Ian Tendo’s life fell apart on a Thursday. As he waited for the show to start, he tapped his Converse on the floor of the Swank. It was sticky. His fingers fiddled with the phone in his hoodie. He pulled it out and checked his messages again.
Nothing.
He looked around at the growing crowd. It was a small venue and nearly full. He felt awkward standing there by himself. Everyone was in groups. Or couples. He thought about Emli and his stomach knotted. It would be just like her to show. He checked his messages again.
Nothing.
His phone buzzed as soon as it reached his pocket.
YOU ARE ABOUT TO BE DETAINED BY THE FBI
Ian’s head snapped back.
He read the message again. The number wasn’t in his contacts. Was 123 even a real area code? Gotta be a scam. He blocked the number.
He moved the phone back to his pocket. It buzzed again.
YOU DON’T HAVE TIME TO RUN
It was a different number. Apparently they weren’t giving up.
WRONG NUMBER
The response followed immediately as if it had been typed and waiting.
IAN KATSUHIRO TENDO. 24. JAPANESE-CANADIAN. ONLY CHILD OF JOYCE HMONG AND KATSUHIRO TENDO, BOTH DECEASED. CURRENTLY UNDER CONTRACT WITH AEROMETRIC SYSTEMS, SEATTLE.
Ian looked around as if someone in the crowd were watching him. Was it a prank? He looked back at the screen and read the message three more times. It was freaky.
DO I KNOW YOU?
MY NAME IS PROPHET. I CAN HELP.
HELP WITH WHAT?
An image appeared, a symbol. Ian didn’t recognize it.
NOTHING I SAY WILL PREPARE YOU
Ian rolled his eyes. Next they’d claim to be a Nigerian prince or something and ask for his bank account.
WHATEVER BYE
Again, the response appeared immediately, as if already typed.
I HAVE SENT SOMEONE TO HELP. TO AVOID DETECTION, SHE WILL NOT BE WHAT YOU EXPECT. I SUGGEST YOU DO AS SHE SAYS. THESE MESSAGES WILL BE WIPED FROM YOUR PHONE IN EIGHT SECONDS. GOOD LUCK.
STOP SEN—
His phone shut off and started to reboot.
“What the hell?” Ian stuck out the device as if it were infected.
How did they do that?
“Hey, man.” Digby Fears walked across the floor. His face was ruddy and plump and mostly obscured by a wild brown beard that matched the mass of hair on his head. His gray “Supervillain” T-shirt stretched over his ample belly. The rest was covered by a brown corduroy jacket. “Problems with your phone?”
Ian was pretty sure that was the only sport coat in the entire venue. “Big Dig.” They shook hands. “Thanks for coming, man.”
Ian guessed Dig was a little older than him, early 30s maybe, but it was hard to tell under all the hair.
“No way, dude. Thanks for inviting me. I haven’t been to a concert in forever. This is so cool.” Digby looked around at the crowd. Then he looked down at his corduroy jacket. “Hey, do you think they have a coat check or something?”
“Coat check? Uhhh, I dunno.”
“Right.” Digby took the coat off and draped it over his arm. “So . . . I heard your contract wasn’t renewed.”
Ian nodded. “Yeah . . .” He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t really want to have a conversation in public about being unemployed.
“That sucks. Is that why you weren’t at work yesterday?” Digby put the coat back on.
“Yeah. Maybe it’s lame, but I really didn’t feel like coming in and getting the smarmy pep talk.” He spoke in a mocking tone. “This frees you up to find a great position that’s a better match for your skills.”
“Yeah, Rogerson’s such a bitch. How long do you have?”
“Next week.” Ian smiled as best he could and shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He wanted to take it off so people could see his ultra-rare, first-tour Vermont Conspiracy T-shirt, but then he wouldn’t know where to put it. A coat check would be nice.
“I can’t believe they’d drop you and not some of the others. That’s so wrong. You already caught like eight missed requirements.” Digby was swaying and moving his arms to broadcast music that was barely audible over the crowd.
“Yeah . . .”
“What are you gonna do?”
Ian shrugged. He hadn’t gotten that far. He hadn’t gotten any farther than this very night. The big show. He’d been waiting for months.
“Well, whatever you do, don’t move back to Canada. That’s like giving up.”
“Ha.” That was certainly what it felt like.
The crowd jostled. People pushed past with without care. Some guys stopped right in front of Ian and Digby and blocked the stage. Ian had made it a point to get there early, even though that had meant waiting by himself. Like a dweeb. He had cased the floor looking for the best place to watch the show and avoid the stage divers. And then these assholes push in at the last minute and block the view.
Ian lifted his hands in frustration and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed. The girls next to him were talking to each other. That’s when Emli walked in, smiling. And she wasn’t alone. Her new boyfriend was with her. It had been less than a month and she already had a new boyfriend. Tobe. Not Toby. Tobe. He looked like a tool. A very sturdy tool.
Emli looked great. She’d kept her hair short. She’d cut it just before she dumped him. Ian had liked it the old way, but he was quick to tell her she was still attractive. And she’d lost a little weight. Emli was never going to win any beauty contests, but for Ian there was always something about her, her smile perhaps. Her wide hips. And those lips. Their first kiss had reminded him of a warm day at the beach and the rush of sand over his skin as a shallow wave recedes.
Emli didn’t notice him. She followed Tobe into the crowd. He was tall. Like the guys who’d just ruined the view. He led her by the hand. They slid between laughing friends and couples in each other’s arms and took a spot near the front. Everyone moved for Tobe.
He asked her something. She nodded enthusiastically. They chatted. Emli glanced back and saw Ian staring.
He turned away quickly.
“Do you wanna move somewhere else?” Digby pointed to the guys in front of them.
They didn’t look like real Vermont Conspiracy fans. The band was definitely getting more popular. “I gotta step out for a minute, man.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I just need to step out real quick.” Ian maneuvered to the door. He got a purple unicorn stamped on the back of his hand and walked into the night. It was clear and he could see a few stars.
Small groups of people chatted out front. Others wandered up the tree-lined walkway from the road. The parking lot was across the street. The police had blocked traffic at both nearby intersections. It wasn’t that large of a concert, certainly not enough to require traffic abatement. He wondered what had happened.
Ian sat on a short wall that held back a row of potted trees. He put his hood up and leaned over his legs. He felt out of breath.
This sucked.
“Are you okay?”
Emli.
He shut his eyes, then opened them. “Hey.” He sat up. At least he hadn’t been crying.
She made a sad face. “‘Hey’ isn’t an answer.”
Ian couldn’t tell if she was being genuine. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. How are you?”
She nodded positively. “So . . . Are you excited?” She nodded to the well-lit venue behind her.
“What are you doing?”
“What?”
“This. Right now. What are you doing?”
“Uh . . . I’m checking on a friend who I know is having a hard time.”
Friend. Apparently she’d made the decision that they were friends. Apparently he didn’t have a say. He didn’t want to be friends. He wanted it to be like it was. “You don’t even like the Vermont Conspiracy.”
“Are you kidding? I love them.”
“Whatever.” They were definitely getting more popular. “You hadn’t even heard of them before.”
“You can’t keep other people from enjoying a band just because you happened to hear them first.”
“Okay, first of all, it’s not a question of who heard them first because you wouldn’t have heard of them at all. All you do is listen to the radio. Or mooch music off your friends.”
She made a face. “What does that even mean?”
“Second, you knew how excited I was about this concert. You actually asked me to stop talking about it. Remember?”
“I don’t think I would say something like that.”
It was the only fun thing he’d had on the horizon since the breakup. And now she was ruining it. “Why can’t you just let me have this? It’s one night. You can go back to ruining my life tomorrow.”
“Ruining your life? Yes, because that’s clearly why I’m here. Jesus, Ian. I came over to try and be nice, to see how you were doing, to show you there were no hard feelings or whatever.” She shook her head. “I totally should’ve known you’d be like this.”
“Hard feelings?” Ian looked disgusted. “You broke up with me. Why would you have any hard feelings?”
“You’re so selfish.” She turned to leave.
“How can you just be like this?” Ian was in awe. It still felt like her feelings for him had switched overnight.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Everything was for you, Em. Weekends shopping and skipping Comicon to go to your Dad’s 60th birthday party and using up most of my PTO so we could go to your mom’s house for Christmas, and to the beach for vacation.”
“I told you we didn’t have to go to the beach.”
“I wanted you to be happy!” Ian raised his hands.
“Comicon happens every year. My dad only turns 60 once.”
“Exactly! And I was happy to do it for you. So where’s the part where I was being selfish?”
Emli got flustered. “That’s not fair about Christmas. What else were we supposed to do? Hang out by ourselves?”
It was a jab. Ian didn’t have family, at least not any he was close to. Both of his parents had passed: his dad in Afghanistan when he was young, his mom just a few years ago, right after college. Cancer.
Ian crossed his arms, then wrapped them around his chest. He still felt the loss. His parents had divorced early. It had been his mom and him as long as he could remember.
The opening act started to play. The sound came out the doors in waves as they opened and closed with the passing crowd. Everyone was so happy, so excited. Ian noticed Digby standing awkwardly by the front, waiting. He had his coat draped over his arm again, the “Supervillain” shirt on proud display. Ian felt bad about ditching him.
Emli recovered. “Look, I’m sorry you’re still upset. I heard you were seeing someone and I thought you’d be cool. Otherwise you’re totally right. I wouldn’t have come.”
That was a lie. “I’m not seeing anyone. I went on a couple dates. That’s all.” In the wake of the break-up, Ian had put up a profile on every possible dating site he could find. He must have messaged several dozen girls. Only one had responded. After their second outing, she’d declined Ian’s offer to attend the concert. Digby was the next best option. They were work friends. Ian hadn’t spent much of his time in Seattle making any other kind. He’d had Emli. He’d moved for her.
She was indignant. “I don’t need to check with you before Tobe and I go out. These tickets weren’t cheap. You’re just gonna hafta deal.”
Ian rolled his eyes. “Fuck, Em. I’m not asking to approve your fucking dinner plans. This is different and you know it. If you were actually concerned about me, even a little, you’d have at least thought about it first. You would’ve texted or emailed and at least gave me a heads up you were coming.” He hadn’t entered her thoughts at all. She didn’t even associate him with the band anymore.
Tobe walked up. “Everything okay, babe?” He put his hand on the small of her back. He didn’t look at Ian.
“Yeah.” Emli didn’t look at Ian either. “It’s nothing. Let’s just have fun.”
Ian snorted and shook his head. That was Emli’s answer to everything, to life. “Let’s just have fun.” It was great when you were the one she was having fun with. Emli could make fun infectious, and she’d gotten Ian to open up more than he ever had since the funeral. But more than once he’d seen her use it as an excuse to act like a brat to her friends.
He watched them go, then he sat on the wall again. He knew what would happen. They’d spend the whole concert holding hands and dancing and smiling at each other. Tobe would kiss her. She would enjoy it. Ian would see.
Digby walked up. “Dude, do you just wanna head out?”
Yes.
No.
Leaving would be like letting her win.
But then he knew Em. She would put on a show with Tobe. On purpose.
What a stupid name. Tobe.
Ian looked at his new friend. He’d dragged Digby out here. He’d given his friend a ticket—it had been Emli’s, purchased the first day they went on sale. It seemed rude to invite him to a concert and then leave.
Ian stood up and put his hood down. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to drag you into my drama. I really didn’t think she’d be here.”
“Not a big deal. We’ve all been there. I just feel bad.”
“Why? It’s not your fault.”
“I dunno. I feel like I should be helping you get over her or whatever, like helping you find someone else. There are a lot of cute girls here. I’m just not much of a wingman.” He thrust out his ample belly dramatically.
Ian smiled. The shirt was pretty awesome. “Thanks. Thanks for coming.” He started walking to the door.
“You sure?”
Ian nodded. “Can’t let her ruin everything.”
“Whatever. I still leave angry voicemails for my ex from two years ago!” Digby laughed.
Ian decided he was going to get over her. Tonight. No matter what. He turned his phone off. No more crazy messages. No more Emli. The concert was on. Time to start the rest of his life.
As he walked into the hall, the sound and smell washed over him, and he immediately felt better. The crowd pressed to the stage. The opening band was shit, but everyone ate them up. Ian and Digby stood near the center of the room. The view was crap. There were so many better venues the band could have played. Ian told himself to stop being so negative.
Four songs in, the lights came on and the band stopped playing. The crowd chattered in confusion.
Ian looked at Digby. The bearded man shrugged. They both noticed the police officers blocking the doors, front and back.
A guy in skinny jeans jumped onto the stage. He spoke into the mic. His voice echoed. “If everyone could just hang tight for a sec, we’ve been asked to cooperate with the authorities. Vermont Conspiracy are in back and ready to go.” There were some cheers. “We’ll get back to the show in just a minute. Just everyone please stay where you are. Thank you.”
Ian looked at his phone.
A female officer in plain clothes walked through the crowd. Ian guessed that meant she was a detective. She was flanked by two uniformed men. Seattle police. She was maybe in her late 40s with a narrow face cracked from stress and brown hair pinned behind her ears. She weaved back and forth through the concert-goers as if she was looking for something. Ian noticed quite a few people trying to hide drugs nonchalantly. They weren’t doing a very good job.
The detective saw Ian and stopped. She pulled her identification from her coat. Ian saw three bold letters.
“I’m Special Agent Edie Scanlon with the FBI. Are you Ian Tendo?”
“Uh . . .” She had a picture of him. There was only one answer, but for a moment, Ian was reluctant to give it. He had no idea what would follow. “Yes.” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to use sir or ma’am with a female agent. He’d never dealt with the FBI. Or any law enforcement.
The chattering had stopped. Except for shuffling and whispers, it was completely quiet. Everyone was looking at him now. The entire crowd. The opening band. Emli. Tobe.
“Turn around, please.”
Ian went white as a sheet. “I haven’t done anything,” he whispered. He thought about the pirated movies and music on his computer. And the porn. And the websites he’d visited. He turned and put his hands behind his back.
Digby stepped away. Emli put a hand to her mouth. The guys in front snickered.
Agent Scanlon handcuffed Ian, then patted his side and back pockets and around his waist. It wasn’t a full frisk, just a quick check to make sure he wasn’t armed. She took his phone. “You are being detained by the United States on a matter of national security.”
National security? It had to be a mistake. Ian’s eyes darted across the shocked and amused faces. He had no idea what to think. Nothing like this had ever happened before. “I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” He said it just a little too loudly. He tried to smile. His face burned red.
Agent Scanlon led Ian by the arm toward the front doors. He looked at the floor as he passed the silent crowd. He was aware of every aspect of his appearance: how he hadn’t shaved that morning, how his pants were too tight, how his butt stuck out. He’d been working a lot and eating poorly, especially since the breakup. He had a long commute and had to drive to work versus riding his bike like he’d done in college. He’d gained weight and now had to carry his wallet in his bag lest it poke from his back pocket like a tumor. He hadn’t wanted to buy new pants. He didn’t want to give himself the out. He wanted to lose the weight. Now it seemed stupid.
The crowd was still. He could feel their gaze on him, even Digby. He could see from the corner of his eye how they all stared. Until he approached. Then they turned away. It was so embarrassing.
Ian was led out the front of the building and into a plain, black sedan. The entire block had been cordoned off, apparently to keep him from escaping, as if he was someone who’d run from the authorities. Flashing patrol cars blocked every ingress. Crowds had gathered at the flanking intersections, held at bay by more uniformed officers, probably a dozen in all. Everybody stared at the commotion. There were whispers.
The FBI caught a terrorist.
[Tap or click here to listen to the soundtrack to this series.]