He carefully watched the dangerous men, those that had come out of the park’s bathroom and into the pouring rain. He had to continuously use his free hand to wipe away the rain from his eyes, because it threatened to blur his vision. Patiently, at least in slight patience, he studied the men’s movements and tried to determine their next steps. Studying behavior, trying to guess future actions, was always his dad’s field, not his. At that moment, he wished that some of that talent had rubbed off on him, because he might have been less nervous, less shaky. Or not. Just because he might have had more insight into the men’s behavior, the danger behind their intent would still exist. Understanding dangerous men didn’t make them any less dangerous. A lesson he was sure his psychologist father knew well. Scott had to keep his head on, nonetheless. Who were the men? What were they capable of? He needed to know. Scott was in good shape but not stupid enough to believe that he could take on a group of men, some if not all of them armed with weapons which were most likely capable of punching bigger holes than his own.
