"So, did you have a good day?" Joan asked him."It was all right." Mrs. Severson look in on you?" Yeah. She made me lunch, and we talked a while. She's nice," he added."I thought she kind of annoyed you, sometimes," Joan said curiously."Well, sometimes. But not today." He looked back down at his papers, and Joan got up."I've got to take a shower," she said. "I'm going out tonight." Who with?" Sam asked without looking up."Just some friends. It's not a date, or anything." Why had she said that? It didn't matter to him. With an inward shrug she went upstairs to the bathroom. Stripping off her clothes, she looked at herself critically in the mirror. For a long time she had despaired of ever developing a figure, but in the last couple of years her breasts and hips had really sprouted. She wasn't voluptuous -- not as much as her mother, who really had a body to die for -- but nicely curved. She could often feel boys' eyes clinging to her trim figure as she walked by, or having to force. He stood outside the shed, on the edge of a pier. The black, oily water was calm below him, the rain droplets making dimples all over its surface. He took the fake badges off the sleeves of his shirt. Poor old fat fuck. He’d thought Hansen was government, come to get him. He placed the badges in one hand and squeezed them up. He leaned back and pitched them into the water. Selling out your mates wasn’t a good idea. Especially if they find out. Hansen had been sold out by one of his own. And he’d found out. The motherfucker didn’t live to regret his mistake. He’d died with a grenade in his mouth. ‘Cat got your tongue?’ was the last thing Hansen had said to him before his head had disappeared in different directions. Now it was going to be fat fuck’s time. Fuck you, fat fuck. He smirked. If he’d asked for payment by the kilo, then it might been an even more lucrative job. You’re a card, Hansen. But as he looked down on the water, his look was grim. There was no humour in his eyes. He.
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