Bunny had often tried to impress upon the lads in the St Jude’s Under-12s hurling team the importance of dental hygiene. More than once he had used the line, “Ye don’t need to be afraid of a toothbrush.” For many reasons, he was glad none of them were with him now, especially because they didn’t have to watch him jab Breida’s toothbrush into a man’s eye. Hard. Eight out of ten dentists would definitely not recommend that. It made a gut-wrenching popping noise that Bunny hoped to forget if he lived long enough.
Neck Tattoo howled and clutched his hands to his ruined eye, the fight forgotten. Bunny lowered his shoulder and charged, using the first attacker against the second.
The three men fell in a heap on the landing.
The bearded behemoth got to his feet first, his facial hair now smeared with the blood pouring from his nose.
Bunny clambered upright, woozily.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision. He could feel the left leg of his prison-issue jumpsuit soaking with blood flowing steadily from the wound to his stomach.
Bunny noticed something in the expression of the bearded guy. The merest flicker of his eyes to look over Bunny’s shoulder. He just didn’t spot it in time.
Something hit Bunny hard from behind and he tumbled forward over the weeping Neck Tattoo with the poor depth perception, landing at the bearded guy’s feet. His opponent used the opportunity to rain down a couple of blows on Bunny, which he weakly tried to fend off.
He then turned around to see Jorge, the leader of the Vatos Locos, standing over him.
Bunny’s voice came out woozy. “Three? Feckin’ unfair.”
“Life is not fair, Mr Rourke.” Jorge took a switchblade – a real, actual switchblade – out of his back pocket.
“How the …?”
His executioner smiled widely. “I know some people.”
The man took a step forward and Bunny tried to ready himself for one last go, but he never got the chance.
Carlos Breida came hurtling out of the cell and slammed into Jorge. The two men stumbled against the landing barriers, Breida’s considerable bulk overwhelming the smaller man.
Jorge staggered back and looked down at the bloodied blade in his hand, and then at Carlos Breida, who had fallen to his knees, blood blooming on his shirt.
The Quiet Man spoke in a soft voice. “I am bleeding.”
Jorge dropped the blade as if it had suddenly become hot to the touch. His voice was stripped of all its calm control as it came out in a near gasp. “El Nagual!”
He turned and ran for the stairs. The Beard looked at him, and then down at his whimpering colleague, and rushed to follow Jorge, nearly knocking over Cuts as he emerged from his cell.
Cuts looked down at Bunny and Breida. “Holy shit.”
“What the fuck is happening?” yelled Harsh, to no response.
“Handy! Stats!” Cuts hollered. “Somebody ring the alarm. Do it!”
Bunny got to his knees and started to crawl towards Breida.
Cuts was already beside him, looking into Breida’s wide eyes.
“The man stabbed me.”
“Yeah,” said Cuts. “You’ll be OK.” He turned to Bunny. “Stay down, Bunny. They’re gone.”
Bunny ignored him and took a left turn into the cell.
He could hear Cuts behind him. Other voices now, too.
Bunny’s vision tunnelled as he crawled across the floor, a small distance made immense by blood loss and concussion.
He reached his bed and, with one last effort, heaved himself up onto it.
Then, he passed out.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Warden Hanzus looked at the ceiling as he spoke.
“And yes, I’m aware, in the dream my … thing being replaced by a snake is, I mean, people would think it’s symbolic of something. But I don’t really think it is. Or if it is, it’s the fact that snakes are very misunderstood and I feel I am too, but that’s all. I mean, as I have said several times before, I like snakes, but I don’t like snakes. I’m not weird. I am completely normal.”
He looked at Dr Margot’s seat and was surprised to find she wasn’t in it. “Doctor?”
Her voice came from behind the door to her bathroom. “Sorry, Warden. I just had to step away for a moment, but I didn’t want to stop you as you appeared to have reached flow state.” In other words, you were droning on so much, I was confident you wouldn’t notice I wasn’t there. “But do continue. What you were saying was very interesting. Tell me more about how you think this relates to your issue with your penis.”
“I do wish you’d stop calling it that,” said Hanzus huffily.
“Well, with respect, Warden, you are here about your permanent erection.”
“Yes, but I don’t—” He was interrupted by his own phone ringing again. “Oh, for God sake, can’t these people handle a simple delivery?” He answered it. “What? What the hell is it?”
Dr Margot listened intently. There was a pause and then Hanzus gasped.
“When did this happen? I’ll … no. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Inform Commander Blake. Nobody else talks to the prisoner. Am I clear? No one can talk to that prisoner.”
Hanzus got to his feet and snatched up his sports coat. “I’m sorry, Doctor, I have to go. I’ll reschedule for next week.”
“Wait, Warden, shouldn’t we—”
Dr Margot was silenced by the sound of the outer door to her office slamming.
She looked down at the reproduction of a thirteenth-century flanged mace that she held in one hand, her other hand resting on the handle to the door of her bathroom, poised to open it.
Maybe she should look into a change of career.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Diller worked his hands around the steering wheel. His palms were sweaty, as was the rest of him. He was in the middle of the Mojave Desert, but the Winnebago had some seriously kick-ass air-con so he couldn’t blame it on that. Nope, this was good old-fashioned terror sweat.
The drive there had been awkward.
Both he and Zoya had made failed attempts at conversation. He’d gone with, “Is everything OK back
