20
Woof Woof
It was another couple of mind-slogging, gut-churning hours into the early morning before Magda cracked. The sky was phasing from dark to daylight, the birds tweeting outside and a rooster c**k-a-doodling the morning in from the farmhouse yard. It wasn’t the hammer that broke her. Or the stress positions. It was physical and emotional fatigue. Philippe had broken her down, step by step, even blasting hardcore rave music into her ears via a pair of headphones plugged into his iPad.
“How much do JPAC know?” he asked, after taking the headphones out of Magda’s ears, the faint, tinny sound of gabba beats joom-joom-jooming away in the background.
“They know … they know …”
“Yes?” Philippe asked.
“They know everything.”
“Be. More. Specific,” Philippe said, picking the hammer of
