[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

that for real?"
"Yes. Excuse me."
She grabbed him by the back of his neck, and scraped her empty glass across
his smile. He screeched, and she let him go. He was bleeding from the mouth.
She looked at her glass. It was not scratched.
"Paste, huh? I thought synthetic stones were getting better these days."
"Why you..."
He drew his hand back, and she reached out to stop the punch. It was as
simple as catching a falling cup. She pushed a little too hard, and Curtius
shouted.
"My shoulder."
Doc Threadneedle stepped in, and gave the cowboy's arm a wrench, setting the
joint back in true.
"Sorry. Don't know my own strength."
Kenne was mad now. Everyone in the bar was looking.
"You're... you're one of them things, ain't you?"
There was fear and hatred in his voice. "What do you mean?"
"One of the Doc's monsters. You ain't human. Hell, Doc, your packagin' gets
better and better, but what you put inside stinks to high heaven, you know.
It's gettin' so a fella don't know where he's dippin' it. I take it all back,
sister. You're just a sexclone with steel teeth, and I ain't interested."
The drunk in the corner, who wore what was left of some kind of camouflage
outfit, came over, pulling a revolver out of his britches pocket. Jessamyn
tensed, ready to shear his head off his neck with a karate move.
Page 57
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Magda shook her head, and Jessamyn relaxed. The drunk plonked his gun down on
the bar.
"You've got a quarrel, settle it this way. Best of seven."
"This is Jitters," Magda said. "He's British."
The drunk saluted smartly. His hand vibrated. She didn't need to be Sherlock
Holmes to know how he had picked up his nick-name. Jessamyn hefted his gun. It
was a seven-shot model, a Webley and Scott .38 Bulldog, standard British Army
Issue. A toy next to a ScumStopper Magnum, but it could do the job. She broke
it, and slid five slugs out, leaving two consecutive bullets chambered. She
sighted down the barrel. It was off, but it would do for a round of roulette.
"You game, cowboy?"
Kenne gulped, and looked around for a way out. "Guess I am, Mizz
Frankenstein, guess I am."
"Ladies first?" She pointed the gun to her temple.
"Toss you for it."
Magda dropped a one-armed bandit token on the bar. Kenne guessed lemon, and
won the first pull.
Click.
He sighed with relief, and passed the gun over. Then, he took a shot of
whisky. Magda refilled his glass. It vanished down his throat, by-passed his
stomach and stood out on his forehead as droplets of 90% proof sweat.
"The good stuff, huh?"
"Fella deserves Shochaiku if it's gonna be his last drink."
Jessamyn slipped the barrel into her mouth, and sucked it like a lollipop,
fluttering her eyelashes at Kenne. His eyes popped.
Click.
"Your move."
"Good thing it's Curtius," Magda said, "if'n he blows his brains out, at
least we won't be all day scraping them off the floor. Just my dainty little
hankie will be enough to clean up that kind of a smeared speck."
Kenne's adam's apple was bobbing up and down. Jessamyn looked him in the
face, smiling pleasantly. Shutting his eyes tight, he jammed the gun against
his skull, and...
Click.
"Give it here."
He was reluctant to let it go. She raised the gun, and pulled the trigger.
Click. "Bang," she said. Everybody jumped. Kenne spilled his drink. "No,
really, just joking."
Page 58
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Kenne took the gun.
"Have you worked it out, cowboy? Three chambers, two bullets. Short odds."
They'd turned the music off now. Jitters was sucking at a bottle. Only Doc
Threadneedle was apparently uninterested in the game.
Kenne looked at the saloon door. The Maniax were standing between him and it.
That was his bad luck. The gangboys were in the entertainment mood tonight,
and nothing appealed to them more than watching some asshole respray the
ceiling with greymass. He looked down at the gun, which must be feeling pretty
heavy.
"Two chances out of three, cowboy."
He did it quickly. Up to his head. Pull. Click.
He let out a whoop, and slammed the gun down onto the bar, breaking glasses.
"Whooo-eee, I thought I was gonna fill my britches fer sure, sister. Looks
like I win, eh? Unless you want to play on, Mizz Frankie Stein?"
Jessamyn picked up the gun.
"You can go home now, sister. It's all over. Buy us all drinks, and it'll be
forgotten. Ain't nobody gonna hold it against you."
She put the barrel to her temple.
"You don't have to do it," said Magda. "That would be crazy. Even Curtius
ain't that big an asshole."
Her finger tightened.
"Hold on there," Kenne pleaded. "Two out of two, remember. Them's crazy
person's odds."
"Jessamyn..." said the Doc. "Stop it."
Everyone in the saloon was looking at her. Their heat-patterns flared, as if
they were blushing all over.
She pulled the trigger.
VI
Cocooned inside the air-cooled cockpit of his DeLorean "Snowbird" SandMaster,
Bronson Manolo checked the dispositions of the Holderness-Manolo forces
surrounding Dead Rat. Within five minutes, they should all be in place.
Once the spotman reported back that Jessamyn Amanda Bonney was in Dead Rat,
Manolo had called in Holm Rodriguez fromDenver and Susie Terhune fromPhoenix .
Terhune was an assault specialist solo who had subcontracted for H-M on
several occasions, and Rodriguez was their top Colorado Op, further qualified [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]