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

hard-on.

"Cohe wand," whispered Impleton, the words echoing his fright. Buff grabbed the smuggler by the neck
and yanked him forward so violently that he fell to his knees.

Saw-beard dropped the useless remnant of his weapon and backed away, his eyes wide with fear. The
man from the mech-wall remained prone on the floor of the alley, moaning softly.

Gillian stared at muscle boy. "Get up!" He slithered into a combat crouch, turned sideways toward the
tattooed smuggler, ready to lash out with hand or foot through the web's portals.

Muscle boy raised his head. A defeated face met Gillian's. Hard contours had been transformed into
quivering patches of fear, humiliation. There was no more fight left in him. Eyes like those of a beaten
puppy stared up at Gillian, begging forgiveness.

"No!" Gillian screamed, lunging forward, grabbing muscle boy's ankle and elbow, lifting the terrified
smuggler overhead. With one violent twist, he sent him cartwheeling over the ledge. Muscle boy's shriek
lasted until the youth plowed into the net-covered sludge river, fifteen feet below. There was a loud
muffled splash, and then steaming gray geysers sprayed Gillian, bringing with them fresh wafts of the foul
odor.

Gillian felt cheated; the fight had ended too soon. His left sleeve was damp with sludge, and he rammed
the garment

against his nostrils, sucked in the odor, wanting it to overpower him, hoping sensory overload would
occupy consciousness, take his mind away from the reality of his damaged psyche. But the smell was a
poor substitute for the cathartic power of violence. In a rage, he started toward Impleton.

The fat smuggler was on his knees, quaking in fear, his head pivoting wildly between Gillian and Buff.
"Won't tell what I saw!" he pleaded. "Please . . . won't tellтАФ"

Gillian grabbed the front of Impleton's coat and rubbed the protruding needle of his Cohe into the thick
flesh of Impleton's neck.

"Won't tell," repeated the terrified smuggler, his voice dropping to a whisper, his eyes blinking like a set
of short-circuiting status lights.

"Let's talk about Faquod," suggested Buff.

Impleton, with an overly vigorous nod of his head, managed to scratch himself on the needle of the
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Cohe.

"Oww!" he screamed.

"Calm down," ordered Buff. "And maybe you'll survive this night."