"We'll see to that, sir," the supervisor said. The Enye turned, and Ramon could see the supervisor brace himself as the alien's tongue emerged and licked the man in farewell. He took it pretty well, Ramon thought. Some trace of Ramon's amus.e.m.e.nt must have shown through, though. When the Enye lumbered out of the room, the supervisor raised an eyebrow and smiled mirthlessly. Ramon shrugged and finished his cigarette. He had a feeling it would be his last for some time.

Two uniformed cops came in to escort him to his new quarters. The cells under the station house were also not entirely new to Ramon, but this was the first time he'd walked down the gray concrete hallways sober. He caught sight of the supervisor still wiping his neck with a bandana and talking to a tall, intense man whom it 279 279 took Ramon a moment to recognize as the governor. A third person glanced up as Ramon stepped out of sight-a woman with dark, straight hair. Ramon was sorry, as he descended the stairs, that he hadn't gotten a chance to wave at her. He hadn't seen her since the night at the El Rey.

Down in the cells, the constable was waiting. Ramon could feel the anger coming off the man like heat. His gut went tight, his mouth dry. Ramon's guards stopped him, and the constable stalked forward like a hunting cat.

"I know you're lying," the constable said. "You think you can fool them with some bulls.h.i.t story about your van going missing? I can smell the s.h.i.t coming off of you."

"So what the f.u.c.k do you think I'm hiding?" Ramon said. "You think it's all part of some big pinche pinche plan? I go out, lose everything I own, almost die, and it's all about a plan? I go out, lose everything I own, almost die, and it's all about a bathrobe bathrobe? What have you been huffing, ese ese?"

The constable stepped closer, gaze locked on Ramon. His breath felt unpleasantly warm on Ramon's face. It smelled of peppers and tequila. He was five or six centimeters taller than Ramon, and drew himself up to make the fact clear. Ramon had to fight the instinct to step back, away from the big man's anger.

"I don't know what you're hiding," the cop said. "I don't know why those f.u.c.king rock-lickers care. But I do know Johnny Joe Cardenas wasn't the one who killed that amba.s.sador. So how about you tell me what's really going on here?"

"Don't have a clue, man. So how about you get out of my way?"

Something half sneer, half smile twisted the constable's mouth, but he stepped aside. Nodding to one of the guards, he said, "Put him in twelve."

The guard nodded as he pushed Ramon forward. It was like going into a heavy-weather shelter; reinforced concrete and unpainted composite doors and hinges. Ramon let himself be steered to an in-tersection of corridors, and then down a short hallway. The air was thick and stale. In one of the cells, some poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d was crying loud enough for the sound to carry. Ramon tried to shrug it all off, but tension in his gut was cinching tighter and tighter. How long would they hold him here? Who would come to his defense?

He didn't have anyone.

The door to cell twelve swung open silently and Ramon stepped in. It was a small room, but not tiny. Four bunks stood on each side wall, an open hole in the middle of the room serving as the toilet.

The light was white LED recessed behind security gla.s.s in the ceiling. Someone had scored words into the gla.s.s, but it was too bright for Ramon to read it. The door shut, the magnetic bolt closing with a deep clank. A man in one of the lower bunks rolled over to look at him; he was huge. Broad across the shoulders, his scalp covered by cheap tattoos and a thin stubble of black hair going gray at the temples. His eyes were like a dog's. Ramon's b.a.l.l.s tried to crawl up into his belly.

"Hey, Johnny Joe," Ramon said.

They took him out before Johnny Joe could quite manage to kill him, half carrying him to another cell. Ramon lay on the concrete floor, feeling himself breathe. His mouth tasted of blood. His ribs ached, and his left eye wouldn't open. He thought a couple of his teeth were loose. The LED in this cell was off, so it was a lot like being in a grave. Or the aliens' tank. He chuckled at the idea, and then at the arcing pain that came from chuckling. There was another thing that laughter could be. Despair. Pain.

To have come so far, to have endured so much, just to wind up rotting in a cell under the station house of the governor's constabulary.

And for who? The aliens who'd humiliated and used him? He didn't owe them s.h.i.t. Maneck and all the motherf.u.c.kers like it. Ramon owed them nothing. He didn't remember now why he thought he did. The kii, kii, slaughtered by the Enye: they weren't human babies. slaughtered by the Enye: they weren't human babies.

281 They didn't matter. If he just told told them, he could go. He could find Lianna. Maybe send old Martin Casaus a message saying how sorry he was, and that he understood why Martin had tried to kill him. He could sit beside the river and listen to the water slap the stones of the quay. He could get a van again, and go out where there were no people or aliens or jails. All he had to do was tell them. them, he could go. He could find Lianna. Maybe send old Martin Casaus a message saying how sorry he was, and that he understood why Martin had tried to kill him. He could sit beside the river and listen to the water slap the stones of the quay. He could get a van again, and go out where there were no people or aliens or jails. All he had to do was tell them.

He levered himself up to his elbows.

"I'll tell," he croaked. "Come on, you pendejos pendejos. You want to know what's out there, I'll f.u.c.king tell you. I'll f.u.c.king tell. Just let me go!"

No one heard him. The door didn't open.

"Just let me go."

He fell into an exhausted sleep there on the floor and dreamed that his twin was in the cell with him, smoking a cigarette and brag-ging about s.e.xual conquests Ramon didn't remember. He tried to yell to the other man that they were in danger, that he had to get away, before recalling that the man was dead. His twin, who had also become Maneck and Palenki, had launched into a lascivious description of f.u.c.king the European's companion when Ramon managed to break in, protesting in thought more than words that it had never happened.

"How do you know?" his twin asked. "You weren't there. Who the f.u.c.k are you?"

"I'm Ramon Espejo," Ramon shouted, waking himself with the words.

In the darkness, the prison floor harder than mere stone under his back, Ramon shook his head until the last tendrils of nightmare were gone. He forced himself to sit up and take stock of his injuries. They were, he decided, more painful than dangerous. Disgust washed over him-for his weakness, for his willingness to help the police even after they'd done this to him. Maneck and the aliens had collared him like a dog, but they hadn't locked him in with a psychopath just for fun. It took a human human to do that. to do that.

"I'll kill you f.u.c.kers," he said to an imagined constable, his supervisor, the governor. "Somehow, I will get free of this, and will kill each one of you sorry pendejos pendejos!"

Even he wasn't convinced. When the door swung open, he realized he'd fallen asleep again. The supervisor walked in, light from the hall making a halo around him. As Ramon's eyes adjusted to the brightness, he saw resignation and amus.e.m.e.nt on the man's face.

"You don't look so good, Senor Espejo."

"Yeah. Well, you go ten rounds with Johnny Joe Cardenas, see how you do."

The LED in the ceiling flickered on as the door closed, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'd do fine," the supervisor said. "Hung him this morning. You want a cigarette?"

"Nah," Ramon said. "I'm quitting." Then, a moment later, held out his hand. The supervisor squatted beside Ramon, struck a cigarette against the floor and handed it over.

"Got some food coming too," the man said. "And I'm sorry about Paul. He doesn't do so good when someone embarra.s.ses him. The Enye taking your side with the governor watching? Well, he over-reacted."

"That's what you call this, eh?"

The supervisor shrugged like a man who'd spent too many years looking at the world.

"Got to call it something," he said. "They're gonna take your story apart. I'm just saying, Ramon. It's going to happen."

"Why would I lie about my van getting-"

"No one gives a s.h.i.t about your van. The Enye have been going crazy about this robe. It's some kind of alien artifact."

"That's what I f.u.c.king said it was!"

The supervisor let that pa.s.s.

"If there's something you're hiding, we're going to find out. The 283 283 governor's not going to watch out for you. He knows you killed the European amba.s.sador, even if he doesn't want to admit it. The cops . . . well, we can't back you if the governor doesn't. The Enye are hot about this thing, whatever the f.u.c.k it is. They'll want us to turn you over to them."

Ramon sucked the smoke deep into his lungs. When he exhaled, he could see where a little draft from the hallway caught the air and spun it. The smoke made the flow visible.

"You're negotiating for them?"

"I'm saying it's gonna be better if you tell them what they want to know. They're the ones who've got all the power."

Ramon rested his head on his knees. A memory a.s.saulted him, the first flashback of its kind in many days-the last, it turned out, he would ever have. It began with laughter. A woman's laughter, fighting its way past the clink and clatter of the pac.h.i.n.ko machine. Ramon was in the El Rey. The memory was clear now. The reek of the smoke, the smooth blackness of the bar. He remembered the gla.s.s in his hand, the way it clinked when he plunked it with his fingernail. The way the back mirror looked gray from the low lights and the accu-mulated film of old cigarettes. Music played, but softly. No one had paid to have the speakers turned up loud enough to dance to.

"It's about power," the European said. His voice was too loud. He was drunk, but not as drunk as he pretended. His accent was broad and nasal. "You know what I mean? Not like violence. Not physical physical violence." violence."

The woman beside him glanced around the bar. There were maybe twenty people in the place, and they could all hear the conversation she and her European companion were having. She caught Ramon's eyes reflected in the mirror for a fraction of a second, then looked away and laughed. She neither agreed with the European nor disagreed. He went on as if she had spoken; that her opinion didn't matter proved his point.

"I mean, take you, you, " he said, his hand on her arm as if he was pointing it out to her. "You came out with me because you had to. No, no. " he said, his hand on her arm as if he was pointing it out to her. "You came out with me because you had to. No, no.

Don't disagree, it's okay. I'm a man of the world, right. I understand.

I'm the traveling big shot, and your boss wants to make sure I'm happy. That gives me power, you see? You came out to this bar with me, didn't you?"

The woman said something, her voice too low to hear, her mouth in a tight smile. It didn't work.

"No, seriously," the man said. "What would you do if I told you to come back to my room with me right now and f.u.c.k me? I mean, are you really in a position to say no? You could, right? You could say you didn't want to. But then I'd have you fired. Just like that." He snapped his fingers and grinned coldly.

Ramon sipped his drink. The whiskey seemed watery. But he'd been listening to the European talk for a while now, and the ice in the gla.s.s had melted down to ovals like little fingernails.

"Or not even my room," the European said. "The alley, out back.

I could take you out there and tell you to take off that little dress, and spread your legs, and, seriously, what could you do about it?

Just hypothetically, you know. I'm just saying what if? That's what I mean about power. I have power over you. It's not because I'm a good person and you're a bad one. It's not about morality at all."

His hand dropped from her arm. From where he sat, Ramon guessed that it had found its way to her thigh or maybe even beyond.

She was sitting very still now. Still smiling, but the smile was brittle.

The pac.h.i.n.ko machine had gone quiet. No one else in the bar was talking, but the European didn't take notice. Or maybe he did, and this was the point: that everyone should hear and know. Ramon met Mikel Ibrahim's eyes and tapped the rim of his gla.s.s. The barkeeper didn't speak, only poured more liquor in.

"Power is what it's all about." His voice was lower now. There was a ba.s.s roll in the words. The woman laughed and pushed back her 285 285 hair. A nervous gesture. "You understand what I'm saying to you?"

"I do," she said. Her voice was higher. "I really do. But I think it's time that I-"

"Don't get up," the European said. He wasn't asking.

This is s.h.i.t, someone whispered. Ramon drank his whiskey. It was his fourth. Maybe his fifth. Mikel had his credit information. If he'd been out of money, Mikel would have kicked him out. Ramon placed the empty gla.s.s on the bar and deliberately put both hands palm-down and stared at them. If he was too drunk, they wouldn't seem like his own. They seemed like his own. Mostly. He was sober enough. someone whispered. Ramon drank his whiskey. It was his fourth. Maybe his fifth. Mikel had his credit information. If he'd been out of money, Mikel would have kicked him out. Ramon placed the empty gla.s.s on the bar and deliberately put both hands palm-down and stared at them. If he was too drunk, they wouldn't seem like his own. They seemed like his own. Mostly. He was sober enough.

He looked forward and saw himself in the haze of the mirror; he watched himself smile a little. The woman laughed. There was no mirth in the sound. There was fear.

"I want you to say that you understand," the European said, his voice low. "And then I want you to come with me, and show me how much you agree with me."

"Hey, pendejo, pendejo, " Ramon said. "You want power? How about you come outside, and I'll kick your " Ramon said. "You want power? How about you come outside, and I'll kick your pinche pinche a.s.s." a.s.s."

The European looked over, surprised. There was a moment of utter silence, and then the bar was shouting, on its feet, cheering.

Ramon saw the moment of fear in the European's eyes, the rage that followed. Ramon adjusted the knife in his sleeve and grinned.

"What have you got to smile about, hijo hijo?" the supervisor said.

"I was just thinking about something," Ramon said.

There was a long pause. The supervisor hunched over like they were both prisoners in the same cell.

"You gonna change your story?" he asked.

Ramon took a long draw on his cigarette and sighed slowly, releasing a long, gray plume of smoke. A half-dozen smart-a.s.s com-ments came to mind. Things he could say to show them he wasn't scared of them or of the aliens for whom they'd made themselves into hunting dogs. In the end, he said simply, "No."

"Your call," the supervisor said.

"I still get the food?"

"Sure. And do yourself a favor. Reconsider. And do it fast. Paul's got an idea how he's going to show the Enye you're full of s.h.i.t. And if they ask to take you back to their ship, you're gone. And then you're doomed."

"Thanks for the warning," Ramon said.

"De nada," the supervisor said, making it clear by his tone that it really the supervisor said, making it clear by his tone that it really was was nothing to him. One way or the other. nothing to him. One way or the other.

Chapter 28.

Time was a strange thing in the cell. The darkness had left him feeling discarded and forgotten. Now that the LED was on, Ramon had the sense of being scrutinized. The light was unforgiving; it made every squalid stain and scratch and chip in the cell perfectly clear.

Ramon considered his wounds and came to the conclusion that while he would ache and p.i.s.s blood for days, he wouldn't be the last man Johnny Joe Cardenas had killed. He would recover-if the Enye let him.

There were stories, all officially denied, about what happened to men who transgressed against the crews of the transport ships.

Ramon had heard his share and believed them-or not, depending on who told them and when and where. Once he'd reached the colony, they had the same status as ghost stories. They were pleasantly frightening and grotesque, but nothing to spend time think-ing about. Now, though, he wondered. If they took him, would he hold out?

There wasn't any advantage to him in keeping Maneck's secret if the Enye would wrench it out of him anyway. The slaughter that followed would be the same whether Ramon offered up the information or had it taken from him. Except, of course, to Ramon.

On the other hand, he was a tough sonofab.i.t.c.h. So maybe he could stand it, even if they tried to break him. No way to know without trying.

Instead of obsessing about it, Ramon attempted to pinpoint the moment when he'd stopped thinking of Maneck and the aliens beneath the mountain as his enemies. It had to have happened. He had dedicated himself to killing them for the indignities they'd heaped upon him, and now here he was, wondering if he would be strong enough to die to protect them if the need arose. It wasn't a small change of heart, and yet he couldn't say when it had happened. Or why it felt so much like the moment he'd spoken up for the woman in the bar. Or why the prospect of his own torture and death didn't fill him with some greater dread.

But there had been no promise of survival with the European either. He could have died in that alley as easily as he had killed. The result wasn't the point. It was all about being the kind of man who would do the sort of thing he was doing. It was a reason to be, a reason to die a good death, if that's what it meant. And maybe he had a thing for lost causes. Like that guy in the telenovela telenovela.

And then there were also long stretches when Ramon knew that if anyone had asked at that particular moment, he'd have told them anything. Everything. Just as long as they'd let him go go. As the hours pa.s.sed, he came to fix Maneck's chances at maybe sixty-forty against.

Depending on what part of its cycle of heroism and cowardice his mind was in when they came, and whether they p.i.s.sed him off enough that he'd be willing to sacrifice himself out of spite.

289 When the door opened and the guards stepped in, the supervisor was with them. He'd changed his suit, so Ramon figured at least a day had pa.s.sed since he'd been hauled into the cell. That seemed plausible.

Once he was shackled, the guards marched him-one before, two behind, and all of them with electric batons out and charged-to a small meeting chamber. It was nicely appointed. None of the slaugh-terhouse feel that the rest of the station maintained. The Enye from before, or else one enough like it to fool Ramon, stood against one wall, its slick tongue darting contentedly over its body. The governor was there, and, to Ramon's surprise, the woman from the bar. The supervisor had the guards lead Ramon to a chair bolted to the floor and chain him to it. The governor looked at him with a mixture of disgust and shrewd evaluation. The woman glanced at him once, her expression profoundly bored, and turned back to her datapad.

This is all your f.u.c.king fault. He projected the thought toward the woman. He projected the thought toward the woman. If you had stood up for yourself instead of counting on us to do If you had stood up for yourself instead of counting on us to do your fighting for you, I wouldn't be in this f.u.c.ked-up situation. your fighting for you, I wouldn't be in this f.u.c.ked-up situation.

"Okay," the governor said, sounding annoyed. "Can we get this over with?"

"They're just getting her into the interrogation room now, sir,"

the supervisor said.

"Who?" Ramon asked. "What the f.u.c.k's going on?"