt it blast into him, boring into his flesh and his organs to finish a job Donal Roland had attempted almost four years before.

* * *

Griffin fell back, body burning despite waves of blistering cold passing over him. He struggled to stand, barely able to move. He looked over to see the man in the black jacket laying on his back, a brown package just a few feet from his motionless body.

Backstage, Lorraine quietly watched the buzz, checking her watch. Footsteps clacked against the stage boards, muttered conversations around her scrambled to memorize lines and reassure one another in whispered promises of perfection.

Lorraine was nervous, she couldn’t deny it. It was easy for her to assume what was causing those nerves. She caught Ashe walking by and grabbed his arm. “How long ’til the curtain. Shouldn’t we go on? Is the pianist all ready? I think he drinks, Ashe — ”

“Relax, Mom, it’ll be fine. We blink the lights in five, you’re at your mark in twenty. Got it?”

“Right, Ashe, got it.” Lorraine confirmed.

“And don't worry,” Ashe said. “It’ll be fine.”

“I know that,” Lorraine said, voice fast and fluttering, “of course I know that. It’ll be fine, perfect, better than perfect.”

“And you’re not afraid?”

“Afraid? Me? What, no, afraid? Don’t be silly, of course I’m not afraid … I’m terrified! What if I blow my lines, or throw up on stage? I don’t wanna ruin this for you, Ashe. I can’t act, I can’t sing, I can’t remember any of my lines … I told you I wasn’t the right person for this.”

Ashe held out his hands to calm her. “And I told you that you were. And I know you’re gonna be great. So sit tight, relax, and enjoy yourself. That’ll make all the difference.”

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” She asked.

“I’m the director,” Ashe said, “I don’t have that luxury.”

Ashe walked away, once more leaving Lorraine amazed at his poise and confidence but unable to muster any of it for herself. Lorraine peered out of the side of the curtain to scan the packed house. There was one seat in the front row that was conspicuously absent. She pulled out her smartphone and dialed Griffin’s number, getting only a few idle rings and a recorded invitation to leave a message.

“Grif, where are you? The show’s about to start!” Assuming he was in the bathroom, Lorraine tried to calm herself.

It didn’t work.

Three minutes later she was walking around the side of the auditorium, looking for Griffin. With most of the people inside, it was quiet and still on the dark private school campus; save for one lone figure standing nearby, crouched down, wearing a long coat that didn’t make much sense for a late spring evening in New York City. Lorraine stepped closer, the figure fidgeting, looking down at something.

Lorraine was struck with a sense of familiarity by the shape of the figure as she got nearer to it, stocky but not obese, bent slightly forward with unseen burdens. The figure turned to see Lorraine coming, moonlight hitting her face even under a black fedora.

“Treena? Treena Torasco?” Treena turned, her eyes wide, face bloodless even in that stark shaft of light. “Treena, what are you doing here?”

Treena lifted the object she was holding, a small device with a steady green light. She held it back and above her head and held her other hand out, palm flat to stop Lorraine in her tracks. “Stay back, Lorraine. Not another move, not another sound.”

Lorraine stood, frozen in her tracks, eyes locked on that small, black box in Treena’s palm. “What is that?”

“Detonator,” Treena said. “There’s a bomb under the stage.”

“A bomb?” Lorraine gasped.

Lorraine was about to scream but Treena spat out, “Shut up shut up shut up, or I’ll blow ‘em all up right now.”

“A bomb … you planted a bomb? Why? Do you really hate me that much? Are you that jealous?” Lorraine grimaced.

“Jealous? I don’t give a shit about you or your family or your money, Lorraine. It may shock you to realize this, but you’re not the center of the goddamned universe!”

“Then why? Treena, this is madness!” She cried out.

“No, it’s perfectly rational, even … even necessary. I tried to warn you, I told you that you didn’t know who you were dealing with. But you just kept shooting off your mouth, flouncing around, Little Mrs. Thing — ”

“You mean … pro sports? But I cancelled that petition. And I quit the Education Department — ” Lorraine explained.

“Too little, too late,” Treena said. “Word came from the brass upstairs, just like it did with Albert Jenkins. You’re to be made an example of.” She stared at Lorraine with disgust.

“You killed Albert Jenkins? But … how? He outweighed you by over a hundred pounds.”

“Casper and I did it together. It was easy getting access to him because we’d taken meetings with him already. Crept in up the stairs to bypass the registration desk, he let us walk right in.” Treena spat out a sad chuckle. “I’m not saying he gave up without a fight, though. I don’t suppose anybody in that auditorium will have the same chance.”

Lorraine’s heart was pounding fast in her chest, sweat collecting on her neck and behind her ears. “Okay, listen to me, Treena, I’m the one they want, I’m the one who caused all the trouble. So you can just take me and leave everybody else out of it.”

“Take you? And do what with you?”

“Turn me over to whoever ordered this, they can do what they want to me. But you can’t hurt my family, Treena, I know you’re not that kind of person. And the other kids, and their families, my God it would be a bloodbath!” Lorraine babbled in the potential horror of what was about to unfold.

“Will be a bloodbath,” Treena said. “Soon as Casper gets out here, then he’ll take care of you, too. Boom boom, bang bang, you skinny, rich bitch.”

“But why, Treena? Why are you and Casper doing their dirty work?”

“It’s our job, stupid! You think they pay me to sit around and tease dick like you do?”

“But, I mean, you’re not … ” Lorraine went on.

“That’s exactly why they use me, and Casper’s a lot stronger than you think. You’ll find out.” Treena smiled. “And he’s ten times the lover your money-stuffed scarecrow could ever be … or maybe I should say, could ever have been.”