The man behind the desk looked like an ex-football player ten years later, Stan thought. A husky man, just starting to go to fat, with thick lips and thinning hair.
Tanner pushed Stan forward. "Here's the boy, Mr. Malcolm."
Stan wet his lips. "I ... I'd like to know what this is all about, sir."
"Fred," the man behind the desk said in a bored voice. "He lacks manners."
Tanner casually lashed out with the flat of his hand and caught Stan on the side of the head—hard. Stan staggered against the wall and half-slid to the floor. He could feel the tears start again.
"Hey! What's the...."
"Again, Fred."
Stan crumpled to the floor, shook his head, and struggled back to his feet. He was dazed but he knew enough not to say anything.
"What's your name?"
"Stanley Martin. I told...."