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

"What's an Insurance Bond, Tommy?" he asked calmly.

"I tell't yous aw tae shut it. I ken whit Insurance Bonds are, right?"

Parlabane made a zipping gesture across his mouth. There was a suspicion growing inside his head. It had germinated early on in the proceedings, but the
last few moments had poured on the Baby Bio and it was seriously starting to sprout. They sat in silence, apart from the occasional yelp from the crusties' skinny dog. Tommy's eyes looked wide and jumpy through the holes in his ski-mask.

"Fuck!" came a furious, low growl from the back office.

"Fuckin' Jesus fuckin' fuck!"

The girl stumbled nervously out to join the hostage party, followed by Jyzer, whose woolly mask could not conceal that he was little at peace with himself.

"So, d'ye get them?" Tommy asked.

Jyzer took a slow breath to calm his rage. It didn't quite make it.

"Naw I never fuckin' got them ya stupit cunt. Fuckin' Scottish Widows must've changed the delivery day or somehin'."

"Aye, awright, dinnae take it oot on me."

"Well stop askin' fuckin' stupit questions."

"But what are we gaunny dae?"

"Shut up, I'm tryin' tae think."

Parlabane looked to the front of the shop. One of the uniforms was pointing into the shop and talking to someone out of sight down the mall. Three men in
matching kevlar semmits filed into place in front of the sports shop opposite, taking up crouching positions and raising automatic rifles.

Parlabane swallowed. Not everyone was going to be home in time for tea, he feared.

"Giros!" Jyzer announced. He turned to the teller who had most recently joined the ranks of the illegally detained.

"Giro money. Pensions nawrat. Hand it ower."

"I don't think that should be your number one priority right now," Parlabane said, pointing at the front window.

"Who asked . . . aw fuck." Jyzer took a step back, like that extra two feet would put him out of a bullet's projectile range.

"This is the police," announced a hailer-enhanced screech. Whatever it said next was lost as Jyzer finally showed a spark of dynamism.

"Right," he stated. "Staun up, aw yous. An' line up across the shoap, facin' away fae the windae. That's it."

They got to their feet unsteadily, most of them turning their heads to cast an eye upon the assembly outside. Jyzer and Tommy stepped behind their human
shield, out of the police marksmen's sights.

"Terrific," muttered one of the crusties. "Now we're the filling in a gun sandwich."

"Noo, go an' get us aw the cash in the shop," he commanded the teller, handing her the sports bag that already contained their wallet harvest.