“All right,” Necalli said, “you’ve made your point.”
Tlanextic turned to his two colleagues. “Lieutenants? Either of you hear anything?” They shrugged, their faces deadpan but their eyes smirking. “Because I know I didn’t. Nope, definitely didn’t hear a thing. Perhaps a cockroach just scuttled past, I’m not sure.”
Necalli sighed. “Just tell me what you want.”
Tlanextic feigned a look of apology. “No, sorry, still getting nothing. Could be I’m going deaf. However, in the event that someone of the lowly stature of an earthworm’s sphincter is talking to me, what I want is that Englishman over there, and I’m taking him. Where, why, or what fucking for, is none of your business. All you have to do is hand him over, say, ‘You’re welcome,’ and then say, ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Colonel Tlanextic?’ At which point I’ll say, ‘No,’ and then I’ll say, ‘Oh wait. There is one thing. You can shove your head right up your own rectum.’ And you’ll reply, ‘Of course, sir, and how far up would you like it to go? Colon? Ileum? Duodenum?’ And I’ll say, ‘I honestly don’t mind, as long as you’re wearing that stupid pointy-eared pussycat helmet while you’re doing it.’”
Necalli seemed to be visibly swelling up, as though outrage was a physical force inside him, an increase in air pressure. Mal watched him struggle to contain it. Necalli understood, as she did, that men like Tlanextic could not be argued with or resisted. They could only be endured.
“Have him, then,” he said, with a pathetic, hapless gesture in Reston’s direction.
“Yes, your permission wasn’t required,” said Tlanextic. “It wasn’t even being sought. Boys?”
The two Serpent lieutenants elbowed their way into the cell, forcing Mal, Aaronson and Necalli to huddle up against the far wall. One of them unclipped a stun gun from his belt. He flipped a switch, the stun gun whined, and before Reston could move or resist he placed it against his neck and depressed the trigger. There was a sharp crackle of electricity, and Reston’s entire body went slack. The two lieutenants hoisted his limp form between them and dragged him out into the corridor by the armpits.
“You’re too kind,” Tlanextic said to Necalli, then saluted him with sneering condescension and followed his men out.
It was seeing Reston actually being removed from her sight that spurred Mal to action. Up until then she’d understood what was going on, but been unable to process it. All at once she grasped that her quarry was being taken from her. Once again. For a third fucking time.
That was an insult that could not be borne. An affront too far. Nobody deserved to have Stuart Reston except her. Not even a high-and-mighty Serpent. Reston belonged to her by every moral right there was. Her future, her career, her self-respect, everything hinged on her carting the Conquistador back to London and depositing him at the commissioner’s feet. Colonel Tlanextic, overbearing megabastard though he was, was not depriving her of what was probably her one and only shot at redemption.
She propelled herself out of the cell, barging Necalli and Aaronson aside. In the corridor she grabbed hold of Tlanextic just below the armlet that bore the five-circles symbol denoting his rank. He stopped in his tracks but didn’t deign to turn.
“Whoever’s hand that is, they’d better remove it by the count of three,” he said, “or be prepared to lose it. One. Two.”
“Give him back.”
“Three.”
He swung round. Mal let go. “Colonel, please. I’ve come five and a half thousand miles for that man. I know this isn’t my jurisdiction, but he’s a British citizen, a British criminal, and I’m a British Jaguar. He’s mine.”
Slowly, patiently, Tlanextic said, “Listen, dear. That was a very brave thing you just did, grabbing me. Well done. You should be proud of yourself. Not many would have had the nerve. But let’s leave it there, eh? You do not want to take this any further. Quit while you’re ahead.”
“No,” Mal said, terrified by her own boldness. “Give him back. He’s not yours to take.”
A flicker of amusement passed across Tlanextic’s face. Then his eyes hardened, his mouth twisted, and next thing Mal knew, something struck her with sledgehammer force and she was down on the floor, her ears ringing, pain lancing down her jaw and up through her skull.
Tlanextic shook out his fist. “By all the Four, that girl’s got a hard head.” He peered down at Mal as she squirmed and groaned. Then he about-turned and motioned to his lieutenants to carry on. They resumed dragging Reston towards the staircase.
“Wait,” said a thick, unsteady voice behind them.
Tlanextic looked back to see Mal rising to her feet. She was using the wall for support. Her legs seemed barely able to function.
“What?” he said, exasperated. “You want me to deck you again?”
“By the power vested in me by His Very Holiness the High Priest of Great Britain,” she said, “I demand that you hand Stuart Reston over.”
“Hold on, men,” Tlanextic said to his lieutenants. “This won’t take a second. Listen, Miss British Jaguar.” He crossed back over to Mal. “Maybe your Nahuatl isn’t what it ought to be, so I’ll keep this as simple as I can. Me Serpent Warrior, you not. Get it? Me very big man round these parts, you silly little white policewoman with funny accent. Me told what to do by Great Speaker himself. In pecking order, me up here.” He raised a hand level with his eyes. “You down here.” He lowered the hand to his crotch. “In more ways than one.”
“With all due respect, colonel,” said Mal, “go screw yourself.”
There was a gasp from behind her — Aaronson. At the same moment, Tlanextic punched her again, this time in the solar plexus. It was a mighty wallop, carrying all his weight behind it, and Mal collapsed to her knees, winded and in agony. She fought for breath. The world wavered darkly around her. As if from a great distance, his voice booming and echoing, she heard Tlanextic say, “All right. You’ve made your point. Enough’s enough. Next time, it’ll be my macuahitl rather than my fist. This is over.”
She fought the tide of blackness that was threatening to engulf her. Do not pass out, do not pass out. She clutched the wall, hauling herself upright inch by trembling inch. Bile burned in the back of her throat and she felt close to throwing up. Aaronson was desperately urging her, “No, boss, don’t. It’s not worth it. Stay down.” Even Necalli, who hardly knew her, was offering the same advice.
“Is that…” she said hoarsely to Tlanextic. “Is that… all you’ve got… you big pussy?”
Aaronson clawed his face in anguish.
Tlanextic’s expression turned to one of pure spite and fury. He snatched the stun gun off the belt of his junior officer and sprang at Mal with the device humming in his hand. He touched it to her chest — her left breast, to be exact — and pain like she’d never known before coursed through her. Her whole body seemed all of a sudden not to belong to her. It was a convulsing, juddering bag of meat that she just happened to be connected with. She felt her bladder let go and warm wetness spreading between her legs. She heard sounds coming out of her throat that she didn’t think any human being could make. Tlanextic kept the stun gun pressed to her, his thumb hard on the trigger. His eyes were alive with sadistic pleasure.
Eventually the stun gun’s charge ran out. The pain subsided, but Mal’s body still kept twitching spastically. Had she not been leaning against the wall, she would be sprawled in a heap on the floor by now. She tasted blood from where her teeth had clamped down involuntarily on her tongue. She could smell singed cotton and skin, and her own urine.
The effort it took to lift her head was almost superhuman. Harder still was finding the muscular control necessary to peel back her lips in a grin.