"David Robbins - Blade 13 - Vengeance Strike" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robbins David L)

Both men reacted predictably. They grabbed at his wrists and tried to
tear his hands loose. The fools had no idea what they were dealing with,
and even if they had, there was nothing they could have done to prevent
the inevitable.

He smiled sweetly and squeezed, feeling their necks burst like rotten
melons, their flesh parting as his fingers pressed inexorably together, gore
and blood dripping down his forearms.

The pimp and the bodyguard thrashed for a few seconds, the pimp
blubbering and soiling his fine suit. Then they went limp and sagged.

So much for big, bad Malcolm Luther. He smirked, let go of them, and
wiped his hands and arms clean on the pimp's jacket. Humming, he
climbed out and walked to the sidewalk. No one paid any attention to him.
The humans, as ever, were simpleminded sheep.

He resumed hunting, sashaying along Olympic until he reached
Crenshaw Boulevard, where he turned right. Several drivers honked at
him. He simply kept walking, confident sooner or later one of them would
pull over.

Not a minute later a portly, balding man in a red sports car zipped to a
stop and called out the open passenger window. "Hey, honey. I've got a
grand here that says we can have the time of our lives."

Moving to the car, he leaned on the window and sized up his
prospective supper. The guy was easily fifty or sixty pounds overweight,
more than enough for a hearty meal. "You sure you can handle the
action?"

Portly Butt laughed and slapped the seat beside him. "Why don't you
climb in and find out for yourself."

"Don't mind if I do," he said, and deliberately sat next to the door
instead of close to the driver.

The man accelerated and patted the seat again. "There's no need for
you to be shy."

"I haven't seen your green yet, handsome."

Chuckling, the driver produced a thick wad of bills. "Is this enough for
you?"

"More than enough," he responded, pleased that his vocal cords were
performing so well. After using the same voice for over a year he'd been
afraid that he might not be able to manipulate his pitch and resonance as
adroitly as before. His concern had been groundless.