To watch him spin around in shock, so certain he’d been all alone. ‘Who are you? This is private property.’ ‘You might say I’m a fan.’ The old man went to respond and then clamped his lips tightly together, no doubt in consideration of his employer’s privacy. ‘Get out of here before I call the cops – and give me tha— Ah!’ He screamed as a nail pierced his hand, pinning it to the bench. They both stared at the dark red blood that seeped from the wound and began to drip on the floor. ‘The good news is that it’s not all alcohol in your veins, then, Rowdy.’ ‘What . . . what do you want?’ rasped the old man. His face was white, eyes panicked, as he stared at the nail gun, fearing a second assault. ‘Firstly, for you to understand that I’m in charge.’ ‘Who are you?’ It was whispered through gritted teeth. ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I’ve been watching you.
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