Domo Hudson was not intimidated by the crowds in the Houston airport but he did find the hustle-and-bustle disorienting. It would have been worse if he had not worked at Escutia Farms. At least there he had encountered periods when folks just plain moved fast.
He was swept along by the crowd deplaning. They moved as a mob to the luggage carousels. Domo had been coached to expect his items to be last. In addition to his meager personal belongings, he was traveling with three cases of Domo’s Delight. One was “Original flavor” and the other two were experimental flavors.
Domo’s mission was to catch up with the Detroit Pistons before their two game series with the Rockets and to give the sports drink to his friend DeLeon Redd.
As he was waiting for his unwieldy luggage to be unloaded, Domo heard a familiar voice. Looking over at the adjacent carousel, Domo saw a shaved head bobbing as the man spoke with emphasis.
“Mr Wiggins?” Domo asked. He did not ask loudly as he did not want to look like an idiot if he was wrong.
The man, hearing his name turned to identify the source of the voice.
Mr Wiggins half squinted and cocked his head a little bit as people are apt to do when they encounter somebody they know in an unexpected venue.
“I know we have met, but I cannot remember where.” Mr Wiggins said.
“I was in the Sedelia camp at Escutia Farms.” Domo said. “You were embedded with our group. I was the team leader, Domo Hudson.” Domo reminded him.
“Oh, hell yeah!” Mr Wiggins said and shook Domo’s hand with a double clasp, right hands joined and gripping Domo’s forearm with his left hand. It was not a casual handshake. It was a greeting given to survivors meeting on a distant field of battle.
“You can call me Vince. My dad is Mr Wiggins.” Mr Wiggins commanded. Vince was in his late twenties and was one of the local, free-lance videotographers who had been hired Brigid Whatshername.
“What brings you to Houston?” Vince asked.
“I have to deliver a package to a friend.” Domo said. “How about you?”
“I am covering tonight’s game between Detroit and Houston.” Vince said.
“I gotta go to that game too.” Domo said. “I don’t suppose I could give you a hand, do you?”
Vince thought for a minute, “Usually I cannot afford a microphone guy and I have to rely on the camera’s boom mike. If you are willing to do it for free, it would be a great favor to me. I get paid by the seconds of my footage that get used and the producers tell me that my sound quality is what keeps me from getting more seconds.”
By now Domo’s three cases of Domo’s Delight had shown up. The boxes were heavily secured with duct tape. Domo ripped up a corner and pulled out a bottle.
“I will do it for free on one condition, that you shoot some footage of DeLeon Redd drinking one of these.” Domo said, handing the bottle to Vincent.