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

as if exiting a stage. Parlabane figured it a safe bet they'd be returning for the fifth act.

The phone rang again.

"Right. Very good. Well done. Noo here's what we want. Naw, naw, shut it. We aw ken what you want: you want the hostages oot an' us in the cells so's ye
can boot fuck oot us. Well, the bad news is you cannae have baith, right? So there's gaunny have to be a wee compromise. You can have maist o' the hostages
in exchange for a helicopter. We want it on the roof o' the St James Centre in hauf an 'oor. We'll be takin' wan hostage wi' us, an' we'll tell the pilot
where we're gaun wance we're on board." He slammed the phone down again.

"A helicopter?" Parlabane asked. "What, has Fife no' got an extradition treaty?"

"Fuckin' shut it."

"Another rapier-like come-back."

"Right," Jyzer declared, suddenly pointing his shotgun at the pregnant woman. "Step forward missus, ye're comin' wi' us."

"No her, Jyzer," Tommy dissented. "She's dead fat. She'll be slow."

"She's no fat, she's fuckin' pregnant, ya n'arse. The polis'll no mess aboot if we've got a gun tae a pregnant burd's heid."

The pregnant woman began to whimper, tears running from terrified eyes. She put a hand out and grabbed Parlabane's shoulder to steady herself.

"Not a good idea, guys," he stated.

The phone began ringing again.

"I thought I tell't you tae shut it," Jyzer said, thrusting the gun into Parlabane's face.

"Look at her," he demanded, staring into Jyzer's eyes. "She's ready to burst. Do you want her goin' into labour during your dramatic getaway?"

Jyzer looked at the woman, sweating, tearful, and imposingly up the stick.

"Know somethin'?" he declared. "You're absolutely right.
We'll take you instead."


Parlabane, who was firmly of the belief that no good deed ever goes unpunished, had been expecting this. He shrugged, put his parcel down and took a step
forward, trying not to dwell on the potential indignity of surviving several professional attempts on his life only to be plugged by some shambolic half-wit
down the post office.

Bugger it. Just as long as getting killed there didn't mean you went to Post Office Hell.

Jyzer picked up the phone again while Tommy gestured Parlabane to walk ahead of him through to the area behind the counters. The skinny dog gave another
yawn as they passed, then trotted over to Jyzer and began humping his shin, its pink tongue lolling out of the right-hand side of its mouth..

"Naw, naw. We'll let the last hostage go wance we've arrived at . . .AYIAH! Get tae fuck ya clatty wee cunt . . . naw, no you, officer. Dug was tryin' tae
shag me leg."

Jyzer eyed the crusty who was holding the other end of the string. "Heh Swampy, that thing touches me again an' I splatter its baws aw ower this flair,