Hitmen

Flowers was actually born in Las Vegas, but his family — devout Mormons — moved to Nephi, Utah, when he was eight. The Book of Nephi is the first book in the Book of Mormon. It begins, "I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, therefore I was taught somewhat in the learning of my father." Flowers' father, and his grandfather before him, were produce men, working in grocery stores. When Mormon males turn nineteen, they are generally sent off on two-year missions seeking converts. Flowers' older brother Shane went to Chile. "My whole life, I thought I would do it too," Flowers says. "Then I got sucked into music."

"Brandon was probably the only Smiths fan in Nephi, period," says Wyatt Boswell, a friend since the sixth grade who now tours with the Killers as a guitar tech. "He never had a girlfriend the whole time he lived there. It's a little farm town that thrives on football, so he was seen as kind of off. 'You play golf? You listen to Elton John?' He caught a lot of shit for that."

Flowers was a serious enough high school golfer to consider going pro, but in his senior year, his car — and clubs — were stolen, and he took this as a sign that he should pursue his other love, music. By that point, his family had moved back to Henderson, a Las Vegas suburb, and Flowers was able to find simpatico folk who aspired to rock. After a stint in a band called Blush Response, he answered a newspaper ad placed by future Killers guitarist Dave Keuning. The pair immediately clicked — Keuning being from an equally small town, Pella, Iowa, where his father ran a plumbing and air-conditioner-repair shop. "I was supposed to take over the family business," Keuning says. "They still bring it up once in a while: 'It's waiting for you if you want it.' "

After settling on a lineup that included bassist Mark Stoermer and drummer Ronnie Vannucci, the Killers recorded a demo and began playing showcases, where their unpolished live act roundly failed to impress. "Every label said no," recalls Flowers. "They said I didn't have sex appeal or charisma onstage. That was when I realized how much the whole package has to do with it. I went out and bought a bunch of concert movies: Ziggy Stardust, Rattle and Hum, Gimme Shelter. I'd like to say you just go up there and play your songs. Some people can do that. But there's also something special about going over the top."

The Killers — who had been dressing sharp since their first gig — finally signed with the only label to offer them a deal, a tiny U.K. indie called Lizard King, in the summer of 2003. They flew to England to play a week's worth of shows, all four members getting time off from their day jobs. (Flowers was a bellman at the Gold Coast Hotel and Casino; Keuning worked at Banana Republic; Stoermer transported body fluids and parts for hospitals; Vannucci took photos at a wedding chapel.) After the album broke on the U.K. charts, American labels came calling.

"I'm still devout," says Flowers, who has a fiancee back in Vegas. "I don't really drink or smoke much, and I'm trying to stop. And I feel like what we're doing is very positive. I mean, when we end the night with 'All These Things That I've Done,' for those 5,000 people who are in the audience, the world is a better place."

Onstage at Central Park, Flowers does indeed end the night with "All These Things That I've Done," channeling Bono with his introduction: "This last song is about skin. It's about bones. It's about blood. But most importantly, it's about hearts." A guy behind me hisses, then mutters, "Dude, you can't say that kind of shit in New York."

It's a minority dissent, though. Flowers has yet to evolve into a truly dynamic performer, but he certainly dresses the part, tonight decked out in a pinstriped shirt, black tie and white suit jacket, and the crowd loves him, whether he's crooning, Sinatra-style, from the front of the stage, or playing a keyboard that he had studded with rhinestones the very day he found out Bowie would be attending an earlier show. As Flowers works the stage, lung-shaped pools of sweat form on the back of his white jacket, proving the dangers of outdoor dandyism. Meanwhile, in the VIP area, Keanu Reeves and his girlfriend, Lynn Collins, ferociously make out. ("The One is here!" Flowers will later whisper excitedly to me.) Model Christy Turlington, actor Ed Burns and Island Def Jam chairman Antonio "LA" Reid — who greets Jay-Z with a jolly "What's up, bitch?" — are also in attendance.

"I still don't banter much when I'm up there," Flowers says after the show. "I never know what to say." He's changed into a black Killers T-shirt — he says it's his only clean shirt — and chunky Chanel sunglasses that look like a designer version of the sunglasses old men in Florida wear after cataract surgery. Nearby, Reeves is sitting alone on a folding chair, smoking. There's something a bit stiff about Flowers, a bit Madame Tussaud. He has a tendency to hold his face very still and doesn't seem comfortable in a suit and makeup.