Page 124 of Volatile Waters

“Fuck them.”

“Do you have a gun?”

Almost pouting, I explained, “Wasn’t allowed on the plane, but I’ll find a way to get one.”

“Well, you will have to do it in the next twenty seconds if you keep up the attitude.”

“Why?”

“It’s freezing out, yet neither has their jacket zipped or buttoned. Easy access.”

Wolf’s FBI training had him much more aware of his surroundings than I. And that was quite the feat because I lived in paranoid mode due to my long-lost uncle. “What’s it to them if we are standing here, minding our own business?”

“I’m suspecting our business is theirs, also. They have bodyguard written all over them.”

Before Wolf could say more, a tour bus drove into the parking lot. When the door opened, a rowdy group of eight men filed down the stairs, all either talking or laughing. A shorter blond, who looked as if he was fresh off the coast of California, was chuckling. “I’m just sayin’! She was smokin’!”

Another man, with drum sticks clutched in one hand, playfully popped him on the back of the head. “Blake, are you ever going to learn?”

“We just had lunch at Hooters! I’m still on a beautiful thigh high, my friend.”

Another young man with a long beard spoke with a strong country accent. “Destiny ate so many buffalo shrimp, she may puke them all on the stage tonight.”

That caused an abundance of free laughter from them all.

Crowded around their bus’s door, the eight men seemed to be very close-nit and full of life. They had smiles from ear to ear and were goofing around with good-humored punches, headlocks, hair tousling, and lewd comments as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

Wondering how long they had been cooped up in that bus, I noticed the two bodyguards now crossing the parking lot, but not toward us.

The young, festive men, after spotting the two men, howled, “Towers! Destiny has wings for you guys—” but quickly ended their play when the two ‘Towers’ barely waved in return because their focus was still locked on Wolf and I as they walked toward the end of the bus. The young men’s eyes instantly raced to us. Suddenly, as if a well-trained unit, they walked to catch up with the bodyguards, never losing sight of us. Their interaction went from glee to an impressive intensity with not one shared word.

Wolf’s brows bunched in confusion. “Are you seeing this?”

“I am, but I’m not understanding what I’m seeing.”

Just then, another tour bus entered the parking lot. It pulled up right behind the first one. As if the drivers were experienced with building a barrier to block out the city beyond the parking lot, they made a line. The men huddled at the closed bus door while the black man quietly said something to them. The other guard nodded then faced the door as if expecting it to open any second. It did. His stance had been some sort of queue.

As the black man started crossing the parking lot, headed for us, the white guard spoke with a man descending the bus’s stairs. He appeared to be about six-foot-four and had on a cowboy hat. After listening to the guard speak, he peered over the white guard’s head and observed us.

With the black bodyguard almost to Wolf and me, Wolf whispered, “Head of security.”

I gave a slight head nod so he knew I heard him.

The black man lacked a smile but still approached with manners. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

I asked, “Are we not permitted to be here?”

His eyes were live scanners as he studied us both. Then, his politeness evaporated. “Let’s try this again. Why are you waiting for these tour busses? You are clearly not here for the music.”

Wolf lied, “I’m a huge fan of Destiny’s. That’s all.”

The man smirked, but it wasn’t humorous; it was annoyed. “Oh, yeah? How old are her twins?”

Wolf, most likely aware his lie was not wise, deadpanned his answer, “Ten.”

The black man calmly stated, “It’s time for you to go.”

“Was I wrong?” asked Wolf.