"Robert Rankin - Brentford 01 - The Antipope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

water.
'Ah,' said Jim, having drained half in a single draught, 'the first one is always the finest.' Pushing the exact
amount across the bar top for fear that prices might have risen overnight, he sought anew the inspiration, his by
divine right, that had so recently been denied him in the Memorial Library.
'I feel a winner coming on,' he said softly. This was occasionally a means of getting a free top-up at this hour of
the day.
Neville made no reply.
'I think this might well be the big one,' continued Jim. Neville maintained a stony silence. He did not appear to
be breathing.
 'I wouldn't be at all surprised if . . . ' A t this point Jim Pooley looked up from his paper and caught sight of the
part-time barman's ghastly aspect. 'Whatever's up, Neville?'
Neville clutched at his breath. 'Did you see him leave?' he stuttered.
'Who leave? I didn't see anybody.'
'He . . .' Neville peered over the bar top at the brass rim. It shone as unsullied and pristine as it had done when he
had polished it not fifteen minutes previous.

12
'A tramp.'
'What tramp?'
Neville decanted himself another large scotch and threw it down his throat.
'Well I never noticed any tramp,' said Jim Pooley, 'although, and you'll think this ridiculous when I tell you.'
'What?' said Neville shakily.
'Well, when I came in here just now I felt the strangest of compunctions, I felt as if I wanted to cross myself.'
Neville did not reply.

A scratch of the bell, a screech of brakes, a rattle of front wheel against kerb and a hearty 'Hi-O-Silver' and John
Omally had arrived at the Flying Swan. 'You stay here and enjoy the sun, I'll be out later,' he told his bike, and with a
jovial 'God save all here and mine's a pint of Large please, Neville' he entered the bar.
Neville watched his approach closely, and noted to his satisfaction that Omally showed no inclination whatever
towards crossing himself. Neville pulled the Irishman a pint and smiled contentedly to himself as Omally pushed the
exact amount of change across the counter.
'How's yourself then, Jim?' said Omally.
'I feel a winner coming on,' Pooley confided loudly.
'Now is that a fact, then it's lucky you are to be sure.' Omally accepted his pint and drained half in three gulps.
'You are late today,' said Pooley by way of conversation.
'I had a bit of bike trouble over on the allotment, Marchant and I were not seeing eye to eye.'
Pooley nodded. 'Your bike Marchant would be all the better for the occasional squirt of Three-in-One and
possibly a visit to a specialist once in a while.'
'Certainly the old lad is not what he was. I had to threaten him with premature burial before I could get it out
that he needed new front brake blocks and a patch on his back tyre.'

13
'Bikes are not what they were,' said Jim. He finished his pint. 'This one's done for,' he said sadly.
'Seems so,' said John Omally.
'Whose shout is it?' said Jim.
'Whose was it last time?' said John.
Jim Pooley scratched his head. 'There you have me,' said himself.
'I think you were both buying your own,' said Neville, who had heard such discussions as these go on for upwards
of an hour before one of these stalwarts cracked under the pressure.
'Lend me a pound John,' said Jim Pooley.