Behind him, the Saint heard Esther stifle a faint scream, and then the detonation of his gun blotted out every other sound.
As if it had been photographed in slow motion, Simon saw the snake’s shattered head splatter away from its body, while the rest of it kicked and whipped away in a series of reflex convulsions that spilled it still writhing spasmodically on to the floor.
Freddie pulled himself shakily up to his feet.
“Good God,” he said, and repeated it. “Good God — and it was real! Another second, and it’d have had me!”
“What happened?” Esther was asking shrilly.
“I don’t know. I was starting to get dressed — you see? — I’d got my pants and shirt on, and I sat down and had a drink, and I must have fallen asleep. And then that thing landed on my lap!”
Simon dropped the gun back into his pocket.
“Landed?” he said.
“Yes — just as if somebody had thrown it. Somebody must have thrown it. I felt it hit. That was what woke me up. I saw what it was, and of course I let out a yell, and then the door slammed, and I looked round too late to see who it was. But I didn’t care who it was, then. All I could see was that Goddamn snake leering at me. I almost thought I was seeing things again. But I knew I couldn’t be. I wouldn’t have felt it like that. I was just taking a nap, and somebody came in and threw it on top of me!”
“How long ago was this?”