46
The Turnaround
EL PASO, TEXAS
The private jet touched down with a squeal on another soulless strip of cracked concrete in the middle of El Nothing To See or Do.
Peter and friends were waiting for us halfway along an epic runway. A pair of gunmetal grey four-by-fours with sand on their wheels.
Dressed in a powder blue shirt, white cotton trousers and brown brogues, Peter also wore a pair of Wayfarer sunglasses, his hands in his pockets, clothes rippling in a warm breeze. Two guys stood either side in jeans and plaid shirts; fitting in with the local crowd, except for the spook shades, visible earpieces and visible weapons tucked in shoulder holsters.
They towered either side of Peter, waiting for the plane to roll to a stop.
The co-pilot unlocked the exit door and lowered the stai
