He hesitated for a moment, then followed me to the back of the shop. My shop was made of several shipping containers roughly joined together, and was much deeper than it was wide. We passed by shelves full of cogs and gears of almost any configuration, past panels and sheet metals and alloys, past even the lubricants. He followed closely behind me all the way, without making any sound except the quiet tinking noise of his solerets on the dusty floor.
Finally we arrived at the very back of the shop. Well, almost the very back. I stood in front of a non-descript wall of corrugated iron. There were a couple of tools leant against it at the corners, but unlike every other wall, it was mostly bare. Actually pretty conspicuous if you make it all the way back here I thought to myself.
I leant over and hooked my pincer into a hole that looked like an unintentional gap in the panelling. It was just a gap, but very intentional.
“Help me lift this panel,” I said to my nervous patron.
He shuffled forward uncertainly, but found the opposing hand-hold and started lifting. I didn’t strictly need the help, but I wanted to involve him in the process, so he would be less likely to spill his gears about what he’d seen to the next enforcer he came across. This way, we were both guilty by our actions.
(( doesn’t make sense to bring some rando into essentially a conspiracy, need to alter or explain this )) (( maybe the shopkeeper wants to get out of this game, and will try to pawn off responsibility to newcomer? ))