“What do you want me to do?” Roland asked. “Rush up there, beat that red-beret’d fucknugget with his own sidearm and then cock-punch the rest of them into submission?”

“You can beat them,” Manny said.

“Yeah,” Roland nodded, “but if I do, that’s the end of the mission. And probably the end of those hostages. I can save your buddy, and you, and probably even that girl if she wants to come. But the Kingdom’s going to assume some monster-man from Rolling Fuck just terrorism’d them. They’ll bury those captives too deep for us to find. And then Austin’s as fucked as a blind pussy in a dick forest.”

A man in the crowd turned and stared at Roland. Volume man, volume. Roland guessed he’d heard just the tail-end of his last sentence. The word “pussy” had probably piqued his ears. Before the man could say anything, Roland pointed toward the gallows and let out a loud “WHOOP!” followed by a “PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD!” The inadvertent eavesdropper started cheering along with him and turned back to the impending execution.

Roland turned back to Manny. The boy was quiet, his face controlled, but fat tears ran down his cheeks and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Roland directed him back, away from the worst of the crowd.

“Mr. Peron baked the cake for my twelfth birthday,” Manny whispered. “He showed us Monty Python. He dropped us off at soccer practice.”

Manny had started to babble. He smelled on the edge of an outright panic attack. Roland’s hindbrain started to identify potential improvised weaponry options among the crowd. He settled on a small, thick-set man. He’s got a real dense cranium. Good weight distribution. He’ll make a great club.

Roland shook himself out of it. Then he tried to shake Manny out of it by, literally, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Hey. Listen. Your friend up there is going to die. Or a lot of other people are going to die. Those are the two options. I know it sucks. I know it’s shit. But we cannot fix this. If you stay calm though, we can fix something worse. Do you understand me?”

Manny’s eyes came unglazed. The flow of tears slowed, then stopped. It was an impressive feat of willpower. Most people didn’t have that kind of control over their emotions. Roland had to guess Manny’s work as a fixer had, at least, prepared him to function in the middle of a waking nightmare.

“OK,” the kid said, “but I have to watch.”