Oh, for Christ’s sake!
Even made aware of what was going on before getting on site, the foreman’s surprised cry out gave goosebumps to his assistant.
That’ll be two bucks for the swear-box, Boss! -he risked joking.
Frederik held his breath, hoping he’d get to spend dinner with his wife, instead of on a gurney, at the morgue.
I don’t give a flying f*ck, Fred!
At this point, the main goal was to make him talk… The pressure was building dangerously under the foreman’s yellow hat.
Please, tell me you had nothing to do with this mess, Fredy.
He wasn’t the type to make excuses, and he didn’t have to, because Hank had required him to pick up a couple of tools they had ordered days prior. As a matter of fact, Fred had rushed back when the guys had paged him.
They had driven the first excavator to the shore, hoping to have some of the work done before sunset. But they had forgotten about the tide coming up.
Fred continued… They had then thought about hauling the excavator with the tipper. Which ended up stuck aswell in the mud. And the only thing left on the site, big enough to do the job was the second excavator.
Okay, okay… And who’s the genius who drove the first excavator into the mudpit?
The ticking bomb wanted an answer, now.
Frederik suddenly understood the true meaning of ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’.
It’s Billy, Hank. It’s you son…