"Squealer" McPhee gave the corpse a swift kick to the head. "Stupid," he said to the broken figure. "I said it was stupid to ask for that much."
He danced away as the concrete began to pour, unwilling to allow it to splash onto him. Within moments the corpse was gone, buried under twenty feet of footing for the new A361 flyover.
"How much did you ask for?"
Squealer whirled at the voice. It was a tall black man, his face lit by the screen of a mobile phone. Odd shadows gave him the appearance of wings.
"How much did you ask Johnny Simes for, to stop you blabbing about see him murder his wife?"
"Oh. Three hundred grand."
The man whistled. "Not bad. Hardly a stresser on the Avarice scale but enough of one on Johnny's 'lets-not-leave-any-loose-ends' one." Jasfoup smiled and pulled Squealer away from the scene of his burial. "A high price considering your life was so cheap."