"Robert Rankin - Waiting for Godalming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robert Rankin)

hobnobbing with a pervert's knickers, thank you very much."
"Hello, what's this?"
"What's what?"
"This." Icarus lifted from the briefcase a small dark electronic doo-
dad. "Transistor radio, I think."
"It's a Dictaphone," said Friend Bob, who had a love for all things
electrical. "You can record your voice on that. Here, I'll show you
how."
Friend Bob took the Dictaphone, held it up to his mouth and
pressed a little button.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaagh!" went the Dictaphone.
"Aaaaaaaaagh!" went Friend Bob, flinging it back into the
briefcase.
"Surely that's the wrong way round," said Icarus. "I thought you
were supposed to record on to it."
"I pressed the playback button by mistake, you twat."
Icarus now took up the Dictaphone, tinkered with the volume
control and then pressed the playback button.
"No," screamed a voice of a lesser volume. "No more pain. I'll tell
you everything you want to know."
"Oh shirt!" said Friend Bob, whose mother had told him not to
swear. "It's someone being tortured."
"Leather pants in the case," said Icarus. "Probably just some
recreational activity. Shall we hear a bit more?"
"I'd rather not, if you don't mind."
"Come on now, what harm can it do?"
Icarus fingered the button once more. A new voice said, "Tell me
all about the drug."
"It's drugs." Friend Bob flapped his elongated hands about. "It's
gangsters. I'm off."
"It's probably just a TV programme, or a radio play, or
something."
"Or something. Whatever it is, I've heard enough. I don't want to
get involved. Return the case to its owner, Icarus, please."
"Don't be absurd."
"It will end in tears."
"Let's hear a little more."
"Fug that." Friend Bob lifted his angular frame from the seat next
to Icarus Smith. "I have tiles to polish. I will bid you farewell."
"Are you coming to the Three Gables tonight? Johnny G's
playing."
"I'll be there. But listen, just dump the briefcase, eh? Leather
pants and tortured souls are not a healthy combination."
Friend Bob turned upon his heel and had it away on his toes.
Icarus sat and considered the Dictaphone. He turned the volume
down a bit more and held the thing to his ear.
"What drug?" came the voice of the tortured soul.
"Red Head," said the other voice.
"Red Head?" whispered Icarus Smith. "What kind of drug is
that?"