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- Уильям Гибсон
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'
What
you
’
re
paid
for
is
one
thing
.
Me
letting
some
tight
friends
die
because
you
’
re
too
literal
about
your
instructions
is
something
else
.
’
'
Bullshit
.
Tight
friends
my
ass
.
You
’
re
going
in
there
to
check
us
out
with
your
smuggler
.
’
She
put
a
booted
foot
up
on
the
dust
-
covered
Kandinsky
coffee
table
.
'
Ah
,
Case
,
sport
,
it
does
look
as
though
your
companion
there
is
definitely
armed
,
aside
from
having
a
fair
amount
of
silicon
in
her
head
.
What
is
this
about
,
exactly
?
’
Deane
’
s
ghostly
cough
seemed
to
hang
in
the
air
between
them
.
'
Hold
on
,
Julie
.
Anyway
,
I
’
ll
be
coming
in
alone
.
’
'
You
can
be
sure
of
that
,
old
son
.
Wouldn
’
t
have
it
any
other
way
.
’
'
Okay
,
’
she
said
.
'
Go
.
But
five
minutes
.
Any
more
and
I
’
ll
come
in
and
cool
your
tight
friend
permanently
.
And
while
you
’
re
at
it
,
you
try
to
figure
something
out
.
’
'
What
’
s
that
?
’
'
Why
I
’
m
doing
you
the
favor
.
’
She
turned
and
walked
out
,
past
the
stacked
white
modules
of
preserved
ginger
.
'
Keeping
stranger
company
than
usual
,
Case
?
’
asked
Julie
.
'
Julie
,
she
’
s
gone
.
You
wanna
let
me
in
?
Please
,
Julie
?
’
