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Kawahara
grimaced
and
redoubled
her
hold
on
my
collar
.
"
Very
witty
.
Spirited
.
You
’
re
going
to
need
that
,
where
you
’
re
going
.
"
"
When
they
ask
how
I
died
,
"
I
said
,
"
tell
them
:
still
angry
.
"
"
Quell
.
"
Kawahara
leaned
closer
.
She
was
almost
lying
on
top
of
me
now
,
like
a
sated
lover
.
"
But
Quell
never
went
into
virtual
interrogation
,
did
she
?
You
aren
’
t
going
to
die
angry
,
Kovacs
.
You
’
re
going
to
die
pleading
.
Over
.
And
over
.
Again
.
"
She
shifted
her
hold
to
my
chest
and
pressed
me
down
hard
.
The
pliers
came
up
.
"
Have
an
aperitif
.
"
The
jaws
of
the
tool
plunged
into
the
underside
of
my
eye
and
a
spurt
of
blood
sprinkled
Kawahara
’
s
face
.
Pain
flared
brightly
.
For
a
moment
,
I
could
see
the
pliers
through
the
eye
they
were
embedded
in
,
towering
away
like
a
massive
steel
pylon
,
and
then
Kawahara
twisted
the
jaws
and
something
burst
.
My
vision
splashed
red
and
then
winked
out
,
a
dying
monitor
screen
like
the
ones
at
Elliott
’
s
Data
Linkage
.
From
my
other
eye
I
saw
Kawahara
withdraw
the
pliers
with
Reese
’
s
recording
wire
gripped
in
the
jaws
.
The
rear
end
of
the
tiny
device
dripped
minute
spots
of
gore
onto
my
cheek
.
She
’
d
go
after
Elliott
and
Reese
.
Not
to
mention
Ortega
,
Bautista
and
who
knew
how
many
others
.
"
That
’
s
fucking
enough
,
"
I
muttered
in
a
slurred
tone
,
and
at
the
same
moment
,
driving
the
muscles
in
my
thighs
to
work
,
I
locked
my
legs
around
Kawahara
’
s
waist
.
My
left
hand
slapped
down
flat
on
the
sloping
glass
.
The
muffled
crump
of
an
explosion
,
and
a
sharp
cracking
.
