Page 66 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
The woman does not say anything. Her palm remains out, my phone and Twyla’s stacked on it, one on top of the other.
I tilt my head at Oscar. He reluctantly places the phone on top of the stack.
The woman puts the phones somewhere behind the counter and then looks back at us. “Enjoy your evening.”
I whisper to Twyla, “She didn’t give us, like, a claim ticket.”
Twyla explains. “They’ve been trained to remember which phone belongs to which person, and they never get it wrong. Duh. God, what’s wrong with your memory?”
The woman says to me, “I thought you’ve been attending forever.”
I try to laugh it off, “Ha ha, just kidding.”
“I suggest,” says the woman, “working on your sense of humor.”
Twyla says to me and Oscar, “Should we start out with Warm Climate? Don’t want to go too far too fast, right?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say.
“Turn around please,” I hear a male voice behind us.
We turn around and see a broad-shouldered, muscular man in his twenties. He sports a military haircut, he has sky-blue eyes, and he’s wearing a good-looking black suit and red tie. He has been standing there the whole time.
“Security check,” he says, his face stern. “Spread your arms and legs please.”
He gives Twyla a pat-down.
“You must be new,” she says. “Never seen you before.”
He ignores her.
I start to panic when I think about my survival knife. I reach into all my pockets and then remember that earlier I moved my knife from my wet pants to the glove compartment of my car. Thankfully, I’m in the clear.
The man runs his hands along my shoulders and arms, down my sides and front and back, quickly over my crotch and ass, and down my legs. It’s business-like.
He does the same to Oscar.
Oscar flinches when the man is feeling around his dick. “No homo, bro.”
The mancontinues down Oscar’s legs.
He then says to us, “You may proceed.”
Twyla walks to the long hallway to the right of the woman. At the entrance is yet another military-looking man (are they twins? brothers?) in a suit.
“Warm climate!” Twyla lifts up her wrist to show him her stamp.
He nods. She walks past.
Oscar and I lift up our wrists too. He nods again.
Oscar whispers to me, “Why do I feel like most college parties aren’t like this?”
“Because they aren’t.” I shrug. “I mean, I don’t speak from experience. But you don’t need experience to know that whateverthisis . . . is very, very different.”
29
Warm Climate
