7
I glared at my phone and the one tiny reception bar that was showing. ‘Hang on, Andre, you’re breaking up.’ I raced out to the back door, my feet cringing at the cold bluestone floor, and stood on the mat, shivering. ‘Say that again?’
Andre’s voice was quiet and a bit clipped. ‘That guy, Winter. He’s walking around the pub.’
‘Inside or out?’ If he was inside, he was probably stealing drinks. Bastard.
‘Both. Wanted to let you know. Should I talk to him?’
I thought for a moment. What if Winter had a gun? No, why would he? Stop panicking. ‘Can you go down and ask him what he’s doing? Nicely. In case he’s sick, or delirious or claustrophobic or something weird. But if he’s just being a pain in the arse and nicking drinks, you might have to call Connor.’
He muttered something and said,
