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   Chapter 80 No.80

The Galaxii Series Omnibus 1 By Christina Engela Characters: 6137

Updated: 2018-06-29 19:02

"But it's no' fair – tha's cheating, that is!"

"Cheatin'? Me? Yer bum's oot the windae, ye fuckin' bampot!"

"Luik here, Alf – it says right 'ere in the rules in black an' – aargh!"

At the bar, the patronage had decisively divided into two groups, each of which was now sizing up the other. Right at that moment, it looked like it was Blachart the Bloody & Mykl d'Angelo versus Moogies… and it didn't seem like Moogies had much sizing up to do. If this were a Western, a tall thin gentleman wearing a black top hat and tails – and an unsettlingly friendly grin, would be measuring them up to get some of his wares ready.

* * *

In another part of town very much like the part where Mykl and his sinister guide Blachart found themselves, but better lit and mostly in red, Hanson and Casey strolled uneasily along a crowded sidewalk. Vehicles, electric and otherwise, moves sedately along the road, occasionally stopping to talk to the people occupying the kerb. Most of the people they could see were hookers and their clientele. The shop front side of the sidewalk consisted of small-time casinos, game-centers, strip joints, XXX-movie theaters, massage parlors, naked wrestling pits, and providers of various interesting and very personal services.

They pair were getting a close-up glimpse of Corsair society – the seedy side at least, and far too close, for Hanson's liking. The clientele were behaving more like wanton barbarian warriors cavorting with the girls and boys of the night, than the suited and tied men and women he would expect to see in other places, looking for something to take home. The fact that they were actually wearing suits and ties didn't really make any difference. The hookers looked pretty much the same as everywhere else, except they didn't have to worry about cops harassing them – just the

l standing, reached down and took something from his wounded comrade. It was black and shiny. Still they came on, still shooting and apparently missing. The black shiny object burped in his hands. It was a long drawn out burp sound. It was apparently, the Burp of Death, because it killed them, to the last one. Silence fell, punctuated by the rain of shell casings as they tinkled on the concrete.

The figure, its face hidden in shadow, eyed the fallen dead that lay in crazy-looking heaps, while it calmly reached down to the other man, retrieved something, and then replaced the weapon's magazine. Only one other living thing had seen the whole thing as it went down, and it sat meekly in the mouth of an overturned garbage can, watching him from the darkness, its bright eyes glistening. It sensed something about the dark figure as it stood there, waiting and watching. There was a kind of mechanical purpose behind it, as though the man who had just dispensed instant death was the kind of man who would use those words as if, somewhere, you could get little paper packets of the stuff in powder form. It sensed, with the primal sense possessed by cats everywhere that now would not be a good time to make a noise.

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