"Sean Williams - The Perfect Gun" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Sean)

If only, I thought, there was some way we could help each other . . .
I sat up to let the machine continue on its way under my back, praying the
sudden rebirth of hope didn't show on my face. All I had to do was stall for a
minute. "What do you want?" I asked the man in the cloak.
"Your data, the original tissue sample, and a guarantee of silence from you
and anyone else involved."
"Or else?" It felt good throwing the clich├и back at him, but not as good as
the antennae of the Hess machine creeping slowly across my shirt, below me.
Just a little further . . .
 "My employers will use any means necessary to guarantee their security. If
that means killing you and Ms Delibes, then so be it."
"Really?" I decided to risk plugging for information. "Your employers. That
would be Kamen and Subsidiaries, right?"
The hired gun hesitated. "What is this, Mr Welles? Some sort of game?"
"No." The Hess machine brushed my right hand. I moved my arm, as though
shifting my weight, and wrapped my fingers around the base of the machine.
"Don't crowd me. I just want to make certain that you really mean it . . ."
I threw the Hess machine at his face. His reflexes took over as I'd hoped they
would, making him raise both his hands to ward it off. Before the gun could
come back down, my shoulder ploughed into his stomach, blowing the air out of
him.
We went down in an undignified heap, half on the garden and half on the
concrete path bordering it. He had an inch or two on me, but I'd gambled on
the initial surprise giving me an edge. Which it did, but not for long.
Between trying to keep the gun from pointing at me and doing my best to stay
on top of him, I was at a marked disadvantage.
I drove an elbow into his tender stomach and was gratified to hear the air
whoof out of him again. A fist connected with the side of my head, dazing me
for a moment. My grip on his gun hand slipped, but caught again before he
could swing the weapon to bear. I risked my balance to drive a knee into his
groin, and his spasm of pain caught me awkwardly. I hit the ground next to
him, scrambling to get my arm around his throat and twist him away. He
struggled furiously, clubbing at my head with the butt of the gun.
He must have squeezed the trigger a little too tightly, then. It discharged,
startling us both and sending a bullet ricocheting off the wall of my
apartment. He grunted with surprise, obviously unused to the recoil and noise
of such primitive weaponry. While he was distracted, I put a hand on either
side of his head and banged it hard onto the concrete path, twice.
He became still, and I rolled away, testing my bruised parts for any serious
injuries. With a grunt of effort, I clambered to my feet and made sure that he
was okay, too. Association with two deaths in as many days wouldn't look good
on my record. His pulse was steady, which was good enough for me. Pausing only
to return the fallen Hess machine to its patch of grass, where it cheeped
nervously and wandered away, I dragged my unconscious opponent into the house.

Stripped of the cloak, he became a little less daunting; just a man, although
a little older than I'd expected. His naked caste-form--with the black,
hairless skin and slightly deep-set eyes of a Bhuto pure-blood--looked out of
place though, tied to my bed. That, and the weird bulges down his neck, across
his temples and around his ears.