"Dean Ing - Firefight Y2K" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

few of them as millennial postscripts at the ends of the individual pieces that lie ahead. On the other hand,
in several novels of the early 1980s I assumed that the Soviet Union would be dissolved by 1996. Hey, I
can't be wrongall the time . . .




FLEAS
The quarry swam more for show than efficiency because he knew that Maels was quietly watching.
Down the "Y" pool, then back, seeming to ignore the bearded older man as Maels, in turn, seemed to
ignore the young swimmer.

Maels reviewed each datum: brachycephalic; under thirty years old; body mass well over the forty kilo
minimum; skin tone excellent; plenty of hair. And unless Maels was deceivedтАФhe rarely wasтАФthe quarry
offered subtle homosexual nuances which might simplify his isolation.

Maels smiled to himself and delivered an enormous body-stretching yawn that advertised his formidable
biceps, triceps, laterals. The quarry approached swimming; symbolically, thought Maels, a breast stroke.
Great.

Maels made a pedal gesture. A joke, really, since the gay world had developed the language of the foot
for venues more crowded than this. The quarry bared small even teeth in his innocent approval. Better.

"I could watch you all evening," Maels rumbled, and added the necessary lie: "You swim exquisitely."

"But I can't go on forever," the youth replied in tones that were, as Maels had expected, distinctly
unbutchy. "I feel like relaxing." Treading water, he smiled a plea for precise communication. Perfect.

"You can with me," Maels said, and swept himself up with an ageless grace. He towered, masculine and
commanding, above the suppliant swimmer. A strong grin split his beard as Maels turned toward the
dressing room. He left the building quickly, then waited.
 Invisible in a shop alcove, Maels enjoyed the quarry's anxious glances from the elevated platform of the
"Y" steps. Maels strolled out then into the pale light of the streetlamp and the quarry, seeing him, danced
down the steps toward his small destiny.

Later, kneeling beneath tree shadows as his fingers probed the dying throat-pulse. Maels thought:All
according to formula, to the old books. Really no problem when you have the physical strength of a
mature anaconda. Hell, it wasn't even much fun for an adult predator. At this introspection Maels
chuckled. Adult for several normal life spans, once he had discovered he was a feeder. With such long
practice, self-assurance in the hunt took spice from the kill. Still probing the carotid artery, Maels thought:
Uncertainty is the oregano of pursuit. He might work that into a scholarly paper one day.

Then Maels fed.

It was a simple matter for Maels to feed in a context that police could classify as psychosexual.
Inaccurate, butтАФperhaps not wholly. Survival and sexuality: his gloved hands guiding scalpel and bone
saw almost by rote, Maels composed the sort of trivia his sophomores would love.

Research confirms the grimoires'
Ancient sanity;