Sowerbutt's Shooters

“How dare you burst in here?” the tubby man who resembled Hercule Poirot shouted. “You fellow, stop that, I’ll call the police.” Sowerbutt sat on the desk and pushed the telephone towards Shapiro. “Be my guest. Looking forward to hearing you explain the restricted goods in your warehouse. That crate of shooters and the medical supplies are naughty.”

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