I dropped flat and rolled behind Mallon's chair--and a gout of blue
flame yammered into the spot where I'd been standing. I whipped the gun
up and around into the peach-colored upholstery an inch from Toby's ear.
"The next one nails you to the chair," I yelled. "Call 'em off!" There
was a moment of dead silence. Toby sat frozen. I couldn't see who'd
been doing the shooting. Then I heard a moan. Renada.
"Let the girl alone or I'll kill him," I called.
Toby sat rigid, his eyes rolled toward me.
"You can't kill me, Jackson! I'm all that's keeping you alive."
"You can't kill me either, Toby. You need my magic touch, remember?
Maybe you'd better give us a safe-conduct out of here. I'll take the
freeze off your Bolo--after I've seen to my business."
Toby licked his lips. I heard Renada again. She was trying not to
moan--but moaning anyway.
"You tried, Jackson. It didn't work out," Toby said through gritted
teeth. "Throw out your gun and stand up. I won't kill you--you know
that. You do as you're told and you may still live to a ripe old
age--and the girl, too."
She screamed then--a mindless ululation of pure agony.
"Hurry up, you fool, before they tear her arm off," Mallon grated. "Or
shoot. You'll get to watch her for twenty-four hours under the knife.
Then you'll have your turn."