"Ian McDonald - Some Strange Desire (2)" - читать интересную книгу автора (McDonald Ian)

breech of the hru-tesh. The street door opens. He is dressed in expensive
leather sports gear. In the dark I cannot read the labels. He turns to swear
one
last time at the youth at the top of the stairs. I let a drop of saliva fall
from my tongue onto the needle of ice resting in the chamber. Slide the
breech
shut. Move from my cover. Take aim, double-handed, over the fire-escape rail.
Coptic crosses and peace medallions catch the yellow street light as he bends
to
unlock the car door. The silver filigree-work of the hru-tesh crafted by the
three-hundred-year-dead hand of Josias Cunningham, Gunsmith by Appointment,
glitters in that same light. I squeeze the trigger.
There is only the faintest tok.
He starts, stands up, clasps hand to neck. Puzzlement on his meatlike face.
Puzzlement under that so-cool baseball cap at that ideologically correct
angle.
And it hits him. He keels straight over against the car. His head rests at a
quizzical angle on the rain-wet metal. Complete motor paralysis.
I am already halfway down the fire escape. Flat shoes. No heels. I have it
all
planned. As I had thought, bundling him into the passenger seat is the
hardest
part of the operation. I think I may have broken a finger wresting the keys
from
him. It will be academic, soon enough. As I drive up through Bethnal Green
and
Hackney to Epping Forest I pass at least twenty other white BMWs. I sample
his
CD selection, then scan across the AM wavebands until I find some anonymous
Benelux station playing hits from the forties. Childhood tunes stay with you
all
your life. I chat to him as we drive along. It is a rather one-sided
conversation. But I do not think he would have been much of a
conversationalist
anyway. It is really coming down, the wipers are on high speed by the time we
arrive at the car park. I shall get very wet. Another crime against you, goi.
It is wonderful how much can be expressed by eyes alone. Anger,
incomprehension,
helplessness. And, as I pull the syringe out of my belt-pouch, terror. I tap
the
cylinder a couple of times. I can tell from his eyes he has never seen so
much
in one needle before. He may consider himself honored. We have our own
discreet
sources, but we, like you, pay a price. I squat over him. He will take the
image
of who I am into the dark with him. Such is my intention.
"Hear these words: you do not touch us, you do not harass us, you do not try
to
recruit us or bully us into your stable. We are tesh, we are older and more