As Gary strolled back to his office from their lunch, he noticed someone on the pavement opposite quickly turn away and stare into a shop window. Though Gary couldn't see his face, his build was unmistakeable.
Gary strolled along the street and into an alley. Halfway along it, he ducked into an alcove and waited.
About twenty seconds later, quick footsteps approached. Alex Thompson shuffled past, wearing a denim jacket and grey slacks, looking like he was hunting a lion with a pen-knife.
Gary stepped out and squeezed Thompson's right shoulder, where Gary shot him. Thompson screamed with pain and stumbled around on rubbery legs. It was easy for Gary to open his jacket and drag a .22 automatic from a shoulder holster.
Gary shoved Thompson into the alcove and ground the muzzle into a nostril. "So, your shoulder still hurts?"
Thompson's eyes were glazed over with pain. He gasped: "Fuck yeah - hurts bad."
"Tell me why you're following me, or I'll rip your arm off." Gary put his hand lightly on Thompson's shoulder and the guy cringed.
"I just want to talk to you."
A lie. Barbara and Alex Thompson thought Tony Thompson had a million dollars when he died, and Trixie Powell stole it. Alex obviously intended to kidnap Gary and torture him until he revealed the whereabouts of Trixie and the money.
Gary said: "Listen, you stupid dickhead. I don't know where Trixie's gone and I don't know anything about the money. Trixie claimed she didn't have it."
"She's lying."
"Maybe. But I don't care. If you ask me, after what you creeps did to her, she deserves whatever she's got. Now, if I let you go, will you leave me alone?"
"You really don't have the money?"
"Do I look like I'm rolling in dough?"
"I guess not. Yeah, I'll leave you alone."
"Good. And tell your bitch mother to do the same."
"I will."
Gary considered telling Alex that he'd found out that Brian Pringle killed his brother, Tony. However, the Thompsons had shown no interest in avenging Tony's death and didn't deserve that information.
He said: "Just remember, if I see either of you again, I'll shoot you on sight, understand? On fucking sight!"
A sour expression. "I understand."
"Good. Now fuck off."
To Gary's surprise, instead of moving off, Thompson hesitated and said: "I've got just one question …"
"What?"
"Who's the American?"
Gary was puzzled. "What American?"
"You don't know about the American?"
"What are you talking about?"
A wry smile. "Nothing - forget it."
Gary considered interrogating him further about "the American" but it didn't seem important and this wasn't the place or time. Instead, he patted him on the shoulder. Thompson screamed and fell back against the wall. Gary continued towards his office.