"Christopher Hinz - Paratwa 03 - The Paratwa" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hinz Christopher)

payment money. Sign of good faith. You give it to us. We give it to Faquod."

Buff scowled. "You bring Faquod. Then we'll talk about money."

Impleton's pudgy face attempted a smile. "Your way ... it is not good for business. Faquod ... he likes to
know that there is trust, that there is openness."

Gillian felt his chest begin to tingleтАФthe onslaught of the familiar desperate excitement that now directly
preceded his fights. Buff referred to his eagerness for confrontationтАФfor violenceтАФas "full-body
hard-on," and she was probably not far from the truth. Over the past month, his increasing desire to
engage in combat had developed strange sexual overtones. Fighting had mutated into a distinct mode of
self-expression; violence and lust had become intertwined.

But Gillian knew that at its core, the fighting remained away for him to keep his turbulent inner forces at
bay, a way to temporarily relieve the tremendous mental/emotional pressure that relentlessly strove to
devolve his consciousness. He fought not only because it felt good but because it helped to maintain his
sanity.

He turned to Buff. "We're wasting our time. These scuddies have been lying to us. I don't think they're
smart enough even to know Faquod."

Impleton sneered. "Not smart? Smarter than you, maybe. Smart enough not to wander into an alley with
strangers, maybe."

Gillian let out a harsh laugh, heard it echo up the canyon walls, heard his own heart beating with
excitement, with the urgency of wild desire. A fresh assault of malodorous sewage drifted up from the
sludge river. He inhaled deeply. The odor should have repulsed him, should have carried with it a
hundred connotations: childhood naughtiness, genetically determined distaste, a manifest of internal
responses, learned and innate. But it smelled good. The whole night smelled good.
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He spun to face Impleton. "You're right. You should never allow yourself to be alone with strangers. It's
not smart. It's not safe."

The smuggler with the sawed-off beard raised his disrupter and pointed it at Buff. She held up her hands,
pleading restraint.

"Look," she said softly, "we really don't want any trouble." She glared at Gillian. "We just want to meet
Faquod."

"Then you pay," said Impleton. "Meeting Faquod . . . that is a privilege."

Gillian pointed his finger at the muscle boy, four feet away. "Can this ignor fight? Whenever I see
someone like this, I'm reminded of the value of contraceptives. If his parents had only known."

"Oh shit," muttered Buff.