The Serpent's Kiss

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Michael Church paced outside The Palace for a minute or two, restless, nervous, brain buzzing, giving Stillwater time to mail the photograph and for it to move from server to server to server. Then he launched his phone’s browser and connected to his e-mail and downloaded the photograph Stillwater had sent him. He studied the face on the tiny screen, suddenly worried that he wouldn’t be able to recognize the guy if he saw him, and realizing that he had only twenty minutes to find him. A surge of adrenaline swept through him, fight or flight. He clenched his fists, tasting something metallic and bitter. Fight.

He hurried back in, returning to the concession line where he had left Ray. Ray wasn’t there. Michael scanned the crowd, looking for Ray hanging out somewhere. He didn’t see him anywhere. Had he bought the T-shirts and headed back to their seats?

Glancing at his watch, Michael again scanned the crowd, this time looking for Kevin Matsumoto. This was impossible, he thought with a sinking heart. There were just too many people here. He took another look at the photo, then started walking. Ray was on his own. He hoped he would run into him, tell him what was going on. First, though, he wanted to make a quick circuit of the arena walkway before even considering moving into the main area.

Sweating lightly, Michael strode along, scanning faces. He found as he moved he was able to quickly skip the women, the African-Americans, the kids who were too young, the few older people.

His mind made a quick shift to looking for males in their twenties with dark hair and goatees, latching onto the shape of Kevin Matsumoto’s head, his ears, his nose. And constantly, in his head, time ticked by. He had to give himself enough time to find Ray and get them the hell out of here if things went bad.

Time. He had never felt like this before, this sense of urgency and purpose.

Where was The Serpent?