Bunny nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Also, a word to the wise. Don’t look him directly in the eye. The men believe he is a nagual.”
“A what?”
“A Mexican legend. He can turn into an animal and eat your soul.”
“Right,” said Bunny, really not sure what to do with that particular piece of information.
“In my experience, even the most brutal of men can be superstitious. Believe whatever you like, but know that the consequences of breaking the rules will be very real.” The man picked up his book again. “Thank you. That is all.”
Bunny stepped back out of the cell, and the caravan of immense humanity that had shown him down to the meeting led him back up the stairs.
They reached the sixth floor landing and stopped. Bunny could feel the temperature drop as both men tensed. Two other men stood blocking their path back to Bunny’s cell. If anything, they were bigger than his escorts. It depended on your definition of the word “big” – one of the men was immensely fat, but the kind of fat that had power in it. The other was tall, with broad shoulders and a pair of the craziest eyes Bunny had ever seen.
He knew the look well. There were plenty of violent people in the world, and in his time he’d met enough of them to know there were levels to it. This dude was top shelf. He had that Charlie Manson stare. The one that showed how the mind rattling around inside that head was really only waiting for the next violent confrontation to happen. That was how it measured time. Bunny once knew a Scottish fella who’d given him the perfect word for it – bampot. This tall fella was a classic bampot.
The fat guy spoke around an apple he was eating. “Man wants to talk to the man.”
One of the mountains replied, “We were told to bring him back to his cell.”
“He’ll get there,” said the fat guy, repositioning his apple to dig his teeth into a virgin bit.
Bunny could feel the mountains looking at each other, then one of them took a step back. He muttered something under his breath that Bunny didn’t understand. The bampot clearly did, as he started moving forward until the fat guy placed a hand on his elbow.
“Relax, George. Man wants to talk to the man. These boys are just leaving.”
The two mountains reversed course and went down the up-stairs. Bunny was guessing nobody was going to challenge them over that.
The fat man waved his free hand at Bunny. “C’mon. Man wants to speak to you.”
“There’s a lot of that going about.”
This time, he was escorted to the third floor. The cell into which he was directed on this occasion contained a shirtless man with rippling everything, who was doing push-ups. A small man wearing make-up sat on the bed, watching him.
The man on the floor didn’t look up. “You Rourke?”
“I am.”
“You talked to Jorge?”
“Ehm …”
“Little gilipollas with glasses. Head of those shitberg Vatos Locos.”
“Oh, right,” said Bunny. “Yeah, I just met him.”
The man nodded at the floor while continuing to do push-ups. “Don’t worry, they ain’t gonna lay a finger on you. You talk to the Quiet Man and my boys, the motherfucking Azura 13, will rip out your spine and shit down your throat.”
“OK.”
The man leaped to his feet in one fluid motion and started shadow-boxing, his blows stopping six inches from Bunny’s face. “You see, we got that – what you call it …”
“Mutually assured destruction?” ventured Bunny.
“Check out the brain on this mother.” A five-shot combo flowed closer to Bunny. “Yeah, we got that. Nobody talks to the man. You do, and one of my baby mommas gets a new house to celebrate your death. We clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Fair warning, though, dude – neither us nor them will get the chance. The Quiet Man don’t like to talk. He’ll eat your dick.”
“Excuse me?” said Bunny, unsure he’d just heard what he thought he’d heard.
“Yeah. He loco. Likes to cut it off before he kills a man so he can watch him chow down on it. Least that’s what I heard.”
“Right,” said Bunny. That certainly explained the need for the leather mask.
“Puts a little hot sauce on it. Sprinkles some chilli.”
“Well,” said Bunny, “seasoning really makes a meal.”
“So, you getting the picture?”
“I am,” said Bunny. “’Tis vivid.”
The man picked up a towel and started wiping the sweat off his body. “Good. Then fuck off.”
With that, Bunny was deposited back to the sixth floor. He’d been half expecting another reception committee, but thankfully there hadn’t been one.
As he walked by Cuts’s cell, the man sat up on his bed and folded away his newspaper. “What’d they say?”
“Basically what you said, only with a lot more threats of violence thrown in.”
Cuts picked up his paper again. “Well, I was building up to that.”
“Save your breath. It’s been well covered. I don’t suppose you’ve got any food?”
“No.”
Bunny shook his head. “All these threats. All anyone would need to do to get me on side is chuck us a biccie!”
And with that, he trudged back into his cell, where a man people were very keen for him not to talk to was still watching Jeopardy.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Arthur Faser took a deep breath and slowly – very slowly– took a step.
He felt bad about this, he honestly did. The Sisters of the Saint seemed nice. Insane too – insane as could be. Crazier than his aunt Shona, and that woman told anyone who would listen that she once had a liaison with national treasure Tom Hanks in a hot tub at a bus station in Pittsburgh. But still, they were nice – kind of. Certainly nicer
