39The growl of male voices ceased. Eleven pairs of eyes were on me as I strode toward the group. The security officer blocked my advance. His leather vest hung open and he wore no shirt. The reddish blond hair on his bare chest curled upward, struggling to join the whiskers straggling down from his chin. Both clumps were dotted with cinders.
I glared at him. “My business is with Ulf.”
“Casey Collins,” Ulf said. He muttered something to his companions. A wave of lewd laughter rippled through the group and I knew I’d missed another telling of the Casey-loves-missiles joke.
The security officer motioned me to raise my hands. He held his own out, palms open as if he were going to pat me down.
“Forget it,” I said. “You can see everything I’ve got under this Lycra.”
Ulf guffawed and barked
