Concentrate.
There was Mick Land. No, no such person. She was thinking of Mictlan. There was Stuart Land. No, not Land. But Stuart someone, definitely. There was Chal Wooding. Yes. Chal. Full forename Chalchiuhtotolin, after an aspect of Quetzalcoatl.
Him?
No. Cold blue. Hazy. Like a far-off view of mountains. Not him.
Keep trying. Go on.
She fought to keep the names orderly, in shape. She forced herself to pay attention only to the hot ones, the clear ones, that ones that proclaimed themselves more loudly than the rest. She beckoned them towards her like cats, charmed them like snakes, banana-bribed them like monkeys.
One of you. It’s one of you.
And now she could feel the honeyed psilocybin wearing off. The magic mushrooms were losing their abracadabra. Gross physicality was setting in, the blood rush and lung heave and wet digestiveness of the body. Her kimono’s cotton grated coarsely on her skin. The sounds around her — and yes, the couple upstairs were in the throes of full-throttle nookie — were deafening. Could a humble candle really shine as brilliantly as the sun?
One of you.
It hovered close. The name. Oh, that name. She must make a grab for it, snatch it now, otherwise it would recede, fade, be gone for good.
One of…
A desperate mental lunge. A clawing at a thing that was almost vanished. A grasping at vapour.
…you.
She had it. She had it!
The name in her mind’s hand.
Mal snapped back into the world, fully awake.
Gotcha.
SEVEN
9 Rain 1 Monkey 1 House
(Friday 30th November 2012)
“Mr Reston? There’s someone in the lobby for you. A Miss Malinalli Vaughn.”
“I don’t know any Malinalli Vaughn. Does she have an appointment?”
“Nothing down in the diary, sir, but she says you’ll want to see her. A matter of some urgency, she says.”
“I’ve a lot on my plate. Book her in for another time, Helen, whoever she is.”
“Of course, sir.”
Stuart resumed his perusal of the papers relating to the CCMM buyout. The owners of the Mount Etna lode were pushing for some kind of share swap deal with Reston Rhyolitic. This would materially advantage them but not him, and he was loath to accept it. He was already offering a decent price, well above market value, and what with that and the bribes for local officials he didn’t feel obliged to throw in any more sweeteners. If Signor Addario’s employers weren’t happy with the terms of the contract as it stood, all Stuart had to do was tear it up and walk away. Let them find another buyer with the financial leverage and pre-existing infrastructure he had. Good luck with that.
The intercom on his desk buzzed again.
“Sir. Sorry to trouble you.”
“What, Helen?”
The receptionist coughed and lowered her voice. “This Miss Vaughn. She’s very insistent. She’s, erm, she’s a Jaguar Warrior. Plainclothes. Says she’ll make a fuss, rather loudly, if she doesn’t see you immediately.”
“Jaguar? You’re sure?”
“She has a badge.”
“Did she mention what this is in connection with?”
“No, sir. Should I ask?”
“No. No, don’t. Just send her up.”
“Very good, sir.”
Stuart shunted the CCMM papers aside. He straightened his tie and smoothed down the lapels of his jacket. He clenched and unclenched his fists, then flexed all his fingers, like a concert pianist warming up to play some complex etude.
It could be nothing. Routine Jaguar business. They liked to poke their noses into other people’s affairs every now and then, just because they could. Rummage about. Throw their weight around. Remind everyone who was boss.
But if it wasn’t that…
He could front it out. Easily. They had nothing on him. He’d left no tracks.
At worst, this was a fishing expedition. And the Vaughn woman could dangle her line all she liked, she wouldn’t be getting so much as a nibble.
His PA, Tara, escorted the Jaguar Warrior from the lift, through her own antechamber office and into her boss’s much larger and plusher office. She enquired if she could fetch anyone anything. Drink? Snack? Stuart dismissed her.
“Mal Vaughn. Detective chief inspector, Metropolitan Jaguar CID.”
“Mind if I see credentials?”
“Of course not.” She showed him a gold badge in a wallet — the yowling cat’s head — with her photograph and warrant number on a card next to it. “Satisfied?”
“Looks authentic enough.”
“Believe me, Mr Reston, the person who carries a forged one of these is living on borrowed time.”
Chief Inspector Vaughn was broad-shouldered, short-necked, perhaps running to fat a little, but with a bosom and bum like hers that was no sin. She had fulsome lips and a close-cropped bob with a severe fringe. Her eyes were large and round, the irises steel grey. From first impressions she was, Stuart thought, his type. Intelligent without being cerebral, slightly dissolute, physically assured, in control of herself and well able to keep her neuroses in check. She was the polar opposite of Sofia, whom he had loved dearly and should never have married.
As he sized her up, he could see her doing the same to him. Her job demanded she look unimpressed, but she didn’t quite manage to pull it off.
“Nice place,” she said, glancing around. “Triple aspect. Amazing views. You’re a lucky man, Mr Reston.”
“I had a good start in life, but it’s my own acumen that’s kept me and my company on top. Luck’s had nothing to do with it.”
“Good thing obsidian is so popular with the regime. Where would we all be without it?”
“You wouldn’t have a sword, for starters.”
“True. Not that I carry one in the normal course of duty.”
“You leave that to the uniforms.”
“Right. I only wear mine on special occasions. Like, for instance, when I’m hot on the trail of a felon.”
“Pleasing to note you’re swordless right now.”
“Why would you assume I think you’re a felon, Mr Reston? Guilty conscience?”
“On the contrary. I’m merely pointing out that, by your logic, your lack of armament indicates that you don’t suspect me of anything.”
“Why am I here, then?”
“Aren’t you meant to tell me that? Or have you come just to admire the decor and the view?”
Chief Inspector Vaughn approached one of the massive tinted plate-glass windows and looked out. “Might as well, while I can. How the other half lives and all that. Don’t see anything like this when I’m stuck in my little cubbyhole at the Yard.”
