Cuts looked across at Bunny. He licked his lips, trying to think of something to say, and then looked away.
Bunny cleared his throat. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘You’re screwed.’”
Cuts looked up and nodded.
“More screwed than a two-dollar hooker at a nymphomaniacs convention.”
Bunny nodded. “Thanks, Harsh.”
“You’re welcome, dead man.”
Chapter Forty
Corrections Officer Fred Merkel stood at the far end of the carriage. It was in between shift changes, so the train had no passengers; instead, it was primarily running deliveries. There was nothing unusual about that. Even on a Saturday they always had a few. But there was nothing usual about the crate that Fred was doing his damnedest to stay the hell away from.
The woman who’d delivered it had a metal claw for a hand. She’d been pretty attractive too, he remembered thinking. Although all he really could remember now was the claw. Features like that do tend to stick in the mind. At least, they do until she had explained to him what was in the crate.
The warden was weird. Everybody knew that. He was an odd man, and the guards had a running joke about how difficult it was when he tried to chit-chat on his train journey in the morning and evening. You always breathed a sigh of relief when he got on carrying a book or a magazine, as you knew he’d leave you alone.
Still, the man was crazy weird.
The train pulled in to the station. Lucile Jacobs was standing on the platform, clipboard in hand.
Fred hopped out of the doors as soon as they opened. “Got a delivery for the warden.”
Lucile didn’t look up from her clipboard. “Yep. That’s what it says here.”
“You might want to take a look at it,” said Fred.
Lucile looked up. “I take a look at everything. That’s my job.”
Fred just nodded towards the crate, but didn’t say anything. It was big. Six foot by four foot, by four foot deep.
Lucile stepped towards the train, and only then did the writing on the side of it come into focus. “You are shitting me.”
“I am not,” said Fred.
“Did you check it?”
“The hell I did!”
“You’re supposed to check it.”
“The hell I am.”
Lucile shook her head. “Goddamnit, Fred. You carry a gun. You’re the thing that stops this whole place full of rapists, murderers and worse running riot through the great state of Nevada, and you’re too much of a pussy to check a crate?”
He shook his head. “Not one that says ‘Warning: contains live snakes’ on the side.”
Lucile shook her head again, went to the locker on the platform, and took out a crowbar. “How come I’m the only one with any balls around here?”
Fred said nothing, but tentatively took a step back.
“Holy shit, Fred Merkel. You sure you’re far enough away? Do you think one is going to leap out and launch itself twenty feet, straight at you like one of them novelty cans of nuts? Do you want to go stand in the next state over while a little lady does your job?”
“There’s no need to be mean, Lucile.”
“Oh, for—”
She was interrupted by Gordon Taft popping his head out of the driver’s carriage at the end of the train. “What’s going on? I’m on a schedule here!”
“Shut up, Gordon,” hollered Lucile. “It isn’t my fault your partner is a pussy.”
Fred spoke in a near whine. “You don’t got to tell everybody.”
Lucile shook her head and placed the tip of the crowbar under the lid of the crate and applied some expert pressure. After a few swift jabs, it popped loose. She pushed it aside briefly, then immediately pulled it back into place and took several steps away.
“Well?” asked Fred.
Lucile placed a hand to her chest. “Holy shinola, that’s a lot of snakes.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Fred. “See, I told you.”
“Shut up, Fred. You didn’t even open it.”
“Look at the size of the damn thing! It ain’t going to be one itty-bitty snake, is it? What are we going to do?”
Lucile held up her clipboard. “Well, it’s on the docket. Delivery for the warden. It’s got the right number on the side, too. It says it’s supposed to go to his office.”
Gordon stuck his head out of the cab window again. “What in the—”
“Say another word,” yelled Lucile. “I dare you. Say one more word and I’m going to shove my clipboard so far up your ass you’ll be able to sign paperwork by blinking.”
Gordon blanched and disappeared back inside the cab.
Lucile took a deep breath. “Alright, we need to talk to the warden.”
“But it’s Saturday.”
“You think I don’t know that? Still, we can’t leave live animals sitting around the place. What happens if they all die in there over the weekend?” Lucile shook her head and picked up her walkie-talkie. She jabbed it in Fred’s direction. “This is all your fault. You’re supposed to check everything at your end. There will be a reckoning for this, you mark my words, Fred Merkel.”
Fred nodded. He’d been considering asking Lucile to dinner now that her divorce had finally come through. He decided he was going to leave it a while.
Chapter Forty-One
Warden Hanzus all but threw himself onto the couch. “Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Doctor.”
“Well,” said Dr Miriam Margot, taking her usual seat, “you made it clear it was an emergency.”
The man had screamed down the phone at her receptionist, John, until the man had tearfully interrupted her afternoon session yesterday. God, how she wished she’d taken her uncle’s advice and become a dentist.
Twenty years ago, when she was young and unbelievably naive, Miriam Margot had worked her ass off to become a psychotherapist. She’d longed to help people and develop a fascinating insight into the human mind. Two decades of a ringside seat to the mental state of the human race and, honestly, she held out no hope for the fate of the planet at all.
Humanity was a virus. She couldn’t stand people. They were pathetic,
