“Try texting him,” Hunt said.

“I did,” Nick replied. “Several times.”

“Try again.”

Nick rolled his eyes and texted as Hunt dialed his phone.

Hundreds of people waited between the steel barricades stretching to the shuttered ticketing windows. The late afternoon sun beat down, baking the lines. Those in the queue rocked on their heels, fanning themselves, chatting with neighbors, passing around bottles of water and booze. Hunt wiped his brow and checked Austin’s watch as Kyle’s voicemail played his ear. “Where is he?” He hung up. “Have you heard from José?”