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- Ричард Морган
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"
It
’
s
a
long
story
.
"
I
moved
past
her
to
peer
through
the
nearest
door
.
"
I
could
use
a
coffee
,
if
the
galley
’
s
open
.
"
Bedroom
.
A
big
,
oval
bed
set
amidst
less
than
wholly
tasteful
mirrors
,
quilt
tangled
and
thrown
aside
in
haste
.
I
was
moving
back
towards
the
other
door
when
she
slapped
me
.
I
reeled
sideways
.
It
wasn
’
t
as
hard
a
blow
as
I
’
d
given
Sullivan
in
the
noodle
house
,
but
it
was
delivered
from
standing
with
a
lot
more
swing
and
there
was
the
tilt
of
the
deck
to
contend
with
.
The
cocktail
of
hangover
and
painkillers
didn
’
t
help
.
I
didn
’
t
quite
go
down
,
but
it
was
a
near
thing
.
Stumbling
back
into
balance
,
I
raised
a
hand
to
my
cheek
and
stared
at
Ortega
,
who
was
glaring
back
at
me
with
twin
spots
of
colour
burning
high
on
each
cheekbone
.
"
Look
,
I
’
m
sorry
if
I
woke
you
up
,
but
—
"
"
You
piece
of
shit
,
"
she
hissed
at
me
.
"
You
lying
piece
of
shit
.
"
"
I
’
m
not
sure
I
—
"
"
I
should
have
you
fucking
arrested
,
Kovacs
.
I
should
have
you
fucking
stacked
for
what
you
’
ve
done
.
"
I
started
to
lose
my
temper
.
"
Done
what
?
Will
you
get
a
fucking
grip
,
Ortega
,
and
tell
me
what
’
s
going
on
.
"
"
We
accessed
the
Hendrix
’
s
memory
today
,
"
Ortega
said
coldly
.
"
Preliminary
warrant
went
through
at
noon
.
Everything
for
the
last
week
.
I
’
ve
been
reviewing
it
.
"
