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- Ричард Морган
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"
Think
about
it
,
Kovacs
.
I
’
m
not
saying
it
was
premeditated
—
"
"
And
what
about
the
remote
storage
?
It
was
a
pointless
crime
—
"
"
—
not
saying
it
was
even
rational
,
but
you
’
ve
got
to
—
"
"
—
got
to
be
someone
who
didn
’
t
know
—
"
Fuck
!
Kovacs
!
"
Ortega
’
s
voice
,
up
a
full
octave
.
We
were
into
the
reception
zone
by
now
.
Still
two
clients
waiting
on
the
left
,
a
man
and
a
woman
deep
in
discussion
of
a
large
paper
-
wrapped
package
.
On
the
right
a
peripheral
flicker
of
crimson
where
there
should
have
been
none
.
I
was
looking
at
blood
.
The
ancient
Asian
receptionist
was
dead
,
throat
cut
with
something
that
glinted
metallic
deep
within
the
wound
around
her
neck
.
Her
head
rested
in
a
shiny
pool
of
her
own
blood
on
the
desk
in
front
of
her
.
My
hand
leapt
for
the
Nemex
.
Beside
me
,
I
heard
the
snap
as
Ortega
chambered
the
first
slug
in
her
Smith
&
Wesson
.
I
swung
towards
the
two
waiting
clients
and
their
paper
-
wrapped
package
.
