"George R. R. Martin - WC 5 - Down and Dirty" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

Chrysalis wasn't in the corridors of the third floor, nor on the stairway
leading down to the taproom, but he heard murmuring voices as he crept down the
stairs.
He drew an arrow, placed it on the string of his bow, and peered around the edge
of the stairwell where it opened up into the back of the taproom. He gritted his
teeth. He had been right to be cautious.
Chrysalis was standing before the long, polished-wood bar that ran almost the
entire length of the taproom. The whiskey decanter, still empty, was forgotten
on the bar next to her. Her arms were crossed and her jaw was clenched. Her lips
were compressed in a thin, angry line.
Two men bracketed her and a third sat facing her at a table in front of the bar.
Brennan coud discern few details in the dimness of the night-light that burned
above the bar, but the men all had hard, tough faces. The one facing her drummed
his fingers on the tabletop next to a chrome-plated pistol.
"Come on," he said in a soft but dangerous-sounding voice. "We just want some
information. That's all. We won't even say where we got it." He leaned back in
his chair. "Soon there's going to be war, but we don't know who to hit."
"And you think I do?" Brennan recognized the edge anger put in Chrysalis's
drawl, but he also recognized the fear under the anger.
The seated man smiled. "We know you do, babe. You know everything about this
Jokertown shithole. All we know is that someone has put together these
nickel-and-dime gangs into something called the Shadow Fists. They're moving
into our territory, taking our customers, and cutting into our profits. It's got
to stop."
"If I knew a name," Chrysalis said, coming down hard on the if, "it would cost
you more than you can pay to learn it." The man sitting at his table shook his
head. "You don't understand," he said. "This is war, babe. And it's going to
cost you more than you can pay to keep your mouth shut." He let his words sink
in while he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Sal," he said after a moment,
nodding at the man who stood to Chrysalis's right. " I wonder if her famous
invisible skin would scar?"
Sal considered the question. "Let's see," he finally said. There was a loud
snick and Brennan saw light glint off a shiny blade. Sal waved it in Chrysalis's
face, and she shrank back against the bar. She opened her mouth to scream, but
the man standing on her left clamped his gloved hand over it. Sal laughed and
Brennan stood and loosed the arrow he'd been holding. It struck Sal in the back
and catapulted him over the bar. No one had any idea what had happened, except
possibly Chrysalis. The man seated at the table snatched his pistol and leaped
to his feet. Brennan calmly shot him through the throat. The thug holding
Chrysalis let out a startled stream of obscenities and fumbled under his jacket
for a pistol that he carried in a shoulder rig. Brennan shot him through the
right forearm. He dropped his gun and spun away from Chrysalis, staring at the
aluminum-shafted hunting arrow skewering his arm and mumbling, "Jesus, oh,
Jesus." He stooped to pick up his pistol.
"Touch it," Brennan called from the darkness, "and I'll put the next arrow
through your right eye."


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