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- Ричард Морган
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"
The
door
behind
me
opened
,
gusting
the
pulse
of
the
music
in
the
corridor
,
and
a
second
gun
muzzle
jammed
into
my
back
.
"
Now
you
put
her
down
,
real
slow
,
and
stand
back
.
"
I
lowered
the
body
in
my
arms
gently
onto
the
satin
padded
floor
and
stood
up
again
.
Bright
white
light
sprang
up
in
the
cabin
,
and
the
revolving
cherry
blinked
pinkly
twice
and
went
out
.
The
door
behind
me
thudded
shut
on
the
music
while
before
me
,
a
tall
blond
man
in
close
-
fitting
black
advanced
into
the
room
,
knuckles
whitened
on
the
trigger
of
his
particle
blaster
.
His
moudi
was
compressed
and
the
whites
of
his
eyes
were
flaring
around
stimulant
-
blasted
pupils
.
The
gun
in
my
back
bore
me
forward
and
the
blond
kept
coming
until
the
muzzle
of
the
blaster
was
smearing
my
lower
lip
against
my
teeth
.
"
Now
who
the
fuck
are
you
?
"
he
hissed
at
me
.
I
turned
my
head
aside
far
enough
to
open
my
mouth
.
"
Irene
Elliott
.
My
daughter
used
to
work
here
.
"
The
blond
stepped
forward
,
gun
muzzle
tracing
a
line
down
my
cheek
and
under
my
chin
.
"
You
’
re
lying
to
me
,
"
he
said
softly
.
"
I
’
ve
got
a
friend
out
at
the
Bay
City
justice
facility
,
and
he
tells
me
Irene
Elliott
’
s
still
on
stack
.
See
,
we
checked
out
the
bag
of
shit
you
sold
this
cunt
.
"
He
kicked
at
the
inert
body
on
the
floor
and
I
peered
down
out
of
the
corner
of
my
nearest
eye
.
In
the
harsh
white
light
the
marks
of
torture
were
livid
on
the
girl
’
s
flesh
.
"
Now
I
want
you
to
think
real
carefully
about
your
next
answer
,
whoever
you
are
.
Why
are
you
asking
after
Lizzie
Elliott
?
"
I
slid
my
eyes
back
over
the
barrel
of
the
blaster
to
the
clenched
face
beyond
.
It
wasn
’
t
the
expression
of
someone
who
’
d
been
dealt
in
.
Too
scared
.
"
Lizzie
Elliott
’
s
my
daughter
,
you
piece
of
shit
,
and
if
your
friend
up
at
the
city
store
had
any
real
access
,
you
’
d
know
why
the
record
still
says
I
’
m
on
stack
.
"
