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- Ричард Морган
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"
It
’
s
a
fucking
crime
,
"
she
said
through
her
teeth
.
"
I
am
not
going
to
steal
confiscated
drugs
out
of
police
holding
for
you
.
"
"
OK
,
forget
it
.
"
I
hesitated
,
put
my
tongue
in
my
cheek
for
a
moment
.
"
Want
to
help
me
confiscate
some
more
,
then
?
"
Something
inside
me
cheered
as
the
unwilling
smile
broke
cover
on
her
face
.
The
dealer
was
in
the
same
place
he
had
been
when
I
walked
into
his
‘
cast
radius
two
weeks
ago
.
This
time
I
saw
him
twenty
metres
away
,
skulking
in
an
alcove
with
the
bat
-
eyed
broadcast
unit
on
his
shoulder
like
a
familiar
.
There
were
very
few
people
on
the
street
in
any
direction
.
I
nodded
to
Ortega
who
was
stationed
across
the
street
and
walked
on
.
The
sales
‘
cast
had
not
changed
,
the
street
of
ridiculously
ferocious
women
and
the
sudden
cool
of
the
betathanatine
hit
,
but
this
time
I
was
expecting
it
and
in
any
case
the
Khumalo
neurachem
had
a
definite
damping
effect
on
the
intrusion
.
I
stepped
up
to
the
dealer
with
an
eager
smile
.
"
Got
Stiff
,
man
.
"
"
Good
,
that
’
s
what
I
’
m
looking
for
.
How
much
have
you
got
?
"
He
started
a
little
,
expression
coiling
between
greed
and
suspicion
.
His
hand
slipped
down
towards
the
horrorbox
at
his
belt
just
in
case
.
"
How
much
you
want
,
man
?
"
"
All
of
it
,
"
I
said
cheerfully
.
"
Everything
you
’
ve
got
.
"
