Free Kicking the Can by Scott C. Glennie Page A

the bass drum was the creature’s heartbeat; its intensity and beats per second increasing rapidly. Gupta could feel a lump form in his throat. The moist breath of the dragon was sucked from the air in a flash as it erupted in fire-breathing pyrotechnics.
    The docility of swaying hands morphed into the devil’s horns, a rock-and-roll symbol using the index finger and pinky. The crowd surged forward, and braless women and shirtless men were pressed hard against the barricade. Searching spotlights panned the area, illuminating pierced tongues and body art. Seven spotlights, each the size of a moon, blinded the concertgoers…too intense to keep eyes open. A guitar riff pierced the air, and then the band joined in—the beast suddenly transfixed by the metal music.
    As the second song began to play, Nadir tapped Gupta and Chaitan on the back. He was holding the sound receptor with both hands in the air. Gupta pretended to turn on a toggle switch and adjust a rheostat. He almost spotted when to his surprise, the light on his headlamp illuminated. The intensity of the light seemed to cyclewith the sound waves produced in the arena, growing more and less intense as the loudness rose and ebbed. Suddenly, the receptor was knocked from Nadir’s hands. When it hit the ground, the thin membrane was crushed and trampled by the crowd. Gupta’s camper light went out.
    Nadir looked distressed. Chaitan, who had videotaped the scene on her phone standing next to Nadir, was elated. She rushed to Gupta, pressing her lips against his and then shouting congratulations. The two joined hands, jumping to the beat of “Trooper.” Gupta didn’t hear a musical note after that. He was in love.
    The gang met in the parking lot after the concert. Chaitan replayed the video for Nadir, and the two exchanged high fives. Nadir turned to Gupta to confess.
    “Chaitan helped me.” Nadir pulled the battery pack and wire from his pocket. He had hard wired the lamp to the battery pack. An in-line switch, operated by Chaitan, had been used to adjust the light intensity. The joke had been on Gupta.
    “I got you.” Nadir said over and over. “You should have seen the look on your face when the light went on.” They were laughing, giving each other fist bombs. Chaitan stepped forward.
    “I decided anyone who would work that hard to try to impress me couldn’t be all bad.” She planted another kiss on his lips. Gupta warmed inside. He did not believe she could fake her passion.

32
    J ack Dain didn’t see the weapon until it was too late. The Iraqi double agent pressed the electrical device against his torso. Dain lost voluntary control of his muscles instantly. He was conscious and vaguely aware that his body fell forward when he lost his balance. He lay facedown in the dirt, immobilized. Inhaled dust particles coated the inside of his mouth and nose. The traitor pressed the weapon against his body a second time—excruciating pain. They were laughing now as they worked quickly to strip off his weaponry and bind his hands and feet. He was lifted from the ground by two soldiers. A third militant forced a cloth hood over Dain’s head. The putrid smell of urine, feces, and animal excrement traumatized his olfactory system. When he tried to pull away from his captors, they responded by smashing his face with a rubber truncheon. It appeared as a thin shadow for a split second before Dain heard the crunching sound of his nose structure—bones and cartilage compressing—and then he blacked out. He regained consciousness, his body’s response to oxygen deprivation caused by the blood and vomit that filled the hood coagulating on his mouth and face, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He struggled to roll off his stomach to his side, a positionthat allowed him to spit and gulp for air. The automobile tires beneath him squealed, and his body was thrown to the side as the car skidded in a steep turn. He extended his legs to steady his body in the trunk of