The visitors’ clubhouse is dark and the shadows along the bearded man’s face stand out in the fluorescent light wavering in from the hallway. A tall, slim man steps out from the back corner of the room.
“Jesus, Jer. Y’scared the bejeesus outta me,” the bearded man drawls. “All this coat ‘n machete stuff is makin’ me feel like I’m back’n Loranger, sneakin’ round ‘fter curfew scareder’n a cat that’s found itself in a dog show.”
“My bad, my bad, Wade. We just need to make sure this stays quiet,” the other man murmurs, rocking back on his heels.