"Steve Perry - Matador 01 - The Man Who Never Missed" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

whores, male and female, and the first drink or toke or pop was always on
the house to anybody over line-grade. He was a popular man, Khadaji was.
So, two more stations, six more hits. He sighed. Nearly six months, and he
was getting tired. He didn't waver from his purposeтАФthat was as clear as
everтАФbut he was tired. Not much longer. Not many more.
He sighed again, and hurried along the street. A quad passed him, going
the other way. The men all smiled and nodded at him. He smiled back. He
would probably see them later.
One way or another.


Chapter Two

THE JADE FLOWER was always open. Before the Confed had honored
Greaves with its massive squat tactics, the rec-chem pub had been only a
small-time operation, serving the locals a narrow spectrum of alcohol and
soporifics, minor hallucinogens and mood elevators. Two or three part-time
prostitutes took care of anybody interested in buying sex, and the operation
was, at best, a break-even proposition. With the coming of the military and
its civilian support population, the character of the Jade Flower was bound to
change. A greedy and well-prepared man would have made a fortune, but
the previous owner was old and tired and not ready to deal with the influx of
soldiers, bored spouses and children the Confed bent to the sleepy planet.
When Khadaji arrived and waved enough standards under his nose, the old
man was glad to sell.
Khadaji looked around the main room of the pub. It was early, not yet
1600, but already the place was crowded. Even with local zoning regs
relaxed, there was usually a line of customers outside, waiting for someone
to leave in order to enter. Khadaji always kept a dozen or so places open, for
any highly-ranked officers who might be interested in a toke, poke or drink.
Anjue, the doorman, had studied the holoproj of every uprank over the level
of Lojt and if one showed up, he or she was escorted to the head of the line
and inside. Rank, as always, had its privileges. The troops-of-the-line might
gripe, but the powers-that-be all smiled at Khadaji when they saw him.
The main room, which was octagonal and dimly-lighted, boasted sixty
circular tables with four stools each. The first thing Khadaji had done on
buying the pub was to have the stools and tables bolted securely to the floor.
He'd had thirty people applying for the job of bouncer and their first test was
to see if they could move the furniture. Two men managed to uproot a stool
each; one woman set herself and screamed, then tore the top of a table off its
mount. And thenтАФwell, she was clever. The rest failed. Khadaji had longer
bolts installed and hired the two men and woman who'd proved strongest. If
a fight broke out, nobody was going to be bashing anybody with his
furniture; and before it got too far, Bork, Sleel or Dirisha would be there to
stop it. It was difficult to argue with a man holding you a half-meter off the
floor, or a woman who could break three ribs with a flat punch. There was
very little trouble in the Jade Flower.
"Ho, Emile, how's it hanging?"
Khadaji looked to his right, to see Lojtnant Subru, smoking a flickstick. The
man's dark face was almost hidden behind the cloud of purple-black smoke.