CHAPTER 21THE GIRLFRIEND
A face pressed against the window: one of the young men with cameras from the meeting. He darted anxious glances towards the pub entrance, mouthing something I couldn't quite make out.
"Who's that?" Brian asked, craning his neck.
I lowered the window halfway, keeping my left hand on the wheel. "Can I help you?"
"Please," the young man said. He was about twenty-two, with untidy sandy hair and glasses that wouldn't stay put. "Could we chat somewhere else?" Another nervous look back at the Craggan Arms. "The pub's not safe for... well, you know."
"For?" I prompted, though I suspected the answer.
"People with drones." He adjusted his glasses with an unconscious middle-finger push. "I noticed you at the meeting. You're press, aren't you?"
Brian leaned across me.
