"Энди Макнаб. Последний свет (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора

finished squeezing and fishing out the tea bags lifted up a brew for
Sundance.
"Still want one?" His accent was 100 per cent Belfast. If the driver
turned out to be Welsh we'd be able to put together a joke book.
"Right enough." Wiping his neck and shoulders, Sundance sat down in the
chair nearest the TV, avoiding resting his wet, bare back against the velour
by sitting upright on the edge. He took a tentative sip from Bart, the mug
without sugar.
He had been hitting the weights, but didn't have the chiselled look of
a bodybuilder. He had the physique of a con who'd been pumping iron: the
diet in prisons is so bad that when the lads take to the weights they end up
barrel-chested and bulked up, rather than well honed.
He glanced at me for the first time and caught me studying his back.
"Belfast when you was just a wee soldier-boy." He treated himself to a
little giggle, then nodded at the third Simpsons mug still on the floor by
Trainers.
"D'you want a tea, then, boy?"
Trainers held up Marge.
I nodded. Teah, I would, thanks."
There was a pause for a couple of seconds while they exchanged a look,
then both roared with laughter as Trainers did a bad Cockney accent.
"Gor blimey, guy, I would, fan ks
Trainers sat himself down on the settee with Homer, still laughing as
he took the piss.
"Strike a light, guvnor, yeah, I would, cheers. Luv a duck." At least
someone was having fun.
Trainers put his own brew on the cracked tiled floor and took off his
jacket.
He'd obviously had a tattoo removed by laser recently; there was the
faintest red scar just visible on his forearm, but the outstretched Red Hand
of Ulster was still plain to see. He had been, maybe still was, a member of
the UDA (Ulster Defence Association). Maybe they'd both pumped their iron in
one of the H blocks.
Trainers' triceps rippled under his tanned, freckled skin as he felt
behind the cushions and pulled out a packet of Drum. Resting it on his
knees, he took out some Rizlas and started to make himself a roll-up.
Sundance didn't like what he saw.
"You know he hates that -just wait."
"Right enough." The Drum packet was folded and returned beneath the
cushions.
It made me very happy indeed to hear that: the Yes Man must be on his
way. Even though I'd never smoked I'd never been a tobacco Nazi, but
Frampton certainly was.
My arse was getting numb on the hard floor so I shifted very slowly
into another position, trying not to draw attention to myself. Sundance got
up, mug in hand, walked the three paces to the TV, and hit the power button
then each of the station buttons till he got a decent picture.
Trainers sparked up, 'I like this one. It's a laugh." Sundance shuffled
backwards to his chair, eyes glued to the box. Both were now ignoring me as
they watched a woman, whose voice was straight off the Radio Four news, talk