"So I have to be perfect to object to how I'm being treated?" Tim's voice was growing hoarse competing with the mike.
"No. You just have to keep your word. Sean, where's his Program? I'd like to see his Program."
In the shadows Sean was waving his arms before his chest, trying to warn TD off.
"What do you say, folks?" TD boomed. "Should we find out what kind of know-it-all we have here on Victim Row?"
Sean's objections were lost in the roar of the crowd.
"I said bring me his Program. Now."
Sean trudged forward, bearing the form. TD hurried to the edge of the dais and snatched it from Sean's reluctant hand. "So" – a glance to the sheet – "Tim. Is this how you live your life? Making promises and breaking them? Going back on your word? No wonder you're unhappy. It says right here…"
TD raised the paper, tapping it knowingly with a bent finger. The Pros clamored happily. He read, " 'My Program is: I participate in activities that give me…' "
His lips moved soundlessly as he scanned ahead, his face reddening.
His eyes flicked up, cold with fury.
Reggie's voice from the darkness. "What's it say?"
Then Dray's – "Read it!"
Discordant shouts broke from the audience, voices Tim didn't recognize. The crowd was divided, threatening to slip entirely from TD's grasp.
TD seemed to cast about for his next aphorism, and then a smile slid across his face, covering the uncertainty. "You have a problem with authority. Especially when it's right."
"No, you have a problem with authority because you're abusing yours."
"I bet people hate being around you." TD drew near to Tim, looking him squarely in the face for the first time, noting the bruises. "You look beat up. I bet you piss people off. I bet the people in your world get so frustrated with you that they have to resort to physical -"
TD's pupils contracted, sharp with sudden recognition. A gasp jerked his chest.
Tim rose and twisted the mike from TD's head. TD was too stunned to react.
The Protectors bridled uncomfortably, waiting for a signal from
TD.
Tim held the black bud before his mouth. "I'm here because I believe that this is a dangerous, unethical group that utilizes methods of mind control. I was told by my group leader that The Program was honest, forthcoming, and nonabusive. Well, they went Off Program with me, so I'm going Off Program with them and walking away."
A few people shouted out, then a few more, the noise growing rapidly until the ballroom seemed to vibrate with protests.
"What'd they put in our food?"
"Will someone please tell me why we have to be here for twenty-three hours?"
"Turn the lights on! Turn the goddamned lights on right now!"
Tim's voice boomed through the mike. "Turn on the lights, please."
Neos and Pros alike squinted in the sudden brightness like cavemen emerging into daylight. Most of the Pros looked rattled, even worse than the Neos.
All hell had broken loose in the auditorium.
"I want my money back."
"It's fucking hot in here!"
"What the hell kind of scam is this anyway?"
Tim dropped the mike at TD's feet.
TD gathered his arrogance about him like armor. "You think you've won something here?" He gestured at the pandemonium below. "A hiccup. I can replenish my human resources with two weeks and a soapbox. And when I do, you'll be sorry you ever tangled with me."
Tim leaned in until he could see the light freckles scattered across TD's face. "We're not done yet."
The audience had swept away the thugs guarding the exits. The Protectors by the stage were engaged in crowd control, but two at the Prospace entrance stood firm, though they looked eager to join the fray.
Tim rode a rush of people away from the stage. Dray and Janie were up in each other's faces, yelling like a baseball coach and an umpire squaring off over a bad call. Dray spotted Tim coming and peeled out toward Prospace.
She reached the Protectors before Tim, feigning panic. "A big fight just broke out on the landing!" she shouted over the din.
Both guys looked for TD, but he'd vanished into a mob of blue-shirts at the foot of the stage.
Bederman arrived, winded. "The Pros at the check-in desk sent me to get help. A brawl just broke out."
The Protectors forged off through the scattering crowd.
Tim shoved through the curtain into Prospace. Six blue-shirts were furiously packing up. Facing away, Leah was bent over the sound board, desperately working the dials, her hand covering her earpiece to try to hear what was going on. Tim called out once, his voice lost in the commotion, then he grabbed her shoulder and spun her, her hair flying and settling around the wrong face.
Shanna.
"Where's -" He caught himself in time, then peered around.
No sign of Leah – that explained the bad lighting during the theatrics. Had she been caught searching for evidence? Was she dead? Had she changed her mind?
Shanna looked at him, squinting to see through the disguise. "Tom?"
Dray and Reggie fanned out, shoving off approaching Pros and checking behind the crates and wardrobes. Bederman shot out the emergency exit but came back shaking his head.
Dray said loudly, "TD's not back here."
Tim picked up the protective charade. "We'll get him in the lobby."
They stormed out. Sweat trickled down Tim's sides as they crossed the ballroom, stepping out onto the landing. Demanding their money back, furious participants mobbed the five frazzled blue-shirts working the cash boxes.
Janie was dressing down one of the Protectors for manhandling a Neo. "We can't afford that kind of behavior, especially now."
Lorraine and a cluster of group leaders sat shocked by the elevators, weeping as if someone had pulled into their hamlet on a Harley and told them God was dead.
"It's not possible," she murmured. "It's not possible."
Tim and Dray spilled down the stairs with the stream of deserters. Outside, Pros milled around, lost but seeking contact, the bizarre scene like the parking-lot prelude to an AA meeting. Blue polos rained down like graduation caps. Wendy tugged hers off and flung it, hopping up and down in her undershirt with a few other Pros.
Bederman and Reggie caught up to Tim and Dray, and they circled to the rear lot and climbed into the Blazer. Janie, Sean, and a few diehards were shouting for the Pros to get ready to leave, but the two Program buses remained largely empty.
Tim fumbled Dray's phone out of the glove box – she'd wisely left it behind – and dialed Will's number.
"Where the hell have you been?" Will greeted him. "I left you twenty fucking messages."
"They made me surrender my phone like last time," Tim said. "We didn't get her. She wasn't there."
"I know. I got an e-mail from her. She's in trouble."
As Dray pulled out, TD emerged from the fire exit, shirt untucked. His perfect posture had eroded; he stood stooped, shoulders wilted.
Reggie rolled down the window as they passed and extended his middle finger.
"Marco's en route," Will said. "Get here as fast as you can."
TD's eyes found Tim in the passenger seat. The Blazer veered around a celebratory huddle of liberated Pros. TD smoothed his shirt-tails back into his pants, his shoulders pulling square, and watched with a cool, dead stare until they turned the corner.
Chapter fifty
The Blazer pulled through the Hidden Hills gate right behind Tannino's Bronco, the two vehicles caravanning to the house. High noon blazed off the hood of the Blazer, the temperature climbing toward ninety. L.A. summers came on fast and hard, sometimes overnight.
Tannino shook his head as Tim and Dray approached him on the walk – he didn't know anything yet. He looked past them at Bederman and Reggie and said, "Wait out here, please, until we know what's going on."