‘This is all your own fault. You should’ve turned yourself in when I gave you the sodding chance. You’d still have your fingers, and Samantha wouldn’t…’ He gritted his teeth. Then opened the car door and climbed out into the warm afternoon. ‘Stay here.’ Shuggie sat in the passenger seat, cradling his skinned hand, his face a bubbling mass of raw meat. Tears making clean tracks on his bloody cheeks. Past the small knot of smokers and in through the automatic doors to A&E. There was a herd of wheelchairs just inside – not proper ones, just brown vinyl seats with four little wheels at the end of their legs. Logan grabbed one and performed a seven point turn with the thing, fighting to get it facing the right way. ‘Worse than a wobbly shopping trolley, eh?’ It was the guy from last night: Mop Dude, pushing a buggy loaded with newspapers, crisps, bars of chocolate, and assorted sweeties. There was a little stack of the Evening Express next to the Curlywurlies, ‘SICK COUPLE TRY TO CASH IN ON KIDNAP TRAGEDY’.
