I get a call. There was a problem at his house. He was inside, wouldn’t come out, had been drinking, and obviously has multiple firearms. I know this guy has a high potential for violence. I call in the response team, but I want him to trust me. They agree that the bulk of the tactical team will be in a parking lot a couple blocks away.

So I have the flak vest on and am walking up to his door, thinking to myself, He’s going to shoot me. I was thinking about the time I was married, about my family, my parents, my friends. I was thinking, I can’t believe that I just can’t turn around and go back. I’m going to get shot.

I get up to the door, swallow, turn around and wave to these guys. I knock on the door.

He opens. My heart is pounding. He opens the door and looks totally normal.

“Scott, I’m glad to see you. You’ve got to help me. Come on in.”

Ha. Meanwhile I’ve got my vest on.

He immediately see that and goes, “God, you know, I’m really sorry that you thought I was going to hurt you.”

“Well, you know George, with your temper.” I’m laughing, probably manic, silly at this point.

He’s huge with two sons bigger than he is, college football linemen, who would get in brawls in the front yard.

“Everyone was very dirty, and did every stupid Chinese joke. After the show we’re drinking in the lobby with Bobby W. ‘Rrrr, we were fucking great tonight. We fucking killed. …’

“A little man comes over and goes, ‘Aw, listen, you big mouth. You do your thing in that room, and that’s fine. You now in lobby. OK? Watch your language, big mouth. OK? Chinese people don’t like that stuff. OK? Show some respect!’

“Byron said, ‘OK, pal. Take it easy. Didn’t mean to offend anybody. Alright? OK, that’s better.’ They shake hands.

“I turn around, and Bobby goes, “Fucking Chinks!’

“The guy turned around, ‘You! You think you’re tough guy!’

“‘Take it easy, Small Fry!’ says Bobby.

“I said, ‘Oh, Bobby. Let’s get out of here.’

“‘Why? What are you afraid of?’