Sowerbutt looked at his glass
of Old Bushmills. “The sheer brass of the bastard. I go away with the lads, for
longer than expected admittedly, and McGaskie moves in. And you led the lads in to take the business back?” A sudden storm cloud passed
across Sowerbutt’s rugged face. “You were in danger? Did anybody touch you?” Polly liked the attention. “I stayed in the kitchen, Jimmy, isn’t that a woman’s place? With a
shooter."
No comments:
Post a Comment