"Alan Dean Foster - The Man Who Used the Universe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Foster Alan Dean)

served as living quarters. Sleeping and hygienic facilities lay in a separate,
smaller room off to his left.
The lights came on. Immediately to his right stood a man Loo-Macklin
didn't recognize. He was very large and not much older than Loo-Macklin
himself. He appeared to be enjoying himself even though nothing had happened
yet.
Seated across the carpeted floor on the single decent piece of
furniture (the couch was made of real wood and animal skin and had cost Loo-
Macklin a great deal) was a swarthy chap he did recognize. Gregor was pointing
a very small needler at him. The taller, younger man moved away from the wall
and exhibited a similar weapon.
Gregor gestured with the gun. Loo-Macklin obediently moved in the
indicated direction until he was standing with his back to the wall.
"I don't understand," he said quietly. "Have I done something wrong?"
"Not my business to say, or to know," replied Gregor.
"I was instructed to kill the jeweler if he refused to pay. He refused
to pay."
"Lal knows that," Gregor said.
"Then why are you here?"
"We've been told to get rid of you," said the taller man.
"Shut up, Vascolin."
The younger man looked hurt. "I was only..."
"I said, shut up. He doesn't need to know why."
"I think I do anyway," put in Loo-Macklin. He shifted his stance,
careful not to move his hands from his head. "I worry Lal, don't I?" Gregor
said nothing. "I've always worried him, since the day he picked me out of the
public ward for his apprenticeship program six years ago."
"Like I said, I don't know anything about it," Gregor insisted. "I sure
as hell don't know why he'd be afraid of you." There was disdain in his voice,
the disdain of the experienced survivor for the neophyte.
"He's afraid of me," replied Loo-Macklin with assurance, "because he
doesn't understand me. I don't fit his preconceived mold. He's spent the whole
six years trying to get me riled or upset because he feels he can keep control
over anybody whose emotions he can juggle. But he's never been able to do that
with me.
"So he's decided to use me once for this particular job and then get
rid of me. Disposable killer, right? He'll report it to the authorities and
gain points with them, so he benefits doubly by the jeweler's death."
Gregor frowned. Loo-Macklin was quite a student of facial expressions.
He knew immediately that Gregor, who was, after all, Lal's number-one private
assassin, knew that it was true.
But he shook his head and said again, "I told you, I don't know. I just
do m'job."
"You're not a bad servant of Shiva, Gregor," Loo-Macklin told him, "but
you're a lousy liar. Tell me, do I worry you, too?"
"Nah," said Gregor calmly, "you don't worry me. Nobody worries me, and
in a minute you're not going to be able to worry anybody because you're going
to be dead."
Loo-Macklin took a cautious step toward the door leading to the
sleeping room and bathroom. Gregor's needler rose and he halted.