Bodie hesitated at the door, torn by indecision, balancing the takeaway precariously. Not many things made Bodie think twice, but the bloody golly, in the mood he'd left him in, was one of them.

Doyle was laid up; he'd broken his foot while repairing his bike. Cowley in one of his meanest moods had refused him sick pay as it was 'your own foolishness, laddie,'

Bodie's ill concealed smirking had led to Doyle throwing him out, and now he was back to face the music. He swallowed hard, and let himself in.

"Hope you've brought some food, you big bastard."

-- THE END --

September 2006