"Robert Rankin - Brentford 03 - East Of Ealing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

blood drained from his face and his good eye started from its socket; a nasty blue tinge crept about the
barman's lips. It was worse than he feared, far worse. His trouser bottoms were swinging about his
ankles like flags at half-mast. He wasn't only getting fatter, he was growing taller! Neville slumped
back on to his bed, his face a grey mask of despair. It was impossible. Certainly folk could put on
weight pretty rapidly, but to suddenly spring up by a good inch and a half over night? That was
downright impossible, wasn't it?

Pooley and Omally strolled over the St Mary's Allotments en route to John's hut and the cup that
cheers. Jim tapped his racing paper upon his leg and sought inspiration from the old enamel
advertising
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signs along the way which served here and there as plot dividers. None was immediately
forthcoming. The two threaded their way between the ranks of bean poles and waxed netting, the
corrugated shanties, and zinc watertanks. They walked in single file along a narrow track through a
farrowed field of broccoli and one of early flowering sprouts, finally arriving at the wicket fence
and pleasant ivy-hung trelliswork that stood before Omally's private plot. John parked his bicycle in
its favourite place, took up his daily pinta, turned several keys in as many weighty locks, and within
a few short minutes the two men lazed upon a pair of commandeered railway carriage seats, watching
the kettle taking up the bubble on the Primus.
'There is a king's ransom, I do hear, to be had out of the antique trade at present,' said John matter-
of-factly.
'Oh yes?' Pooley replied without enthusiasm.
'Certainly, the junk of yesterday is proving to be the ob-ja-dart of today and the nestegg of
tomorrow.' Omally rose to dump two tea bags into as many enamel mugs and top the fellows up
with boiling water. 'A veritable king's ransom, ready for the taking. A man could not go it alone in
such a trade, he would need a partner, of course.'
'Of course.'
'A man he could trust.' John put much emphasis upon the word as he wrung out the tea bags and
added the cream of the milk to his own mug and a splash of the rest to Jim's. 'Yes, he would
definitely want a man he could rely on.'
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'I am convinced of that,' said Jim, accepting his mug. 'A bit strong, isn't it?'
'Antique bedding is currently the vogue amongst the trendies of Kensington, I understand,' John
continued.
'Oh those bodies.'
'Yes, the fashionable set do be weeping, wailing, and gnashing its expensively-capped teeth for the
lack of it.'
Pooley blew on to his tea. 'Strange days,' said he.
John felt that he was obviously not getting his point across in quite the right way. A more direct
approach was necessary. 'Jim,' he said in a highly confidential tone. 'What would you say if I was to
offer you a chance of a partnership in an enterprise which would involve you in absolutely no
financial risk whatever?'
'I would say that there is always a first time for everything, I suppose.'
'What if I was to tell you that at this very moment I know of where there is an extremely valuable
antique lying discarded and unwanted which is ours for the taking, what would you say then?'
Jim sipped at his tea. 'I would say to you then, Omally,' he said, without daring to look up, 'dig the
bugger out yourself.'
Omally's eyebrows soared towards his flat cap.
Pooley simply pointed to an L-shaped tear in his own left trouser knee. 'I passed along your path
not half an hour before you,' he said simply.