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- Ричард Морган
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"
Tea
,
"
I
said
to
the
young
waiter
who
came
to
meet
us
,
and
seated
myself
opposite
Sullivan
in
the
booth
.
"
You
aren
’
t
going
to
get
away
with
this
,
"
he
said
unconvincingly
.
"
Even
if
you
kill
me
,
really
kill
me
,
they
’
ll
check
the
most
recent
re
-
sleevings
and
backtrack
to
you
sooner
or
later
.
"
"
Yeah
,
maybe
they
’
ll
even
find
out
about
the
unofficial
surgery
this
sleeve
had
before
I
arrived
.
"
"
That
bitch
.
She
’
s
going
to
—
"
"
You
’
re
in
no
position
to
be
making
threats
,
"
I
said
mildly
.
"
In
fact
you
’
re
in
no
position
to
do
anything
except
answer
my
questions
and
hope
I
believe
you
.
Who
told
you
to
tag
me
?
"
Silence
,
apart
from
the
game
coverage
from
the
set
on
the
wall
.
Sullivan
stared
sullenly
at
me
.
"
All
right
,
I
’
ll
make
it
easy
for
you
.
Simple
yes
or
no
.
An
artificial
called
Trepp
came
to
see
you
.
Was
this
the
first
time
you
’
d
had
dealings
with
her
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
know
what
you
’
re
talking
about
.
"
With
measured
anger
,
I
backhanded
him
hard
across
the
mouth
.
He
collapsed
sideways
against
the
wall
of
the
booth
,
losing
his
hat
.
The
conversation
of
the
young
men
in
silk
stopped
abruptly
,
then
resumed
with
great
animation
as
I
cut
them
a
sideways
glance
.
The
two
old
women
got
stiffly
to
their
feet
and
filed
out
through
a
back
entrance
.
The
Caucasian
didn
’
t
even
look
up
from
his
holoporn
.
I
leaned
across
the
table
.
