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. We had a hell of a time with local laws. But that's not important. What got to me, what kept me going, were the people who got fat off other people's misery." "Yes, go on."
Xris shifted in his chair, attempted to make himself more comfortable. Not an easy task when half his body was metal.
"I don't suppose you'd let me smoke?"
Wiedermann shook his head, patted his chest. "Asthma."
Xris removed a twist from the case, clamped his teeth down on it, chewed it. The bitter juice flooded his mouth, washed out the faint metallic flavor that he always tasted, despite the fact that the doctors told him it was all in his mind. Some days the taste was stronger than others.
"It's what kept me from being on the take, I guess. I had my chances, but I knew where the money came from: babies who were born whacked out from drugs, sixteen-year-old hookers smashed up by their pimps, old people swindled out of their life savings. These people were at the bottom and at the top were guys in the fancy limojets who held handkerchiefs over their delicate noses when they drove through the stinking slums they helped create. Bringing those guys down, making them lie flat on the pavement in the muck and the filth, rubbing those delicate noses in it--that's why I worked for the bureau."
Xris thrust the case back in his shirt pocket. "I had money enough. Everything I needed, everything I wanted
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