Curtis did, saying nothing. Almost surprisingly, nothing was damaged. The containers had been tossed around, and one had apparently opened, but none of the glass vials were even cracked that they could see. They packed everything back up and then Lyndon locked it in the van. He needed to piss, and he needed a walk.
When he got out of the bathroom he didn’t see Curtis, and since the man wasn’t at the car, either, Lyndon stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered down what looked like a trail for people to walk their pets. The walk would do him good, maybe help him dump some s**t from his brain, like how he was going to pay to fix the damage when he wasn’t on clock and the company insurance probably wouldn’t, or replaying the fact that someone had tried to kill him again and it was all bec
