It was two minutes to show time.

The musicians were in the backstage green room, preparing for the show. A.J. was tuning his guitar while Carrie practiced the solo line for the encore. The rest chattered idly while Jim practiced his scales on the green room piano. Nazz Gleason spoke the most, talking about playing before his home town this evening.

At one minute to show time Jim stood from the piano and checked his pockets out of habit. “Shit!” he yelled.

“Problem?” A.J. asked.

“I forgot my supply of guitar picks.”

A.J. laughed. “Go get them! The audience will wait another 60 seconds.”

“True.” Jim followed the far corridor back to the dressing room, knocking on the door to check if Karen was still there. There was no sound, as Jim expected. Karen would be in the audience by now.

When Jim opened the door, he found Karen still in the room. To Jim’s shock, so was Jeff Soszynski.

Jeff had a gun to Karen’s head.

“Shit!” Jim yelled.

Jeff pointed the gun at Jim. “Please, be quiet,” he said. “Shut the door.”

Jim complied, stepping into the room.

“Well!” Jeff continued. “This is certainly unexpected. I expected to be long gone by the time you returned to this room.”

“I forgot my guitar picks,” Jim said quietly.

Jeff giggled. “God, how silly. Undone by a ten cent piece of plastic.”

Jim looked at Karen, who looked frightened beyond reason. “Are you all right?”

“Who the fuck asked you, shithead!” Jeff shouted, pointing the gun at Jim’s head. “She’s my wife you cocksucker! You piss-ant son of a bitch! I’ve treated her well, and will continue to do so!”

Jim pushed himself against the wall next to the door, trying to keep himself away from the barrel of the gun. “What are you going to do?”

Jeff backed away. “What a fucking stupid question! I’m going to shoot her, you stupid son of a bitch!”

Jim glanced to Karen, who hardly reacted. She was scared, and both he and Jeff were picking it up.

“You and I,” Jeff continued, “could easily have been friends. Instead we were rivals. Fucking rivals.” He shook his head.

“What does...”

“Shut up! I intend to rob you of center stage, just as you robbed me of my family.” He pointed the gun at Karen.

“Because you refuse to leave the race,” Jeff said, “the only fair thing is to eliminate the prize.”

“That’s sick,” Jim responded.

“I! I write the rules here!”

Karen found her voice for the first time. “You’re being textbook, Jeff,” she said.

Jeff whirled to face her. “Speak not another word! You are in the past! Stay the fuck there!” Jeff put the barrel to the gun to Karen’s forehead. “Let’s end this.”

The door opened and A.J came into the room. “Hey Jim, you asshole,” he said, “what’s taking so...” A.J. stopped, taking in the scene. “Fuck!” he said.

Jim decided that the distraction was enough to make his move. He was so tense that he had been hoping for an opportunity like this would present itself.

A.J. saw the move and shouted “Jim! No!”

It was too late.

Jim threw a straight hand right punch at the left side of Jeff’s head. He hit above Jeff’s ear, and his fist stopped, embedded, inside Jeff’s cranium. A.J. spun away to avoid seeing the carnage.

Karen began vomiting, then she passed out.

Jim was spattered with blood as he tried to pull his hand out of Jeff’s skull.

Mercifully, Jeff had died instantly.

Jim removed his hand, covered with gore. He stared at his hand, amazed at what he had done. “Uh, I, uh, A.J.,” he stammered, “you, you don’t want to turn around.”

A.J. didn’t. “I’m going for help,” he said. He opened the door and ran out, throwing up in the hallway. Because he faced the other way he didn’t see Jim pass out, a piece of Jeff’s brain still in his hand.

At 8:45 p.m. Nazz Gleason walked onto the stage. The audience was restless, as the show was scheduled to begin over an hour earlier.

“Good evening,” he began, holding a microphone to his mouth. “My name is Nazz, and I play saxophone for this tour. It is my regret to inform you that tonight’s show is canceled.”

He waited for the booing to subside slightly before continuing.

“I realize what a disappointment this is. This is my home town, and we all wanted to play. There has...” He stopped for a moment, holding back tears.

“There has been a death backstage,” a continued, “a little less than an hour ago. I regret to inform you that...that Jim Christopher, my good friend, has been arrested in connection with the killing.” Tears streamed down his face.

There were over 15,000 people in the auditorium, and all were silent.

“I believe,” Nazz continued, “that Jim will be all right, but obviously the show cannot proceed without him.

“We all love you, and I hope we can entertain you someday. Today...” he stepped away from the microphone for a moment. “Today it wasn’t meant to be.”

Nazz dropped the microphone and walked off stage, holding his head. “I fucking hate this,” he said to no one.