Mr Dalton pleads.

“Let go off my shirt,” Wayne said with all authoritativeness in his voice.

The shop owner , Mrs Dorris, jerked, taking off her hand from his shirt. Wayne eyed her from her head to toe, then he turned his gaze back to the police men.

“What does all this have to do with me?“ Wayne asked.

“Sir, we called you here, because you allowed your in-laws to drive a sports car, knowing that they are too old for it,” the other policeman, who barely talked, muttered this time. Wayne scoffed in disbelief.

“I told you they aren't my in-laws, I am divorced with their granddaughter, I don't have anything to do with this whole shit, I don't even know where they stay or what they do with the car. Now if you will excuse me,” Wayne attempted to leave, but the store owner held on his shirt again.

“Liar! you want to run away because you cannot afford all this mess you created, you're not going anywhere! Officers can't you do something?” Mrs Dorris mumbled.

One of the police men shook his head and said.

“He s