Dill challenged the man – who was in all likelihood no older than him – with direct contact. “Such as?”
The guard looked away, pointing at Harold's plastic bag. “The shirt. I can see you've paid for one but you came in wearing a white shirt and now you're wearing a blue one. I submit to you that you've exchanged your shirt for another and then bought a second in order to fool us into thinking it's a legitimate purchase.”
“But it is a legitimate purchase.” Harold pulled the plastic-wrapped shirt from his shopping bag. “Yes, he's wearing a new shirt from the store but this is the original packaging with his old shirt inside it, see?”
“Oh.” The guard traced the outline of the collar with his fingertip.
“It's obvious this his his old shirt, isn't it? Look. Here's the receipt. Milk, shake, shirt. Nothing more, nothing less, though if the milk goes off because you've delayed us I shall have words with the manager.”
“Right. My mistake. Sorry.” He straightened. “Why is it covered in blood?”
Dill looked at Harold. “Shaving cut. You know how it is. Sometimes you just can't stop them no matter how much toilet paper you use.”
“Right. With you there.”
“Super.” Harold put the shirt back in his shopping bag, which had already split. He was certain they were designed to do so in order for the shop to sell more sturdy ones. “So can we go now?”
“Yes, of course.” The guard stood aside.
Harold ushered Dill through but paused, the automatic doors still open. He placed one hand on the guard's arm and leaned in like an old lady delivering a secret about 'her at number thirty-four'. “And if I ever get word of you using the phrase 'I submit to you' again I will personally hire a team of barristers to bodily assault you, is that clear?”