Rock sat in a New Orleans airport diner, joined by a sportscaster from Chicago he met at a tournament completed earlier in the day. He noticed a look of alarm in his acquaintance's eyes and turned to see three middle-aged men approach. Each appeared angered. The sportscaster stood, said, "Shit, I'm not dealing with these idiots again," and hurried away. Rock discovered the oldest of the men knew he wrote for a newspaper when he was asked to investigate their problem. "There ain't a single flight going to O'Hare before nine a.m., and we gotta get there by ten at the latest. What can you do about it?"
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