Книга - One day in a London slum. Один день в трущобах Лондона
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One day in a London slum.
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One day in a London slum.
Chapter 1. Robert
It was a dull but warm morning. Robert entered an antique shop at the corner of Hackney Road and Waterson Street. As usual, he greeted the owner of the shop, Mr Goldstein.
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Robert was a homeless boy. He had never seen his parents and, since childhood, he had lived on the street, in the poorest and most troubled area of London the Borough of Hackney. In general his life was very happy; no one forced him to go to school or do homework, to go to bed on time or to brush his teeth.
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However, such trifles as how to find something to eat and where to get shelter from bad weather concerned Robert more than the need to keep a good posture at lunch.
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But this week turned out to be completely unsuccessful: first he was painfully slapped with a schoolbag by a boy on the street. Before that, Robert had snatched a hamburger from the boys hand and tried to escape (the boy was faster than Robert, and his schoolbag was filled with knowledge weighing at least eight pounds).
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In addition, unfortunately, for the whole week he could not really have a snack. His buddies Will and Brandon, who lived in ordinary families and went to school brought him school cafeteria sandwiches every day.
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But eating only sandwiches wont make you full and happy he had to go to bed hungry and listen to the rain tapping on the roof in the attic of the Shore Place house, whose owners had gone to Birmingham on business for three months.
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In general, in this very attic, Robert had already grown firm roots. He had everything for a happy and carefree life: an old spring mattress which was a bed and a sofa and an armchair at the same time, a copper basin for washing, an empty vegetable box which was used as a table, and a compilation of Popular Mechanics magazines from the past three years.
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Robert was fond of technology and avidly read everything he could on this topic. He even saved the money he earned here and there to fulfill his dream when he grew up to start his own laboratory for the creation of robotics. He also had a sack filled with rags instead of a pillow, and even a hanger for his coat.
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Of course there were not enough dishes, but that was not a problem. Because there wasnt enough food all the time, and if there is no food, dishes are not necessary. In addition, he somehow managed to accumulate bit by bit all his little wealth, albeit not quite legally, and now he did not shy away from committing small thefts for the sake of his little purse.
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Excuse me, Mr Goldstein, here is your coffee and two apple pies. Robert handed the owner of the antique shop a paper package from Jonestown Coffee.
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All right, Bob, wait a minute. Ill bring you your 6 pounds. Heres the bag of rubbish, take it out on your way. During my holiday, none of the sellers bothered to throw it away. Mr Goldstein went off to the cupboard behind the counter.
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Robert had already been in this shop probably 500 times, and each time he was surprised at the variety of junk here for which visitors were prepared to pay a lot of money. The boy went behind the counter, took the bag of rubbish, saw an old empty bottle standing next to it on the floor and decided that he would not throw it away. He would take it to the attic to collect rainwater from the roof.
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If you drink a lot of water in the morning, you do not really want to eat so much. He put the bottle in the inner pocket of his old checkered jacket, took his payment for the morning coffee from Mr Goldstein and headed out to the street.
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Chapter 2. Brandon
Brandon was not going to go to school today. Of course, his parents werent supposed to know this. Therefore, he woke up as usual at 7:30 in the morning, had breakfast of fried bacon and eggs, took his backpack with his notebooks, said goodbye to his mother and left the house.
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He lived with his parents at Lavender Grove, in a small two-storey brown brick house with a small garden in front of the house and a beautiful lawn in the back garden.
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Brandon studied at Haggerston School, on Thurtle Road, and the Headteacher, Dr Jane Keely, had promised to call his parents in for a meeting if he scored below 55 points on the test again. Therefore, in order not to upset a respected teacher, he was not going to take the test today.
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Brandon had other plans. Yesterday he had agreed with his homeless friend, Robert, to meet that morning in Haggerston Park near the school and watch the cyclists training and doing crazy stunts on the ramp on their BMXs.
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Robert was already waiting for his friend, sitting on the grass under a spreading oak tree. Brandon crept from behind imperceptibly, or so it seemed to him. He wanted to impress his mate, by dropping onto his knees the packet of sandwiches which he had not eaten at breakfast and had secretly taken from home for his friend. But Robert turned round deftly and snatched the packet from his hands:
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Lets go, Chingachgook.
The guys went along the path to the BMX ramp and track and chose a good position for watching: they could see everything that was happening, but they were almost invisible behind the low bushes.
Wheres Will? asked Rob.
Hes at school today. In May there will be exams, and, considering his progress, its impossible for him to skip lessons now.
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Chapter 3. William
William was not a stupid guy; on the contrary among his friends he was considered the most intelligent and talented. Moreover, he was a professors son.
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But he didnt want to try to get good grades at school, so in the ratings of the classs progress he crawled at the end of the list, mainly because of his unconventional logic and his absence from the classroom.
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Unfortunately his teacher, Jane Keely, had paid particular attention to his attendance in the last few weeks and threatened to call his parents if he ever came late or missed the lessons.
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Therefore, in his bedroom this morning three alarm clocks rang at once. To turn off the last one, he crawled with his eyes closed to the other end of the bed, dragging a pillow under his head. Turning off the annoying beeping, he slept for another 10 minutes in the yoga position of Prasarita, and then gathered all his strength and crawled to the bathroom. He came into the dining room for breakfast, already dressed and with his hair brushed.
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Williams father, Mr Hawkins, greeted his son very cordially and invited him to sit at the table. In general, Mr Hawkins was a very positive person and was always optimistic, but today it seemed to Will that his dad was in a particularly elated mood.
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His father was usually completely involved in his work at the research department of the UCL (University College of London) Institute of Archeology; there was not enough time to talk with his son, and there were also no common topics for conversation.
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Especially since the time immediately after the birth of his son, he had often travelled on long business trips to Baghdad, Damascus and Beirut he specialized in the study of ancient artifacts from the Middle East. The historian and archaeologist Professor Ashton Hawkins had been trying to find one particular interesting item for the last twelve years.
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He had sometimes found mention of this object in ancient Sumerian texts. The description of the appearance of the object itself was nowhere to be found, so it was impossible to guess what kind of artifact it was: perhaps some statuette or an ancient decoration.
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However, from the fragments of three clay tablets covered with cuneiform (wedge) writing, which the professor was able to decipher, he could understand something about one interesting property of this object: it supposedly helped a man to look at himself from the outside, as if with someone elses eyes. Nothing more was known about the thing, but it was mentioned so clearly in the sources found in three different places of ancient Mesopotamia that it caused scientific interest.
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Wills father had travelled to Syria, Iraq, Lebanon and other eastern countries about twenty-five times and tried to find any traces of the artifact, but each time in vain. Finally, when he was ready to give up and abandon his search, he came across the story of a Syrian blogger on the Internet, who then lived in the US, and who, allegedly, suddenly began to change greatly for no apparent reason, after receiving an inheritance.
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Of course, his appearance remained the same, but his views on different life situations, his ways of solving problems in relationships, his opinion of the roots of these relationships became completely different. He could not understand why, but he saw himself and his actions, as he put it in his article, as if he had looked at the chessboard from the eyes of a pawn before, and now he saw the entire board from the eyes of the player.
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Then, having bought a new apartment in Chicago, the Syrian lost this ability immediately afterwards, and he associated it with a collection of items inherited from his grandfather, which he had had to sell at an auction in order to move into a more spacious home. Professor Ashton Hawkins even managed to contact the blogger via the internet, but the trail of the artifact itself was already lost.
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It was clear that it had been bought by someone for resale, along with a bunch of other historical knick-knacks, and the only chance to find it was to search for it at other auctions or on various internet sites.
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So, after 12 years of persistent and unrelenting searching, Williams father finally despaired. He decided to quit and even thought about leaving the University. However, before long it turned out that the item was most probably under the very nose of the scientist right in London, in one of the antique shops.
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The owner of this shop met with Professor Hawkins at the Exhibition of Arts of the Middle East and Asia. He said that he had bought a large number of antiques from a Syrian at an auction several years ago. But it was impossible to sell those antiques. So the shop owner had even had to remove all those things from the shop window and take them to a shed in a suburb of London.
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Professor Ashton Hawkins was excited afresh for the first time in many years there were no doubts, it was exactly what he had been looking for so many years, and he told about his search. The owner of the store kindly agreed to go the next day to the suburb and bring all those antique items to his shop, and then to transfer them for study at the Research Institute of Archeology.
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Your toast and coffee are already waiting for you, father gestured William to the table.
Youre very cheerful today, Dad, Will said, sipping coffee from the cup hastily.
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Dont hurry, sit down, have breakfast with your father. Now Im closer to my dream than ever! Yesterday I asked my new assistant, Leslie McDowell, to prepare the most important news of my scientific work for our institutes website! McDowell, the bungler, published it immediately, forgetting to get my agreement, but its even better, its a good sign! Ive waited so long for this day my assistant will be given what Ive been looking for for many years! It will be a sensational discovery!
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But Will was in a hurry. He had agreed yesterday with his classmate, Becky Taylor, that they would come to school early and meet before classes to chat and discuss what to do after the lessons.
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Dad, I dont want to be late for school. Will grabbed the toast in his hand and quickly headed for the exit, putting his backpack over his shoulder.
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Have a good day! He ran out of the house. He turned into another street and suddenly was confronted by the unshaven face of a man with a non-European appearance. He was struck by a strong blow to the head from behind. Will lost consciousness. A minute later he was taken, with his mouth taped with scotch tape, in an old yellow Volkswagen Transporter towards the Port of Tilbury, but William himself had no awareness of this.
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Chapter 4. Fayaz
Fayaz immigrated to London when he was 6 years old. Together with his father and two of his brothers, they fled from justice in Lahore, a large city in Pakistan, where his father was convicted of stealing food he was unemployed and had to feed three of his children.
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They didnt have a mother their father never spoke to them on this subject.
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At the age of 12, Fayaz had already become independent and worked part-time with his brothers, Tariq and Zarif. Now the brothers were in their 20s, they did not know where their father was, and they had a rather unsuccessful and even antisocial way of life. None of them had been working for a long time, since they all hung out with a person named Sapa, one of the Pakistani diaspora in London. Sapa means Serpent if translated from their native language, Punjabi.
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In fact, the brothers had almost forgotten Punjabi. They had not spoken it since childhood, but they also didnt speak English as well as actual Englishmen. Now Fayaz and his brothers worked for Sapa, carrying out various assignments: to visit some merchant and collect his debts, to drive away a stolen car or sell a lot of stolen laptops.
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Fayaz had had a day off yesterday, and he had already bought a kebab and beer and was going to watch boxing fights on TV in his trailer, located next to the port. But Sapa called him on the phone and began to give confused instructions. Sapa had always been very calm, careful and calculating, which was, apparently, how he got his nickname and also was able to live up to the age of 50 despite his criminal lifestyle.
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But yesterday he was very excited. He spoke about some serious assignment, which, if it wasnt carried out, would lead to Lord Joseph Barnes, for whom Sapa worked, wringing his filthy little neck. And the task itself didnt seem like a tricky job to go in the morning to some old shop with old trash that was on the corner of Hackney Road and Waterson Street, and scare the merchant.
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And at the same time to take away some antique from the owner of the shop, similar to an old earthenware jar looking like a bottle of champagne. Fayaz tried to find out why the hell the boss needed this rubbish, but he did not hear anything apart from a sarcastic remark about the IQ level of Fayaz himself. As Fayaz realized, neither Sapa nor the Lord knew what this thing was worth.
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Allegedly, a person of great influence had promised a good bonus for this object of antiquity, thats all. Laying aside the beer bottle, he went to his brothers to warn them about the next days business, chewing on his way his kebab with chicken and vegetables.
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The following morning all three brothers went to the antique shop. Zarif was driving a van; Fayaz was sitting next to him on the passenger seat. Their third brother, Tariq, who hadnt had enough sleep, was lying down across the two seats behind them.
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Stop here, Ill have a coffee, Tariq could hardly move his tongue.
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You cant, Fayaz interrupted him. Sapa told us to get there as soon as it opened; were already late, waiting for you at the door for 20 minutes!
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Dont rely on me then, Ill stay in the car. Deal with this trader of useless junk without me.
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Go, get your coffee, just stop moaning, Zarif stopped the car near the cafe.
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If Sapa isnt happy, youll be responsible, not me. Fayaz banged his fist on the armrest in exasperation.
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Tariq stayed in the cafe for about 10 minutes and came out with a paper cup of coffee and croissants in a bag. They drove down Kingsland Road and, turning onto Hackney Road, parked their van near the antiquarian shop of Mr Goldstein. Fayaz went inside the store first. Mr Goldstein, suspecting something amiss, took a couple of steps back, behind the counter.
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Dont be afraid, old geezer. Fayaz skillfully jumped the counter and grabbed the confused Mr Goldstein by the lapel. Tell me where is the heap of rubbish that you brought here today, and then you wont be hurt.
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Mr. Goldstein had lived a long life in this world and seen different people in his life, and so he didnt start to play games with aggressive visitors, but behaved openly and in a detached way, as far as it was possible in this situation.
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All the rubbish, as you choose to call it, is here, on the floor under the counter. Fayaz hurriedly rummaged in the pile of things, Zarif kept his eye on the owner of the shop, and Tariq calmly chewed his croissant at the entrance. There were no other visitors in the shop.
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Actually, I promised to give these things to a scientist. But since you are so interested, if he does not take them, I can give them to you for half the price. Will you pay by card or cash?
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Keep your mouth shut, old fart! Your next joke will be your last. Fayaz was nervous, because he was rummaging through the things for the second time. There was an old casket, some magnifying glasses, some scarfs with broaches, several books, a curved crooked tray and a bunch of other stuff. But nothing like what Sapa wanted to see.
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Tariq was sharing a croissant with Zarif meanwhile.
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Damn it! Thats enough of the snacking! There is no clay jar or anything like that! Search the whole shop, turn everything upside down! This old man is fooling us!
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Young men, I have the porcelain dishes on that shelf, and there a few ancient hookahs. Mr Goldstein seemed to want to help the impolite visitors, and Fayaz was infuriated by this. Maybe on that shelf you will find the wares that you will like.
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Fayaz pushed the old man away and began throwing all the antiques from the shelves onto the floor. Then he rummaged through the closet behind the counter. Finding nothing, he dialled Sapas phone number several times. Sapa did not answer.
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They left Mr Goldstein in a completely destroyed shop, got into the van and, feeling quite upset, headed into the office of their boss.
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Sapa was in an equanimous mood. He was smoking a cigarette, sitting on the carpet in his office-trailer near the Port of Tilbury, and flipping through the pages of the web browser on his tablet. The three brothers stood before him, penitently.
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They had already told him of their unsuccessful visit to the antique shop, and now his long silence and unruffled appearance were for them like the worst possible punishment. It would have been better if he had thrown the tablet at them and cursed them with the vilest possible swearing. But Sapa was not like that.
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With a light, snake-like grin on his lips, almost completely hidden under his thick black mustache, he puffed repeatedly on his cigarette, pondering calmly what his artless wards had told him, and he worked on forming a further plan of action in his mind. When you work for Lord Barnes, you need to have a plan B in your head.
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Did you put on stockings?
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Wwhat? The brothers looked perplexed at each other.
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When you performed mayhem in the antique store, which, by the way, did not have to happen at all, did you put stockings on your heads? Any masks maybe or any other disguise?
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No
Well done well done the next time just give your business cards to passers-by, or even do a blood test there so that its easier to identify you.
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Well boss Fayaz tried to put things right.
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Be silent. Youve already said enough today. Did you arrive at opening time, as I told you? No. So the crafty Goldstein could have already transferred the object to the professors assistant before your visit, Sapa puffed on his cigarette thoughtfully. He picked up the mobile and dialled the number.
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Lord Barnes, there was nothing in the shop. Sapa pushed the phone away from his ear, as swearwords poured from it. Then he listened for a couple of minutes calmly to what he was being told, uttered the restrained words will be done, and hung up the phone. He sat silently for a little longer, and lit a second cigarette. His mobile gurgled once cheeerfully. After reading the message, Sapa got up from the carpet:
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Heres what well do
Chapter 5. Joseph Barnes
Lord Barnes was one of those people, whose only method of surviving was to be a parasite on everyone else. Actually, thats why he was a lord. He lived in a nice country house, drove a nice official car, smoked nice official cigars all because he had a nice official position. In fact, he had a very high-paid job. Nevertheless, every day when driving to work, he immediately began to think about how else he could earn extra money.
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He never had time for his direct responsibilities. This approach began in his very first workplace, when his father got him a job as a clerk at the London Borough of Lambeth. Barnes quickly realized what advantages he had in comparison with ordinary citizens, and what decisions he could make in favour of those who wanted to agree with him.
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Since then, the official Joseph Barnes, holding an official position with a stable salary from the city budget, tried not to waste a minute of working time doing business concerned with his official job responsibilities. For that kind of work there were other, not so smart, employees. And Barnes himself was engaged in two activities at work: pleasing his superior and using his official position for kickbacks for personal gain.
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So by the time he was fifty-five years of age he had gained the reputation of being a man with whom it is easy to do business, and since he did not forget to share the gains of this business with people of a higher social position, he had many useful people in his circle of friends.
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Barnes had one weakness he collected in his mansion all kinds of esoteric things from different parts of the world. The more mysterious the story around the object of his desire, the greater was the lords interest in this thing. All the benefits of ordinary life were available to him and had therefore ceased to excite him. But rarities attracted him very much. Sometimes he was ready to do anything in the world to get some ancient scroll of the Jin Dynasty or a Roman tapestry.
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Barnes gradually became involved in corruption and illegal affairs, so he had to cooperate with criminal elements in order not to get his own hands dirty in a dirty business. Sapa was among such elements, as he had once helped Barnes to illegally export seized cargo on which no duty had been paid from the London port. Barnes periodically dealt with Sapa on one job or another. Sapa was in some ways his soulmate just like Barnes, he tried not to do any dirty work with his own hands. He delegated it for a certain remuneration to people from various spheres of the criminal community; agroup of London bandits who worked closely with Sapa were engaged in stolen cars; he dealt with a Jamaican group on illegal arms trafficking; if it was necessary to do something easier he appealed to his compatriots, immigrants from Pakistan.
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The Lord liked the composed and calm, prudent mind of this cunning Pakistani, who disguised all his earnings from illegal activities as profits from a small transport company. Although you had to keep your eyes open when working with Sapa, Barnes usually knew how to deal with this Pakistani and considered their collaboration very productive.
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In this matter, Joseph Barnes turned to him again. When Sapa called him and reported the failure, Barnes spoke to him angrily and yelled at him for half a minute, and then laid out a backup plan, which he had for every occasion in life. Barnes foresaw the possibility of failure and thought out the situation in advance. He took advantage of contacts in the local police department and got files for Professor Ashton Hawkins and his assistant, Leslie McDowell, whose names were on the university websites newsline. After studying the dossiers of these people, his interest was completely fixed on the assistant. The Professors file was, as they say, as pure as the driven snow; his personnel file completely revealed his character: he did not change his place of work, he paid all his taxes on time, he did not have a single fine. But his assistant was much more interesting in terms of cooperation: Leslie McDowell started his track record back in college when, along with classmates, he illegally created a crowdfunding company and raised funds for questionable projects. Since these funds were never subject to specific use and were also not subject to return to their owners, and the owners, mostly, were citizens of other countries, the enterprising Leslie had already fallen within the sights of the special services back then.
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Furthermore, he had worked on the tender committee of a well known state-owned company, and was dismissed because of the loss of employer confidence, as he was suspected of an unbiased choice of suppliers. As a result, he had changed jobs several times and ended up at the UCL Institute of Archaeology, in the modest position of a research laboratory specialist and assistant to a professor of the research department of the Institute. The position was modest only at first glance. In fact, Leslie, having worked only six months, had managed to travel on business trips to different parts of the world, and his salary was quite enough to maintain a fairly comfortable way of life. Leslie McDowell was always neatly dressed, wore expensive watches and a high quality, expensive suit in comparison with his position at the university. And sometimes it was not clear whether Leslie went to work in his suit, or whether it was the suit that was attending and Leslie just accompanied it to the venue of the conference or round table.
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Barnes had learned to understand people well, and he understood that he would easily be able to negotiate with the professors assistant. Not the lord himself, but his people. It was necessary only to find out his price. Barnes was confident that he could buy almost any citizen of the United Kingdom, if he wasnt, of course, an immigrant from Russia. You had to be able to compete with those cunning devils. Surely no problems could arise with the simple Scot.
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Chapter 6. Leslie McDowell
Leslie woke up this morning later than usual. His boss had given him an important mission the day before: to pick up a bunch of old exhibits from an antiquarian, and then to publish the text of the news in the feed on the universitys website. He had published the news yesterday why should he wait? When the job is done, you have the whole day free. But he did not want to hurry himself for the exhibits. As he did not have to be in the laboratory, a hard working environment, he decided to allow himself to lie in bed longer, then have a leisurely breakfast and watch the morning news on the TV.
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It was already 11 am when McDowell left home dressed in his McGregor corduroy coat. He walked leisurely to the parking lot, sat down in his old but still prestigious Jaguar and drove to the address given by the professor. Driving along the Hackney Road, Leslie noticed two police cars parked at the antique shop of Mr Goldstein, with flashing lights turned on. He slowed down, but decided not to stop and drove by. There were policemen in the shop they were visible through the window. McDowell preferred not to risk a confrontation with the cops, especially considering his long-standing history of disputes with the law, and although he was in this case in an absolutely official capacity, he nevertheless drove past in some confusion and, turning off at Ravenscroft Street, stopped the car. His thoughts on further actions were interrupted by the sound of his mobile phone. It was a call from an unknown number. Leslie fumbled his way onto the phone screen for a half minute before answering the call. At such moments of confusion, someone elses initiative could be very helpful. A smoothly-spoken, polite voice with a slightly un-British accent spoke from the mobile phone:
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Hello, Mr McDowell.
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Hello. Who is it?
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Im calling you about a possible collaboration. I know that you, apparently, have just become the owner of a certain number of antiquities. I would like to suggest that you let me look at them and maybe leave one of them with me. For a reward, of course
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Leslie paused in confusion for a while, and then hung up the phone. After a few seconds, Leslies chaotic thoughts lined up in a row that could possibly lead him to the greatest reward he had ever received. The police in the antique shop and the call from the unknown person were certainly interrelated. He wanted to know more about this. He gathered his thoughts, and his calculating mind told him that it would be better to continue this conversation. Leslie called back.
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Would you be interested in my proposal, Mr McDowell? The same calm voice came from the phone immediately.
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Maybe. And who am I talking to? Leslie did not disclose that he did not have any antiques yet.
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Youre talking to ten thousand pounds.
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Then we should talk but not on the phone, Leslie said firmly, feeling more at ease. Im waiting for you right now at the Clutch Chicken Ravenscroft Noshery.
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McDowell finished the call, parked the car so that the cafe was in sight and began to wait in the car.
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About half an hour passed. A short, fat, dark-haired man of about 50 with a magnificent moustache came round the corner. He had an eye defect small white spot over his right eye.
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He walked past the tables on the street, went inside the cafe, almost immediately went outside, sat down at the table closest to the road, and began to wait. McDowell waited a few more minutes, got out of the car, walked past the cafe on the street back and forth, looked around, and sat down beside the mustachioed man.
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Mr McDowell?
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By what name should I call you?
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Im asking for help, Mr McDowell. In this situation I would prefer not to give my name. You have my mobile number, you know now how do I look. This is already risky enough for me. And quite harmless for you. If you do not mind, may I go straight to the point?
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Please do.
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I have offered you the price for which I want to get what I told you on the phone. I can say immediately that I will pay the money in advance. Do you agree? Sapa lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
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Of course, I would agree, if I had what you are looking for.
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Sapa frowned and thoughtfully inhaled the smoke of his cigarette. Leslie, realizing that he was becoming uninteresting to the other man, hastened to improve the situation. The bonus was too big to turn down.
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But I can try to help you. Of course, my commission will be slightly more modest
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How can you help? Sapa interrupted him.
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The thing you are looking for is most likely already with my boss. A note of doubt crept into Leslies voice.
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No. Sapa smoked his cigarette thoughtfully, He does not have anything. So there is nothing in the antique store, where you were supposed to pick up what Im looking for.
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However the professor, at least, should have information about where these old things are, McDowell could no longer hide his uncertainty, his voice vibrated like an electric razor.
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Mr McDowell Sapa looked at him with a piercing gaze. He had figured out Leslie: this cowardly official wants to earn some money, but he does not have a trump card in his hands. And since there are no trumps, he can be used just as a source of information. But in this state of affairs there would be no advance payment; let him prove first that he is useful. Sapa knew how to handle such slippery people and said quite coldly and directly,
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If you know something, you had better say it now. And your reward will be discussed after I assess the usefulness of your proposal.
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Indeed, McDowell had no trump cards in his hands. And since he had got involved in this adventure, he told the man all the information that might help: that the professors name was Ashton Hawkins, that he lived on Turin Street with his wife, Mrs Lily Hawkins, and a 12-year-old son, William, who studied at school and looked exactly like his father in his youth, like two drops of water.
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He also said that he did not know anything about these antiques, but he knew that the professor had devoted his life to their search, since they were endowed with a certain mystical power, which Leslie certainly did not believe in.
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After listening to his story, Sapa deliberately gave him a bored expression, as if this information was not useful for him, expressed his regret that Mr McDowell could not help him, and offered to be in touch. Half an hour later, sitting in an armchair in his improvised office, Sapa gave instructions to three of his lazy assistants.
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Chapter 7. Mrs Keely
Robert, Brandon said thoughtfully, chewing a fresh blade of grass and looking ahead, where preparations for the competition were already in full swing, Why dont you go to some homeless shelter and ask them to live there? It would be more interesting, and you wouldnt need to worry about what to eat and where to sleep every day. Then they will organise you going to school, youll study like everyone else, go to class, get an education, get a job
7.
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You know, Brandon, Ive thought about it. And I realized that I have passed the age of caring about what to eat and where to sleep. Well, think about yourself: youre in school and you get an education so that when you become an adult you can solve the problem of what to eat and where to sleep. I can easily cope with these problems right now. And believe me, this does not require education at all. You just need to find a way to get to know people and maintain good relations with them. I do it well, I think.
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Brandon and Robert sat on the grass on a small hill in the park, chatted and watched the high school athlete from Haggerston school. It was his second race, and this time he had to do a triple front flip on the springboard, which was highly spectacular and extremely dangerous: often in such cases the rider does not survive, even more often his bike does not survive it is no joke to land from such a height onto the front wheel during a rapid rotation. But this is the sport. When the rider rapidly accelerated before the trick, the friends froze in anticipation, everyones adrenaline level rose the athletes, the spectators in the stands, and the two spectators watching from behind the bushes. Brandon had never watched a dangerous stunt before: first he experienced a pain in his right ear, then an unknown force lifted him over the lawn and swivelled him around. He gasped in pain, but he could do nothing. He did not understand how he was face to face with Mrs Jane Keely, his teacher. Of course, she could guess where the students would be skipping classes at this time. Mrs Keeley stopped holding Brandons ear when she saw the fright of recognition in the boys eyes.
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Brandon Palmer! Mrs Keely said clearly and loudly, as if issuing the final verdict, I knew that you would not be stopped by my warnings! Oh, is it you, Robert? Still just loitering around?
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, (https://www.litres.ru/andrey-vladimirovich/one-day-in-a-london-slum-odin-den-v-truschobah-london/) .
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- Жанр: Детские детективы, Детские приключения, Книги для подростков
- Теги: двуязычная литература (билингва), детектив-бестселлер, Самиздат, Английский язык для детей, Веселые приключения
- Язык: Книги на русском языке
- Объём: 190 стр. 19 иллюстраций
- Дата написания: 2020
- Возрастные ограничения: 12+
- Дата выхода книги: 23 ноября 2020
- Версия: 📚 Электронная книга
Этим утром все пошло не по плану у четырех друзей, которые живут в самом неблагополучном районе Лондона. Одного из них похитили преступники, трое других вместо уроков в школе вооружаются, чтобы освободить друга. Мафия гоняется за волшебным артефактом, а полицейские сбились с ног, распутывая клубок преступлений. И кто знает, удастся ли друзьям выпутаться из этих неприятностей? Откройте книгу и узнайте, чем всё закончилось! Она написана на английском и русском языках, чтобы вы могли наслаждаться историей, одновременно практикуясь в английском. Кстати, корректировка английского языка сделана коренной жительницей Лондона, профессиональным корректировщиком Брендой МакКуэйд, которая как никто другой знает все переулки и кварталы Лондона, где развиваются события!
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