"Destroyer 013 - Acid Rock.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Remo)

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"Especially when you hunt it. I will tell you what I fear. I fear there is no money or little money in this thing and you just want to kill for enjoyment."
"Phone yourself, dear brother." "I would have to teach you techniques, arid I fear you would use them for your own pleasure."
"You taught me to hunt panther. Have I used that incorrectly?" Lhasa asked.
Dr. Gunner Nilsson paused near a mudhole on the main thoroughfare of the village. A young boy, his legs gnarled by a vitamin deficiency, hobbled along the dirt road.
"And, brother, why do you fear giving me knowledge which is rightfully mine? You know, it ends with me. I cannot pass it on to a son. And should I get about with this knowledge, practicing our family business, how many can I hurt compared with what poverty and ignorance does here?"
Twelve hours later, Lhasa Nilsson was upriver at the British field agent's telephone. He informed the man in Switzerland that he could deposit the money in an old Nilsson account. He had just learned of the account during an afternoon of intense discussion. Of that account and many things. He told the banker there would be no question of his collecting the money. And please keep other people out of the way. Amateurs only confused things.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
When he was asked why eleven persons were killed and twenty-four injured at the North Adams Experience, the county sheriff replied that it was the result of close cooperation between all police departments,
"Thank God it wasn't the Beatles," he said, displaying his knowledge of contemporary music. "We really would have had a mess if they were here, although I think we could have done the same fine job."
The press agent for Maggot and the Dead Meat Lice did not have so easy an answer. He faced a problem. Should he say the Lice regretted what had happened or should he attempt to advertise it? The newspapers solved his problem for him.
Editorials railed against what they called the violent nature of acid rock. Stories compared the casualties at these concerts to guerilla wars. And a national television commentator asked, coast to coast, prime time: Does America Need This Abomination?
Shea Stadium in New York not only sold out for the Dead Meat Lice concert but the album, North Adams Experience, on which one could hear the bombs, sold 780,000 copies within ninety-six hours of the concert, not counting the bootleg editions produced in Mexico, Canada, and Bayonne, N.J.
What amazed Remo was how quickly the album was produced. When Vickie Stoner insisted she
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have one, Remo asked why, since she had heard much of it live.
"To live it again, man."
"You almost didn't live it the first time," Remo said.
"You the fuzz or something?" asked Vickie.
"No."
"Then why are you so heavy on my ass?"
"Because I want to see you alive."
"Why?"
"Because I love you, Vickie," said Remo, staring at her with the balanced power he had been taught and had found out was most effective with women.
"Okay, let's ball," said Vickie. Her tee shirt was over her head and flying across the hotel room by the time her blue jeans were unsnapped and falling around her ankles. She had young rising breasts with perfectly symmetrical ruby crests, firm smooth legs, and just a touch of softness around the hips.
She bounded backwards onto the bed, raising her legs in a V, her red hair fluffing over the pillow. The Waldorf Astoria in New York City had probably never seen such a fast disrobing in all its elegant history, thought Remo.
"What are you waiting for?"
"Stop playing hard to get," said Remo. "I mean, if you're going to make it an ordeal."
"C'mon already, I'm ready," said Vickie.
Remo went to the bed, wondering if even with all his powers he could have removed his slacks, tennis shirt, and loafers as quickly as his charge. He sat down beside her and placed a hand softly on her shoulder. He wanted to talk to her. There were problems and he had to explain that Chiun was not the sweet guru she thought he was, that
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one did not disturb the Master of Sinanju during his television shows and one never, absolutely never, touched one of his garments or tried to take something of his as a souvenir.
Remo squeezed her shoulder.
"Enough foreplay. Get to it," said Vickie.
"Vickie, I want to talk to you," said Remo. His hand moved to her breast.
"When you're ready, let me know," said Vickie. She squirmed out of bed. "I'm gonna ball the Master. I've waited long enough."
"Not now. He's watching his serials. No one ever disturbs Chiun when he's watching his soap operas."
"Until now."
"Until never," said Remo. He took her by one of her wrists that flailed at him, brought her back to the bed and, working her body to excitement, brought her to agonizing fulfillment. He tried to avoid falling asleep while doing it.
"Ooooh. Wow. What was that?" groaned Vickie.
"Balling," said Remo.
"It was never like that, not with anyone I've had. Where did you learn that? Wow. What a bitch. Rule over all. You're bitchen. Heavy. Heavy."
And she flipped her head back and forth against the pillow, tears of delight streaming from her eyes across her grace of freckles.
"Heavy, heavy."
Remo brought her to fulfillment two more times until, exhausted, she lay with her arms asprawl, her eyes half shut and a stupid little smile on her lips.
That should hold her for the afternoon, thought Remo, and wondered what she would do
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if he had really made love to her. It was an old truth that people on drugs only thought they made love better, like drunken drivers feeling very competent before meeting a ditch. Love making, however, was for the cool and the thoughtful and the competent, Remo knew. Even if it did take all the fun out of it.
Seven more days until she testifies, he thought, as he closed the door behind him and went to prowl the hotel, checking to see if anyone was moving in on them and Vickie.