"Steve Perry - Matador 7 - Brother Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Steven)

Something wrong with that.

Bork moved nonchalantly but carefully to put himself between the watching man and Veate. His wife
seemed intent on listening to the speech and making sure their son was getting fed properly. She didn't
glance at Bork, but she did put one hand out to lightly touch his arm, as if to make sure he was really
there.

The man flicked a look at him, but resumed his watch of Tazzimi after no more than a couple of
heartbeats.

Quietly Bork said, "Taz, there's a guy about ten meters to your left staring a hole through you. Anybody
you know?"

His sister didn't appear to hear him, but she said, "Nope. Never seen him before. I figured he was just
enjoying your wife's bare breast more than he ought to."

"Far as I can tell, it's you he's interested in."

The man took a deep breath. A fine sweat had broken out on his face.

"And he's gathering himself to move, too," Bork said.

"Yeah. Might be a problem."

"Left my spetsdods at home. I don't wear 'em much these days."

"My service gun is under a peace seal at customs," Taz said. She thought about it for a second. "Maybe
I'll just go get us something nice and cold to drink," she said.

"Good idea."

If the guy meant trouble, and if he were armed, better he should follow Taz away from this crowd of
parents and babies. Bork didn't want to think about who might get hurt if some psychoballoo started
shooting around here.

Taz headed toward the refreshment stands on the edge of the fairgrounds. She got about five meters
away, turned toward Bork and said loudly, "You wanted greenfruit juice, right?"

"Right," Bork called back. He turned away and pretended to look again at the speaker up front.
Adrenaline bubbled in him as he catalogued the man. He was average enough, not quite as large as Taz
herself. She'd go maybe one hundred and eighty-three centimeters and eighty, eighty-two kilos here, he
figured. The guy didn't have any obvious ethnic lines that leaped out at Bork. He was medium dark,

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somewhere about the shade of coffee-and-cream, dark hair chopped close. He wore baggy, bright blue