An oleaginous smile bloomed on Tiny's face. "That so?"
"I'm going to lower one hand to show you my identification," said Hayward.
Tiny took a step forward. "No, I think I'll find it myself." Holding the TEC-9 to her head, he groped in her shirt pockets, first one, then the other, helping himself to a couple of generous feels in the process.
"Tits are real," he said, to a burst of raucous laughter. "Fucking monsters, too."
He moved down to her pant pocket, fishing about, at last removing her shield wallet. He flipped it open. "Well, lookee here!"
He held it up, showing it around. Then he examined it himself, pursing his wet lips. "Captain L. Hayward, says here. Homicide division. And there's even a picture! You send away for this from the back of a comic book?"
Hayward stared back. Could he really be so stupid? It made her afraid.
Tiny closed the wallet, reached behind himself, made a wiping motion over his enormous derriere, and tossed it into the water with a splash. "That's what I think of your badge," he said. "Larry, get up here and search this one."
The lean man climbed onto the airboat and approached Pendergast.
"Any bullshit and I let loose with this here," he said, gesturing with the gun. "Simple as that."
The man began searching Pendergast. He removed a second gun, some tools, papers, and his shield.
"Lemme see that," Tiny said.
The man named Larry handed it over. Tiny examined it, spat tobacco juice on it, shut it, and tossed it in the water. "More comic-book tin. You folks are something else, you know that?"
Hayward felt the barrel of the gun digging into her side.
"You really are," Tiny said, his voice getting louder. "You come down here, feed us a bunch of birder bullshit, and then you think some fake badges are gonna save your sorry asses. Is that what they told you to do in case of emergency? Let me tell you something: we know who you are and why you're here. You ain't gonna take one more inch of our swamp away from us. This is our land, how we make a living. This is how my granddaddy fed my daddy, and it's how I'm feeding my kids. It ain't some Disneyland for jackoff Yankee kayakers. It's ourswamp."
Approving sounds rose up from the surrounding boats.
"Excuse me for interrupting your little speech," said Hayward, "but I am in fact a police officer and he's an FBI agent, and for your information you are all under arrest. Allof you."
"Oooooh!" said Tiny, shoving his fat face into hers. "I'm sooooscared." The smell of whiskey and rotting onions washed over Hayward.
He looked around. "Hey! Maybe we should have ourselves a little striptease here, what say?" Tiny hooked a thumb under one of his own immense man-boobs and gave it a jiggle.
A roar of approval, catcalls, hoots.
"Let's see some realhooters!"
Hayward looked at Pendergast. His face was completely unreadable. The skinny man named Larry was holding a gun to his head, and two dozen other weapons were pointed in their direction.
Tiny reached out and grabbed the collar of Hayward's blouse, giving it a jerk and trying to rip it open; she twisted away, buttons popping off.
"Feisty!" said Tiny, then hauled off and smacked her hard across the face, sending her sprawling in the bottom of the boat.
"Get up," he said, to the sound of laughter. Tiny wasn't laughing. She rose, face burning, and he jammed the gun in her ear. "All right, bitch. Take off your own shirt. For the boys."
"Go to hell," Hayward said.
"Do it," Tiny murmured, pushing the muzzle into her ear. She felt the blood begin to well up. Her blouse was already halfway ripped open.
"Do it!"
She placed a shaking hand on a button, began to undo it.
"Yeah!" came the yells. "Oh, yeah!"
Another sideways glance at Pendergast. He remained motionless, expressionless. What was going through his head?
"Unbutton and give 'em air!" screamed Tiny, jabbing with the gun.
She undid the button to another roar, started on the next.
67
SUDDENLY PENDERGAST SPOKE. "THIS IS NO WAY to treat a lady."
Tiny swiveled toward him. "No way to treat a lady? I think it's a fucking greatway!"
A chorus of agreement. Hayward looked at the sea of red, sweating, eager faces.
"Would you care to know what I think?" Pendergast said. "I think you are an embonpoint swine."
Tiny blinked. "Huh?"
"A fat pig," said Pendergast.
Tiny drew back a meaty fist and smacked Pendergast in the solar plexus. The agent gasped and bent forward. Tiny hit him again in the same spot and Pendergast sank to his knees, the wind knocked out of him.
Tiny looked down at Pendergast and spat on him disdainfully. "This is taking waytoo long," he said. Then he grasped Hayward's shirt and--with a powerful tug--tore the remaining buttons away.
There was a roar of approval from the surrounding boats. Pulling a huge skinning knife from a pocket of his overalls, Tiny opened it, then pulled Hayward's ruined shirt aside with its blade, exposing her brassiere.
"Holy shit!" somebody said.
Tiny gazed hungrily at Hayward's generous breasts. She swallowed painfully and made a move to cover herself with her buttonless shirt but Tiny shook his head, pushed her hands away, and traced the blade of his knife teasingly along the topline of her bra. Then--very slowly--he inserted the tip of the blade under the fabric between the cups. With a jerk, he brought the knife toward him, slitting the bra into two pieces. Hayward's breasts swung free to a hugely appreciative roar.
Hayward saw Pendergast rise, stumbling. Tiny was too preoccupied to notice.
Pendergast steadied himself, leaning heavily to one side. Then--with a sudden, almost imperceptible movement--he shifted his weight to the other side. The boat rocked, throwing Tiny and Larry off balance.
"Hey, easy now--"
Hayward saw a blur, a flash of steel; with a groan Larry doubled over, his clenched hand firing the gun blindly downward; there was a sudden gush of blood into the bottom of the boat.
Tiny twisted around to protect himself, sweeping the TEC-9 through the air, letting loose a long burst of fire, but the agent moved so fast the spray of bullets missed him. A sinuous arm whipped around Tiny's fat neck and jerked his head back, a stiletto at his throat; at the same time Hayward smashed the man's forearm, jarring the TEC-9 loose.
"Don't move," Pendergast said, sinking the knife partway into the man's neck. With his other hand he neatly extracted his Les Baer from the man's waistband.
Tiny roared, twisting his huge bulk, pawing to get at Pendergast; the knife sank deeper, twisted, flashing; there was a small splatter of blood, and then a fresh stillness.
"Move and die," said Pendergast.
Hayward stared, horrified, her own exposed condition momentarily forgotten: Pendergast had somehow managed to work the stiletto into the man's neck, exposing the jugular; the knife blade had already slipped underneath it, stretching it from the wound.
"Shoot me and it's cut," Pendergast said. "I fall, it's cut. He moves, it's cut. She's touched again--it's cut."