THIRTY-EIGHT
I left the police with the two would-be prize fighters, who'd decided to start a punch-up outside the side entrance. I couldn't get any sense out of the drunks and it was better if they sobered up in the cells for the night, where they couldn't hurt anyone else. What I'd give for a job that didn't involve breaking up brawls. Every damn concert had one. Even the Wiggles one – two mothers screeching at each other, manicured claws out as they pulled each other's hair, while their toddlers threw tantrums on the grass. I'd had enough for one night and the foyer was empty. I intended to lock up, go home and leave the place to the two night shift guys, though I hadn't seen them in over an hour.
Irritated that I couldn't even raise Steve or Jerry on the radio, I strode back to the c
