“It won’t work,” growled my father.“But it must,” I protested. “It’s the—”The anger burst out of him again. He twisted his body and ...truck me with his arm as he turned. Pain flared in my side as I stumbled back. I crashed into his chest of drawers. The wooden furniture creaked and rocked. I bounced off and fell onto my hands and knees. Tears sprang to my cheek.The anger melted from his face. “Pater’s cock,” he groaned, rushing to me. “My sweetling. I didn’t mean to hit you.”“I’m fine, Father,”. Then we got to the turnpike and I knew where I was again so I just counted the cars until the bus stopped and we got off. You know the rest. Your goon squad grabbed us right there.’ ‘How many?’ ‘How many what?’ ‘Cars. You said you counted them. How many were there?’ It was the first hint that the interrogator had a sense of humour. ‘I lost count.’ The young man is sarcastic. The interrogator’s lighter tone as emboldened him. ‘So who started the game?’ ‘I’ve told you, I don’t remember who. More

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