Fear poured out from the five as sweat. Andy called out to them, but that gag-that damn gag.
More horrifying were the men who stood in a line onstage behind his friends. There looked to be a dozen of them, but Andy was too rattled to count. These men were armed to the hilt with shotguns, pistols, assault rifles, and large knives. They flashed their weapons like peacocks showing off feathers.
They came in all shapes and sizes: tall men and thin men, some with long, dark hair and some who kept it short. Some of them had bushy mustaches; others had scruff; a few displayed beards; the minority were clean-shaven. One had red hair and stood next to a man with a prosthetic hand and a claw attachment. They looked relaxed, and why not? Andy was nothing but an unarmed sixteen-year-old boy.
In front of the stage, Andy saw his backpack among some of his friends’ belongings. Thank God! Andy had to have access to his glucose tablets if his blood sugar dropped. He had some food in his system, so the danger wasn’t imminent.
Andy felt a hot breath against the back of his neck.
“I don’t speak English perfectly,” a man said into Andy’s ear. He spoke in a thick Mexican accent. “But I will do my best. Nod if you understand me.”
Andy’s body heated as if ravaged by fever. The man stepped over the second-row seats to confront Andy directly.
He expected to see a monster, but this was not the case. The man had a handsome face and long hair like David’s, which he tied into a thick ponytail. He wore a fancy silk shirt decorated in a paisley pattern, jeans, and polished work boots. It was not the most threatening attire, but he smiled and Andy recoiled. The man’s golden mouth horrified him. The intricate designs cut into the metal were reminiscent of crop circles.
“My name is Fausto,” the man with the metal mouth said. “You must think of me as a friend. I am here to help you. If you do as I say, you may live. It’s simple. Do you understand me?”
Andy nodded.
“Good. I’m going to take away the gag,” Fausto said. “If you scream, I will hurt you. Not that anybody will hear you. The school is empty. No people. We know this for certain. The campus will stay this way for some time. The roads are blocked. We hear things on the radio. But my ears are very sensitive to noise, so I don’t want to have them hurt. Again, nod if you understand. Damn my English, huh? Should have studied more. You study hard in school? I hope so. Very important.”
Andy nodded several times, all in quick succession, and the gag came free. He would have agreed to anything to get that gag out of his mouth. His throat was dry and raw.
As if he could read his mind, Fausto produced a bottle of water. Andy drank thirstily.
“Now here is the deal,” Fausto said. “You are going to describe what you see to your five friends onstage. I keep the gags on them, and the blindfolds, too. Now talk.”
Andy started to hyperventilate. It was difficult to get out any words.
“Cálmate,” Fausto said. “Tranquilo, hijo. You’re not dead yet.”
Not… dead… yet…
Slowly Andy began to piece this together. These men spoke Spanish. They had stolen bitcoins from Javier Martinez, and Andy knew from Gus that the Martinez family had come to the United States from Mexico. He didn’t have to solve complex math equations to understand the significance. This was all about the money. Whoever had come for the money had probably orchestrated the evacuation of the school. It was a smoke screen of epic proportions. In the chaos, their targets would be easy prey. Somehow they knew Andy was involved, which is how they knew about the others as well.
Andy tried to settle. He needed to be brave for his friends.
“Guys, it’s Andy.” His voice came out in a warble. “You’re onstage in the Feldman Auditorium. You’re all here. You know who you are. It’s all of us.”
Andy didn’t want to say their names out loud. There was a good chance these men already knew everything about them, but it still felt like a significant reveal. Andy would hold on to every piece of information until he was forced to share it.
“Tell them more,” the man said.
“There are many men in here with us. Standing behind you. They’re all heavily armed.”
“Good!” Fausto shouted. His booming voice reverberated up to the balcony level. “You’ve done well. By now, you must know or suspect why we are here. Can you tell your friends why we are here?”
Andy didn’t respond.
“Andy, I speak to you. You tell them.”
A shiver cut through Andy. Fausto had said his name.
“You… you want the money back?”
Fausto’s face brightened. His smile was broad and authentic. The gold-metal mouth caught the reflection of some overhead lights and glinted for a moment like paparazzi flashbulbs.
“You got it! You know! Good! We get someplace quick.”
Onstage, Hilary started to sob. At first, just her shoulders heaved up and down, but it quickly became a whole-body shake. The noises she made sank into the gag, but were loud enough to be heard by the others who joined her onstage.
Contagious as a yawn, everyone began to cry. Bodies convulsed. Andy had never felt so desperate, so afraid.
“Now, Andy, we know you have our money,” Fausto said. “So let’s make this easy. Okay? Easy. Give it back now. Right now. If you don’t, I kill one of your friends. Ready? Seriously, are you ready? Because here we go.”
“I-don’t have it. I swear.”
“Armando, coge el cuchillo más grande que tengas y ven al frente del escenario,” Fausto said.
The man with many facial scars produced a twelve-inch carbon-steel hunting knife from a sheath latched to his ankle and came to the front of the stage.
“Efren, anda con él.”
Efren came forward and stood beside Armando. He had short hair and a long knife, just like Armando, but he was built like a pro wrestler.
“Tornado, por favor, ven después. Todos los demás retrocedan cinco pasos.”
A man with a head of untamed long, frizzy hair, appropriate for any metal band, and these wild, hate-filled eyes came forward with a knife dangling by his side. A dark presence swirled about him like a funnel cloud. The rest of the men took five steps back.
“Each of you go and pick a kid to stand behind,” Fausto said. “I don’t care which one. You decide.”
The English was for Andy’s benefit, but the men understood and they did as ordered. Efren stood behind Pixie, Armando took up position behind Solomon, and “El Tornado,” called so because of his wild hair and temper, went up behind Rafa.
“Pónganles los cuchillos en la garganta,” Fausto said.
Up came the hunting knives, each big enough to bushwhack through a field of sugarcane. One at a time, the men leaned forward and set the razor-sharp blades against the throats of the three who were chosen.
“Now, don’t move, kiddies,” Fausto called out. “You don’t want to cut yourselves.”
Armando put Solomon’s head into an arm lock just to hold it still.
Fausto pulled a case from underneath an auditorium seat and withdrew a PC laptop. He flipped open the cover and set the computer on the floor in front of Andy. The computer was already booted up.
Fausto said, “Now, here’s what happens. I give you five minutes to transfer the money to someplace we can get it. I don’t know how to do this, but you do. You took it-you can give it back. So go. Give us the money. After five minutes, if I don’t have the money, I will point to one of your friends, and one of my friends will slice open his throat and spill blood all over this stage. Is that clear? Do I make sense?” Fausto seemed genuinely concerned that he might not have been well understood.