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Before the Police Show


A warm June evening. Bryan and Jace are driving down to the Honda Center in Anaheim to score scalped tickets for the Police. Scheduled to meet them is Bryan’s brother Brad, who’s driven down from Mammoth for the weekend to catch the show and visit family.

Bryan sits in the passenger seat, talking to Brad on the cell phone.

BRYAN: It’s right across the street from it. On Katella.

Jace switches lanes, continuing east on the 22 freeway.

BRYAN: I don’t know the name of it. It’s an Irish pub and grill. You can’t miss it. Meet us on the patio. Yeah.

Bryan clasps his phone shut.

BRYAN: Okay, he says there are scalpers everywhere. Should be a cakewalk to get tickets. We’re gonna meet him at the bar across the street.

JACE: I heard.


A restaurant patio crowded with middle aged concert goers killing time before the show. Jace sits with Brad, who found and held a round table in the crowd. Bryan’s run across the street for a few minutes to scope out the ticket scene.

BRAD: So how’s everything, bro? Haven’t talked to you since we hung out at the Stones.

Jace breaks into his frosty amber ale.

JACE: Crazy year, dude. Have you eaten?

BRAD: I just had something small. But go for it, bro.

JACE: I’m starving. We got time? I could go for some nachos or something.

BRAD: Show starts in about 45 minutes. We’re good. Go for it.

Brad slides the menu across the wrought iron table. Jace glances at the menu and points to the first item he sees.

JACE: Dude. Filet mignon. Perfect. Why not.

Jace flags down a female SERVER.

SERVER: Hi. You need anything?

JACE: Yeah, do I have time to get the filet mignon?

SERVER: I’ll put it right on. How do you want it?

JACE: Medium rare. Baked potato, lots of sour cream and chives. Veggies come with that?

SERVER: You got it. I’ll make it fast. I’m Rachel.

Rachel jots down a couple notes and scoots off. Bryan comes running up to the table, out of breath, sweating. His eyes are wide-open like two silver platters.

BRYAN: Dudes, there’s some guy I’m working. Floor seats. Hundred bucks a pop. He has four. Let’s go. Now!

BRAD: Let’s wait a few minutes.

Bryan cocks his neck, panting in the type of frustration a guy can only have for his brother.

BRYAN: We can’t wait a few minutes! I told him I’d be back with cash in five. What the hell are you doing, anyway?

BRAD: Don’t look at me, man. I was just sitting here enjoying my cocktail and your wingman started ordering steaks.

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