“Ah yes,” the woman said as she scanned their badges. “The guests. We were told you’d be here shortly. Let me call Meghan.” The woman pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt and said, “Meghan, it’s Sharice at the Tundra Entrance with the VIPs. Again, the VIPs have arrived.”
A squawking sound came over the radio that Blayne couldn’t make out, but Sharice said, “Ms. Flores said she’d be here momentarily. You can go stand over there.” She motioned to a side lobby next to the glass that overhung Bell Street. Blayne looked down at traffic passing underneath.
“Good afternoon. You must be the friends of ZERO,” a voice cut through the silence.
Blayne turned to look at the businesswoman walking toward the group. She wore a gray pantsuit. Her shoulder-length black hair had light brown highlights that popped in the foyer lighting.
“Blayne Dickenson.” He extended his hand to greet the woman, who freely took it and shook it. “And with me are Kira Strickland and Madeline and Jamie Reich.”
“Meghan Flores,” the woman said, turning and shaking everyone’s hand. “Welcome to the Toyota Center. Please ask me or anyone on my staff if you need anything while visiting us. If they can’t help you, they’ll find me. Are we all here?”
Kira answered. “Another one of our party will show up later—”
“Yes, Special Agent Sarah Murphy,” Meghan cut in. “I’ll ensure she is ushered into the greenroom as soon as she arrives.” Then, without skipping a beat, she spun on her heels, all six inches. “Follow me.” Meghan Flores started walking through the arena without waiting to see if anyone would follow.
She walked the group around for almost thirty minutes as a tour guide. “We broke ground in 2001 and opened in 2003.”
“Have you been here this whole time?” Madeline asked.
“No. I joined the team in 2015. Before moving back to Houston, I worked at the Toyota Arena in Ontario, California, in guest relations and event management.”
“How many seats does this place have?” Jamie asked. The group stood in one of the many social clubs with amazing views of the arena inside.
“The arena sits eighteen-thousand, three-hundred guests on game days, and we can seat about nineteen-thousand guests for concerts.”
“There are going to be nineteen-thousand people here tonight?” Jamie asked, the shock in his voice clear.
Blayne walked over to the railing and stared into the arena.
“No,” Megan answered. “Tonight’s concert only uses about two-hundred and seventy of the full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. The band’s layout doesn’t enable concertgoers to sit behind the stage. I think we’re expecting some fourteen-thousand visitors tonight.”
Blayne looked down across the arena at the stage on the other end. Behind it was a giant wall of monitors. Images flashed across the giant screens. The crew scurried back and forth on the floor like ants. He marveled at how so many people seemed to know exactly what they were doing and how their small part fit into the larger picture of a multi-million-dollar concert.
“Mr. Dickenson?”
The sound of his name snapped him out of his wonderment.
“Yes?” The words were out of his mouth more by instinct than anything else.
“It’s time to head down to the green room,” Meghan said.
Blayne smiled and started following the group. Meghan led them out of the club area to an escalator down to the stadium floor. She passed a few checkpoints, and everyone was summarily let through as they followed their guide, who continued to rattle off facts about the facility.
They walked through an entryway and right onto the floor of the Toyota Center. Blayne paused just for a moment to take in the arena’s size. He’d been inside a large arena before but never a professional one.
“And it only cost us about two-hundred-and-thirty-five million dollars,” Kira mumbled from his left. “Imagine what the city could have done with those funds.”
“You’re right, Ms. Strickland. The citizens of Houston made a substantial investment in the Toyota Center when they voted to increase the sales tax by zero-point-one percent. But it was an investment. For example, we held a UFC event several years ago estimated to have had an economic impact of twenty-five million dollars. Half of that was in direct spending by the organization and our out-of-town visitors. That one event garnered almost a half-million in direct tax revenue for the city. People only often hear about the initial investments in these facilities. Still, they rarely hear the full story about how these facilities pay for themselves over time.”
“Mm-hmm,” Kira responded, clearly not wholly buying the argument.
Meghan had clearly dealt with skeptics before, because she smiled and led the group through the arena floor to a side tunnel area to the left of the stage. For the first time, Blayne saw heavy amounts of security. Blayne recognized Mr. J. talking with security personnel Blayne didn’t recognize. At six-five, with three-hundred pounds of solid muscle and a bald head that glinted in the stadium lights, Mr. J. stood out like a giant security beacon. Of course, Mr. J. wore his sunglasses. Blayne had seen none of the ZERO security team without sunglasses…ever.
The group was led through a metal detector, and their bags were checked by security personnel. In a few minutes, they entered the part of the arena that was more business than entertainment. The gray concrete walls had a few decorative items adorning them, reminding you that the arena was the home of the Houston Rockets. Still, it was mostly plain gray industrial walling.
“Here you go,” Meghan said, opening the door to a room. “The band will be with you when they finish getting ready. You probably have”—she glanced down at her watch—“at least thirty minutes. So please, enjoy the buffet.” She gestured to the tables of steel chafers. Caterers immediately began unrolling the tops of the dishes and the smell of food entered the room. “And if you need to use the facilities”—she gestured toward a hallway at the other end of the room—“they’re right down there.”
With that, she spun on her heels and left the group, who were now outnumbered by attendants and caterers to serve them.
