"Steve Perry - Matador 5 - The 97th Step" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Ferret stood, muscles flexing into fighting mode.

Across the table, Stoll sighed. "Go," he said, sounding disgusted. "I'll watch your
back."

Ferret spared him a glance as he started for the slaver. From his belt, Stoll pulled a
focused-beam hand wand, quickly moving it under the table, out of sight.

"тАФWorthless dung-whelp!" the slaver said, using his wrist to clear the strap over
his shoulder for another lash. "You'll learn to move when I say move!" One of the
slaver's table-mates nodded. The slaver saw this, and he grinned. Now it was a
show, something to entertain his friends. He wiggled the strap and his smile
increased.

The slaver must have caught Ferret's motion peripherally, for he turned slightly to
look at the approaching man. Softly, he said, "You got a problem, flo'man?"

Ferret managed to keep his anger at a low simmer. He glanced at the strap and
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 Perry, Steve - The 97th Step


said, "That. Better you shouldn't use it on the boy."

The slaver's smile never wavered. This must have happened to him before,
somebody sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. Ferret knew that the mue
wasn't afraid of what he saw: an average-sized pale human, no weapons visible,
jamming his face into the slaver's business without call. The smell of burned
cashews increased suddenly, now it seemed almost overwhelming, a hot stink that
lay over Ferret like the sudden quiet the confrontation had brought to the pub.
Men, women, humans and mues looked on, dogs watching to see if what went
down was bark or bite.

The slaver said, "Oh? And what would you have me do with it, Reverend?" He
flicked his wrist, and sent a spiral wave down the length of the strap. A practiced
move.

"Put it away."

"I got a better ideaтАФhow about I put it here!" With that, the slaver snapped the
short whip up and over, and brought it down on Ferret's face.

Or, rather, where Ferret's face had just been. By the time the strap whistled over
the mue's shoulder, Ferret was already moving. He V-stepped in, jerked his left
hand back in a counterbalance, and drove his right fist into the mue's solar plexus,
hard. The contact was solid, a rubbery give to the muscular flesh, and the force of
it stung the plexus of nerve tissue enough so that the slaver's face froze in shock.
He wouldn't be able to breathe for half a minute.

Ferret's mind fled. For the next six seconds, rage ruled him completely. He did not