He'd baited six of the twelve drink stations and was making his way to the seventh one when he was suddenly bathed in brilliant white light.
"What's going on, buddy? Can't sleep?" Clint Asters asked softly from behind him.
He spun around, barely succeeding in masking his furious surprise.
"Yeah, I get insomnia a lot," he mumbled, adopting the defeated posture and dimwitted drawl that he'd hidden behind for so long.
"That so? Do you always carry a bag around with you? Let me take a look at that."
The site foreman started walking toward him.
His long-repressed rage began to grow, swelling beyond his capacity to contain it any longer. He snarled, his right hand keeping a tight grasp on his workbag as his left dove swiftly into his front pocket and came back into view holding a switchbla
