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- Ричард Морган
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Nicholson
shook
his
tangled
head
.
"
This
is
fucked
,
man
—
"
"
There
.
Standing
on
the
walkway
.
Drop
me
there
.
"
There
was
a
solitary
figure
leaning
on
the
rail
up
ahead
,
apparently
contemplating
the
view
of
the
bay
.
Nicholson
frowned
with
concentration
and
hunched
the
vastly
out
-
sized
shoulders
for
which
,
presumably
,
he
was
named
.
The
battered
truck
drifted
sedately
but
not
quite
smoothly
across
two
lanes
and
came
to
a
bumpy
halt
beside
the
right
-
hand
barrier
.
I
jumped
down
,
glanced
around
for
bystanders
,
saw
none
and
pulled
myself
back
up
on
the
open
door
.
"
All
right
now
,
listen
.
It
’
s
going
to
be
at
least
two
days
till
I
get
to
Seattle
,
maybe
three
,
so
you
just
hole
up
in
the
first
hotel
the
city
limits
datastack
has
to
offer
,
and
you
wait
for
me
there
.
Pay
cash
,
but
book
in
under
my
name
.
I
’
ll
contact
you
between
ten
and
eleven
in
the
morning
,
so
be
in
the
hotel
at
those
times
.
The
rest
of
the
time
,
you
can
do
what
you
like
.
I
figure
I
gave
you
enough
cash
not
to
get
bored
.
"
Graft
Nicholson
bared
his
teeth
in
a
knowing
leer
that
made
me
feel
slightly
sorry
for
anyone
working
in
the
Seattle
leisure
industry
that
week
.
"
Don
’
t
worry
‘
bout
me
,
man
.
Old
Graft
knows
how
to
grab
a
good
time
by
the
titties
.
"
"
I
’
m
glad
.
Just
don
’
t
get
too
comfortable
.
We
may
need
to
move
it
in
a
hurry
.
"
"
Yeah
,
yeah
.
What
about
the
rest
of
the
plastique
,
man
?
"
"
I
told
you
.
You
’
ll
get
paid
when
we
’
re
done
.
"
