I arrived just in time to see the tough jerk the cook to his feet and slap him across the face with a hand the size of a side of ham. This broke the cook's nose and caused blood and snot to fly everywhere.I yelled, "THAT IS ENOUGH! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"The tough snarled, "Mind you own business unless you want some of the same thing that your friend is getting." Leave him alone! He is not big enough to give you a reasonable fight, much less a fair one. Neither am I, but I am armed and can take care of myself! Now, stop beating on that man, or I will blow your stupid fucking head off!"The tough dropped the cook and turned to me. He glared at me for a moment before drawing a bowie knife and running toward me. I had a sudden flash of memory of Mr. Hawthorn's charge at me with that broken beer mug. That was all it took. I drew my revolver and started blasting at the galoot charging me with murder in his eye.Three of the bullets hit the monster in the chest, but he. Why are you doing this to me? What have I done to you for you to play such a sick joke? Get out!’ ‘Mrs. Jonsson–‘ ‘Just get out! Get out!’ There were other shouts, things were getting nasty. Then Greta could be heard shouting above the din: ‘DNA!’ ‘What?’ Ann’s voice again in the silence that followed. ‘DNA evidence, Mum. It’s true. It’s Daddy.’ Silence fell again. ‘But how..?’ ‘We needed proof he was really Daddy, so I took a DNA test. He is my father!’ ‘But, I don’t follow? I tried the hospital.’ ‘This was Newcastle General, I’m a nurse. I was on the team that admitted him.’ ‘Newcastle? But he was in York.’ ‘Mrs. Jonsson. Will you now see your ex-husband?’ Silence. Then a quiet, ‘Yes. Of course.’ There was the sound of chairs moving and then they came round the corner. I was seated on the bench seat which ran along the wall. ‘Hello Ann. You’re certainly difficult to talk to.’ I saw the realisation begin to dawn. First there was the searching. The voice was familiar, then.
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