"Brookmyre, Christopher - Bampot Central" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brookmyre Christopher)

"Bank robbery, Tommy," he told him "A proper one. Carried out less than a mile from here while the police Armed Response Unit were holding their dicks outside
a post office. Now who do you think could have been behind that? Same guy gave you 'the information' maybe?"

"But . . . but . . . we . . "

"You were right about being hand-picked, Tommy. And you can both take some satisfaction from the fact that you carried out the plan exactly as intended.
Unfortunately, you were intended to fuck up. What were the instructions? Grab the mysterious Insurance Bonds, create a hostage situation, keep the polis
occupied, then escape via the magical underground railway? And were you given a specific date and time, perhaps?"

There was confusion in Tommy's eyes, but on the whole resignation was starting to replace defiance. Jyzer gave a last mournful splutter and passed out.

"Don't suppose you want to score a few points with the boys in blue by telling them who set you up so they can get on to his tail?"

"Mair than ma life's worth."

"Fair enough. But it's still over, Tommy. Jyzer needs medical attention. The wounds might be superficial, but then again they might not. Come on. Put the
gun down."

Tommy looked across at the unconscious Jyzer surrounded by bloodstains on the beige carpet, then at the locked door, then back at his hostage.

"Ach, fuck it," he rasped angrily, knuckles whitening as he gripped the gun tighter.

Parlabane took an involuntary breath, his eyes locked on Tommy's.

"The cunt's name was McKay," he said with a sigh. "Erchie McKay. Met him inside. He got oot last month, same as us." Tommy put the shotgun down on the floor
and slid it across to Parlabane. "Just make sure they catch the bastart."

At eight-thirty that evening, the nightly performance of "Whoops Checkov" was abandoned after a number of powerful stink-bombs were thrown through the door
of the auditorium by an unidentified male. It was, the unidentified male admitted to the woman driving his getaway car, childish and puerile, but then
so is much of the Fringe.