Steve looked down from the balcony. Radio scanner in hand, all clear. His title of head of Security was a joke. All Bovoff cared about was radio scanners, hardly the security role that was portrayed in the action movies. No beating up the bad guys, throwing yourself in front of the bullet. Just check people as they come in for radio equipment and then stand around for 2 hours and scan for other radio scanners. Joy.
Not that Steve would have thrown himself anywhere to protect Bovoff, for Steve thought Bovoff was an asshole. Still the money was good, and it’s not like Steve was ever gonna be a rocket scientist anytime soon. He was bored though.
Even he had to admit that initially this asshole, was a good showman. But when you have seen it a few hundred times and you factor in amount of deception involved. It gets old, fast. Steve was increasingly having difficulty looking himself in the mirror these days. Every handsome paycheck felt dirty.
This was no life. He was touring the country with a bunch of people he couldn’t stand. He never saw anyone he liked. None of his friends would be seen dead at a show like this.
Thats why Steve nearly dropped his radio scanner when he saw Rachel climb onto the stage.
“Rachel Larsen,” Bovoff spoke softly. “I have a message here from your father, He is up in heaven with God. Isn’t that right my child?”
“Yes.” Rachel murmured, nervously fumbling around with her handbag. Stood centre stage. The lights dazzling her blue eyes.
“He loves you very much, he wants you to share in the power of God. I want to show everyone here the love and the power. Can I have a A-Men.”
The crowd screamed “Amen” and watched with eager anticipation.
Steve met Rachel online six years back. They had a mutual friend according to Facebook, she said, although neither of them could quite trace who it was. They laughed, through cyberspace and kept in contact via instant messages, largely because they had nothing in common, Steve supposed.
They had not spoken for many months, Bovoff tours were busy times and Rachel and Steve never appeared to be online at the same time. To see Rachel on stage was a huge shock. Why was she here?
Steve now watched almost open mouthed at the events on the stage. He wracked his brains trying to think of times they had spoken about work. Steve suddenly recalled that he had spoken of the mundane nature of the show. How there always was a pretty young girl who would be made cry on as if on cue. “How do they pick them out?” She had asked.
“Rachel, Your father is here with me.” Bovoff said. “He was taken from you early on wasn’t he.”
Rachel nodded. Shuffling her weight from left to right. Shaking.
“He says his heart is fine now he is with the almighty.”
“His heart?” Rachel said, knowing she’d caught him in a lie. She’d written her father died of a heart attack on the ‘greeting card’ leaflet she had been given as she entered the auditorium.
The leaflet was just the same as the one she had been disappointed to miss out on as a child. The same as the one her father himself had filled out. Steve had told her all she needed to know to be certain of being picked out of the crowd at some point during the show. Now she was certain what she must do, now she was sure Bovoff was a liar. She now only had faith in herself.
Bovoff took out of his suit pocket what Rachel thought was a miniature bottle of water. He held it up to the crowd.
“This,” he proclaimed. “Is my miracle water! Praise The Lord. This will give you the power of the almighty. Rachel, your father wants you to have this.”
Rachel took it and placed it in her bag whilst Bovoff continued.
“That water will bring you great prosperity as it has been blessed. Your Father knows the money troubles you have been having…”
Another ‘greeting card’ lie.
“…and the sleepless nights..”
More lies. Rachel shook with anger.
“You all can have some of this miracle water there is plenty out in the lobby tonight. Share in the power of our lord.”
Rachel’s hand was still in her bag. However it no longer gripped onto the bottle of miracle water. The crowd gasped as she pulled her hand free of her bag. She firmly clasped a small silver pistol. She shot Bovoff three times, before any miracle could save him.
Once for her Father, into the left side of Bovoff’s chest.
Once for Mother, into the right hand side.
Once for her, just below Bovoffs receding hair line as he fell.
He fell to his knees, as if in one final mocking prayer.