Fireworks 3 and 4

Fireworks: Forever Chapter Twenty

    There was no feeling greater than feeling like you were on the brink of major success. Standing on a stage with no one else but your band behind you, holding a mic in your hand and rapping into it while your diehard fans screamed lyrics you wrote back to you. That feeling was even more magnified when your music wasn't getting any radio play. For them to know his lyrics, they had to go searching for his music on their own.

    Big Trip stood on the stage while hot, multi-colored lights shone down on him. There was a twinkle in his close set, bright blue eyes, for anyone close enough to see it. His long, dark hair was pulled up into a bun. No gimmicks as far as aesthetic: he wore a white beater, jeans, and cowboy boots that matched his belt buckle. Depending on the weather, he might throw on a leather jacket over the beater or tee he chose to wear for that night. Between the heat of the stage lights and the sweat from his jumping around stage, that jacket always came off by mid-performance.

The Italian-American rapper whose birth name was Brendan Tripodi grinned at his fans and worked the stage while rapping, pausing to dance and enjoy a back and forth rap-off with a few of the fans standing in the front row.

He wasn't performing in arenas or stadiums yet. That was a goal for the future. The venues he performed in now were relatively small, but he managed to sell out most of them. For an independent artist, that wasn't shabby work. Some people around him tried to downplay his successes. Most of those people had rooted for him when he was a dominating college baseball player. They'd assumed that was the road he would take to stardom. When he abruptly quit and shifted his focus into music, starting with drumming, that had confused a lot of the people around him. Some people got it, some people didn't. Those that didn't, he limited exposure to, because energy like that could be discouraging. It could cause doubt to fester. When you were trying to be one of the most successful independent artists out there, doubt was like a cancer.

The Louisville, Kentucky, crowd has him extra hype, to the point that during the first song after the intermission, he dropped down to his knees and ripped his own tank off. His chest and arm tattoos gleamed beneath the powerful lights above.

The female fans shrieked and the male fans forgave the move.

Grinning while crooning into the mic, he remained on his knees and leaned back so far that his bun nearly touched the floor.

The lights cut off, causing a few more shrieks to sound in the crowd.

Big Trip's brows furrowed. While effectively dramatic, the lights shutting off wasn't a part of the performance. Trying to remain composed, he righted himself and continued alternating between rapping and singing. Once the song was over, he could hear his band talking amongst themselves. Holding the mic to his mouth, he said, "Can we get the lights to come back up, please?"

Smoke rolled across the stage. That was sometimes a part of the performance, but not this time.

He raised his eyes and peered towards the back of the audience. The windowed doors towards the back of the venue revealed bright orange flickering lights. Panic seized him when he realized that those weren't lights; they were flames. His throat closed, preventing sound from coming out. After struggling for a brief period, he shouted, "Fire!"

"What?" Some of the audience turned around.

Chaos ensued.

"Stay calm!" Big Trip instructed. "Don't run over each other. I'll have my team check for a safe exit. Just stay calm, we're okay."

The smell of burning and smoke started to fill the stage area, indicating that the area behind the stage might also be compromised.

He had to keep his brain focused, because it wanted to determine how the hell this place caught on fire. If it wasn't any of his electrical equipment, which was in clear view, then what could it have been? That wasn't the important question right now, though. The first priority was getting everyone out safe and unharmed.

The drummer stood and moved around his instrument and other band members followed, fanning out to look for a safe exit.

Big Trip continued assuring his fans that everything would be okay, while casting glances over his shoulder. "We're good," he kept repeating into the microphone. "We're going to be okay, it's all good." After repeating it so many times, he realized that he was also trying to convince himself everything would be okay. There were already news reports of rapper Westside Terror and band Untamed Wasteland meeting unfortunate events today. If he was on his own, that would be one thing...but he had bandmates, team members, and fans here with him. I can't let anything happen to them, he thought, hopping down from the stage.

His fans seemed to be teetering that line between calmness in the face of a storm and unbridled panic. They were fucking with him and trusting him - for now.

"We got a safe exit!" came the shout from his drummer.

"Come on!" Big Trip shouted to his fans, following his drummer along the length of the bar counter that lined the left side of the venue. Beyond that bar section was a doorway without a door on its hinges. "Has anyone called 911? Jesse has my phone."

"I did!" a few of his fans called back.

"Thank you, good looking out."

A cool night breeze surged at them as they filed out of the back door of the establishment. Big Trip moved as far away from the door as possible, while keeping a good vantage point on those still making their way out.

His assistant, Jesse Montez, handed him his phone.

"Thanks, man. How the fuck did that happen?"

Jesse shook his head. "The place was checked before we started unloading. We didn't see anything for a cause for concern. Their electrics were up to date. I don't know what the hell would've caused something like this."

"We have to stay until the fire trucks and shit get here," Big Trip muttered, glancing at the time on his cell phone screen. "That's going to push back the time that we leave this place."

Fans crowded around them, holding each other. Some crying, because they felt like they'd narrowly escaped death, and others staring in a stunned state of shock.

"Is everyone alright?" Big Trip called out to them.

A bunch of nods.

"I don't know what you guys have planned for the night, but my team and I have to stay behind until the fire trucks get here. I'm not sure if all of you can stick around or not, but it could help. Anything you've seen could provide some kind of insight as to what the hell happened tonight. Just in case anyone has to break out, though...can we all pull it in for a huge group hug?"

His fans happily obliged. "Like I said...we're alright. We're okay. Anything going on in your lives right now, you'll continue to be okay."

Everyone hugged each other and stood in silence until the blaring sirens of the fire trucks and ambulances could be heard.

His phone buzzed in his hand, so he lifted the device to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Shit, I thought Jesse was going to pick up," his friend started. "I'm back at the hotel room-"

"I'd hope so," Big Trip said. "That was the plan."

"Yeah, but here's the thing: cops nearly knocked the door down to our suite."

Big Trip's brows drew together. "Yeah?"

"They're going through everything, man. Everything. Tearing the room apart. They're finding shit."

What the fuck is going on? Big Trip wondered, not even knowing how to respond. "What's wild about that is, there's some crazy shit going on down here, too," he said finally. "A fire broke out at my show."

"What?"

"Yeah. Everyone got out okay, but we're pretty shaken up over here. There was only one exit for everyone to get out."

"I was wondering if someone maybe reported smelling weed out in the hall," his friend said, "but I'm beginning to think something else is going on."

Big Trip's frown deepened. "Yeah. It feels like someone's trying to take me out of the game - and they didn't want to leave it up to just one plan succeeding."