"Brookmyre, Christopher - Boiling A Frog" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brookmyre Christopher)

'In a minute.'
'Fuckin' first time, innit, eh? Fuckin' never been in the
jile afore, huv ye? Ahhh, fuckin' shitin' it I bet, fuckinun.
Ahh-haa.Fuckin'... Fooaltiyeman, I don't fuckin' like the
look o' your fuckin' chances man, ne'er I don't. Fuckin'
sideyways for you, pal, mark my fuckin' words. Fuckin'
daft cunt. Fooaltiye, I've been inside a few times, man,
fuckin' seen it aw afore, man, fuckin' awyit, an' fuckin'.
fuckin' cunts like you, naw, man, hahaha, don't fuckin'
fancy ye, altiye. Haha. Fuckin' sideyways. Fuckin' twirly
sheets job, man, altiye. Ahh-haaaah. Fuckin' waaank.'
Parlabane, even in his embattled, embittered and em,
just-hit-his-head-off-an-iron-bedframe state, retained suf-
ficient presence of mind to appreciate the significance of
the moment. As a man who scornfully disapproved of
inappropriate superlatives, he could honestly say he was
now in the presence of the least charming person he had
ever met. Given that he worked in the journalism trade, and
that through his wife he had unavoidably met a number of
surgeons, this was saying something.
'Fooaltiyeman, I've seen your type afore, many a time.
Many. A. Fu. Kin. Time. Fooaltiye, fuckin' easy meat, man,
that's you, fuckinnn ah-haa.'
Parlabane felt an enormous temptation to point at him,
narrow his eyes and say: 'Gordonstoun? No, no, no, that's
right. Fettes, Fettes.' Resisting was assisted by the thought
that he had precipitated the previous torrents merely by
being in the same cell. Actually upsetting the cadaverous
bastard was, as Sarah might put it, contra-indicated.
He winced at the phrase, the remembered sound of her
voice in his head. It was like pouring Tabasco sauce on to
his injured scalp. Daft cunt right enough. Fuckin' wank.
Ahh-haaa. Fuckinnrm.
Without warning or apparent explanation, something
evidently occurred to Sliver (or 'Fooaltiye', as Parlabane
was beginning to think of him). He softened his expression
and leaned that bit further forward. The effect on his
face was to make it look like merely a death-mask, as
opposed to an atrophied skull, but the intention was clearly
solicitous.
'Nah mate, just kiddin ye oan like n'at, know? Just a
fuckin' wee joke, man, fuckinnn. I mean, ye awright like?
Ye awright? Banged your heid? Fooaltiye, looked~fuckin'
sair, man, so it did. Ye awright?'
what, Parlabane wondered, could possibly have caused
this impromptu volte-face (or volte-skull if he was being
pedantic)? what pacific thought could have tamed the rage
in this tormented and misunderstood young man's heart?
'Ye any fags?'
That would be it, then.