"Brian Lumley - E-Branch 2 - Invaders" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lumley Brian)

his strange or foreign, his almost alien - features, that was all. And as for Mediterranean: well,
that didn't seem quite right either, not with the cold pallor of his flesh, and the blood red of
his lips. He was something of

a weird one, this Milan, for sure. Something of an enigma. An unknown or unspecified quantity.
'Payment when the job is done,' Milan spoke again, the rumble lower than ever. 'Which it isn't,
not quite, not yet.'
'What?' Hinch stared hard at him, tried to look hard, too - difficult with a man as sure of
himself as Milan. Or as sure of his filthy money! But Hinch reckoned that for all his lousy
millions, still Milan would be a cinch in a fight. Hinch was a powerful, brutal fighter, the
victor of a dozen rough-house brawls. And Milan - he had the hands of a pianist, fingers like a
girl! Hw^/Hinch would bet his life that Milan had never felt a bunch of knuckles bouncing off that
ugly nose of his. And the thought never occurred to him that he had already bet his life.
Cocking his head a little on one side, Milan looked at him curiously, sighed and said, 'First it's
my music, and then it's because you've had to work late into the night, and now ... now it's
personal, to the point that you insult me and even measure your physical strength against mine,
like an opponent... as if you could ever be an opponent. Or is it all just jealousy?'
And suddenly it sank into Hinch's less than enormous brain that while he'd thought all of these
things, he hadn't actually voiced any of them - not even about the music! Was he that easy to
read?
But he was tired of all this, and so, changing the subject he said, 'What's that about the job not
being finished? I mean, you wouldn't be trying to avoid paying me - would you?' And the threat in
his words, the way he growled them, was obvious.
'Not at all,' Milan told him. 'Payment is most certainly, very definitely due. And you shall have
it. But out there - on the outside of the dome, just a little to the left of this open window here
- there's a spot you missed. And I suffer from this affliction: I can't deal with too much
sunlight. My eyes and my skin are vulnerable. And so, you see, while sunshine may find my window,
it must never find me. The work must be finished, to my satisfaction. That was our contract, Mr
Hinch.'

God damn this weird bastard! Hinch thought, as he paced to the window, leaned out (but carefully,)
and looked to the left. But: 'God?' said Milan, from close behind. 'Your god, Mr Hinch? Well, if
there is such a Being - and if his sphere of influence is as extensive as you suppose - I think
you may safely assume that he "damned" me a very long time ago.'
'Eh?' said Hinch, looking back into the dome, surprised by and wondering at the sudden change in
Milan's tone of voice. Milan moved or flowed closer; his slim fingers were strong where they came
down on Hindi's hand, trapping it on the window sill. And leaning closer still, with his face just
inches away, he smiled and hissed, 'You don't much care for heights, do you, Mr Hinch? In fact you
care for them even less than you care for me, or for my music.'
'What the bloody ... ?' Hinch looked into eyes that were no longer black or feral but uniformly
red, flaring like lamps.'
'Bloody?' the other repeated him, his voice a phlegmy gurgle now, full of lust, and his breath a
hot, coppery stench in Hindi's face. 'Ah, yesssss! But not your blood, not this time, Mr Hinch.
Your blood is unworthy. You are unworthy!'
'Jesus Christ!' Hinch gasped, choked, tried to draw away -and failed.
'Call on who or whatever you like.' Milan continued to pin him to the window ledge, and moved his


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