Sowerbutt's Ghost

The blood drained from Sowerbutt’s face, he had seen a ghost, a ghost from his past. Dropping his copy of the Daily Express, he pushed through the passers-by on the Calle Major, which spears through the medieval heart of Alicante. Checking his Smith & Wesson, he glimpsed the face again a dozen or so yards away and then the man was gone, lost in the sweep of the crowds.
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