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- Ричард Морган
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I
’
m
stacked
,
backed
up
and
I
’
m
fifth
dan
And
I
’
m
not
afraid
of
the
Patchwork
Man
The
small
coin
of
urchin
rhyme
gleamed
up
at
me
from
the
silted
bed
of
my
childhood
.
But
I
was
afraid
.
The
rain
still
hadn
’
t
set
in
when
we
got
onto
the
approach
road
to
the
bridge
,
but
the
clouds
were
massing
sullenly
above
and
the
windscreen
was
splattered
with
heavy
droplets
too
few
to
trigger
the
truck
’
s
wipers
.
I
watched
the
rust
-
coloured
structure
looming
up
ahead
through
the
distortion
of
the
exploded
raindrops
and
knew
I
was
going
to
get
soaked
.
There
was
no
traffic
on
the
bridge
.
The
suspension
towers
rose
like
the
bones
of
some
incalculably
huge
dinosaur
above
deserted
asphalt
lanes
and
side
gantries
lined
with
unidentifiable
detritus
.
"
Slow
down
,
"
I
told
my
companion
as
we
passed
under
the
first
tower
,
and
the
heavy
vehicle
braked
with
uncalled
for
force
.
I
glanced
sideways
.
"
Take
it
easy
.
I
told
you
,
this
is
a
no
-
risk
gig
.
I
’
m
just
meeting
someone
.
"
Graft
Nicholson
gave
me
a
bleary
look
from
the
driver
’
s
seat
,
and
a
breath
of
stale
alcohol
came
with
it
.
"
Yeah
,
sure
.
You
hand
out
this
much
plastique
on
drivers
every
week
,
right
?
Just
pick
them
out
of
Licktown
bars
for
charity
?
"
I
shrugged
.
"
Believe
what
you
want
.
Just
keep
your
speed
down
.
You
can
drive
as
fast
as
you
like
after
you
let
me
out
.
"
