"Marianne de Pierres - Parrish Plessis 1 - Nylon Angel" - читать интересную книгу автора (de Pierres Marianne)

Jamon Mondo.

Still, I'd need to watch myself. I didn't want Jamon to know what I was planning. "Who else you sold this
to?"

Her face smoothed out. "Only you, girl. Mei knows who her friends are."

I laughed at the lie. "When did it happen? You got ID on the geek?"

"Hit was this morning. Word says he's petit crim. New 'round Tor ley's. Hangs out with another guy,
named Dark."

"Dark? What sort of a name is that?"

She shook her pink curls loose from the beret and shrugged. "Takes all sorts. Now I got things to do.
Don't forget our deal, Parrish."

"Call me if you hear more."

She grinned and drifted off.

Takes all sorts. Coming from a crazy pink and yellow chino-shaman in a bar full of total rejectsтАФthat
tickled. But I had other things on my mind that weren't funny. Like the rumor she'd just leaked.

You see, I wanted in with the Cabal Coomera. Who am I kidding? I didn't just wantтАж every fiber of
me craved it.

Cabal Coomera were The Tert's real lawmakers. A mysterious, unaccountable sect who operated above
the daily Tert politics. Some said they were descendants of the Kadaitcha, the feather-feet police of the
original indigenous tribes, but that sounded like romance to me. More importantly, though, they protected
their own. If I could gain entry to the Cabal, then Jamon Mondo wouldn't be able to touch me.

I wasn't totally inexperienced at their game either. I'd ridden with a vigilante group for a few months,
before Jamon, but their race politics bothered me. So I concentrated on bodyguarding and building my
own weapons cache.

You had to be able to take care of yourself in The Tert. Most babes are chocked up with enhancements.
Wired so tight their buns act like capacitors!

I've got different ideas. Sure, some things you can't live withoutтАФcompass implant and olfactory
augmentations (olfaugs)тАФbut the rest is pure me. Nearly two meters of well-honed skin. In hand-to-hand
combat I can match anyone.

Yet I didn't know much about guns. That was the one small plus to being owned by Jamon Mondo. I'm
in good shape for fighting but it means fairy sprinkles if someone shoves a Smith & Wesson up your
nostrils.

When Mondo took over my life he insisted I train in a shooting gallery with his dingoboys. For him I'm
just another cheap soldier in his muscle pool.