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- Ричард Морган
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- Стр. 539/560
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The
door
to
number
seventeen
was
opened
by
an
eleven
-
year
-
old
boy
who
stared
at
me
with
blank
hostility
.
"
Yeah
?
"
"
I
’
d
like
to
speak
to
Sheryl
Bostock
.
"
"
Yeah
,
well
she
ain
’
t
here
.
"
I
sighed
and
rubbed
at
the
scar
under
my
eye
.
"
I
think
that
’
s
probably
not
true
.
Her
copter
’
s
in
the
yard
,
you
’
re
her
son
,
Daryl
,
and
she
came
off
night
shift
about
three
hours
ago
.
Will
you
tell
her
there
’
s
someone
to
see
her
about
the
Bancroft
sleeve
.
"
"
You
the
Sia
?
"
"
No
,
I
just
want
to
talk
.
If
she
can
help
me
,
there
might
be
some
money
in
it
for
her
.
"
The
boy
stared
at
me
for
another
pair
of
seconds
,
then
closed
the
door
without
a
word
.
From
inside
,
I
heard
him
calling
his
mother
.
I
waited
,
and
fought
the
urge
to
smoke
.
Five
minutes
later
Sheryl
Bostock
appeared
around
the
edge
of
the
door
,
dressed
in
a
loose
kaftan
.
Her
synthetic
sleeve
was
even
more
expressionless
than
her
son
had
been
,
but
it
was
a
slack
-
muscled
blankness
that
had
nothing
to
do
with
attitude
.
Small
muscle
groups
take
a
while
to
warm
up
from
sleep
on
the
cheaper
model
synthetics
,
and
this
was
definitely
a
model
from
the
cut
-
price
end
of
the
market
.
