“Adam Blue is right there,” Ross tells me, waving a hand at the bus. It sits by itself in an otherwise empty parking lot, hemmed in by construction-quality, stainless steel, temporary fencing. There’s no way we’re getting inside it.
To make matters worse, the largest man I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life stands at the fence’s gate, arms crossed in front of his stocky, barrel chest, a look of angry disdain on his stony features. With him standing guard, our chances of sneaking in drop from zero into the negative range.
I catch Ross’s arm and spin him around in mid-step, steering us both back to the flow of the crowd. “We’ll check it out later,” I say, but it’s a hollow promise. I’m not going anywhere near Mean Joe Green just because Ross thinks he can catch a glimpse of Adam’s scrawn
