“I been with this show for nine months,” He was half smiling as we worked. “This panel is a piece I’ve grown particularly close with.”
He goes across the hanging panel, making quick work of unlatching the first set of fasteners. “Close in a friendly way, or close in a murderous way?”
He snorts, regarding the next set of fasteners. “I think we’ve come to an agreement. I’ve named this layer of pins. They’re all pretty decent souls.”
His mallet strikes one out and a piece of the panel falls away; I swing it around to its place on the cart. “That one’s Phoebe.”
Bang! Another piece off. “This one’s Sofia.”
He pauses as another crew threads their own large and unwieldy cart through the narrow spaces left on the stage. When it’s passed he turns back to our piece and gestures broadly down the panel, wiping his forehead. “We’ve got Marielle, Annetta, Damon, and Carol.”
My mental tally comes up one short. “What about this one?” The closest pin sat in its slot, unnamed and up next.
He takes a deep breath and smiles, but this time it’s a little dangerous and maybe a little crazy. “This one? This one’s the sonuvabitch.”
The mallet hits home. Once. Twice. A third, accompanied with a growl and a curse or three. The pin slides free and he mutters sonuvabitch under his breath.