“I hope there’s not any more of you,” he said. “The car’s weighing down at the back.” “Sorry,” I began to say but was cut off by Gibsie. “It’s his fault—the fat bastard,” he announced. Turning to face me, he added, “Hey, is your dick okay, man? I’m really sorry about that. I hope I didn’t squash your balls.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Go fuck yourself, Gerard.”
