Gambit

This is the story of my brave,

foolish friend, Harry Deane.

Mr Deane's work

as an art curator in London

had gone, he felt,

largely unappreciated.

He told me of countless insults

suffered at the hands of his employer,

Lionel Shabandar,

media tycoon, art collector

and an absolute brute of a fellow.

Do not touch my person. You!

- Yes, my lord?

- Idiot! Give me your boot.

40 years ago,

I'd have called this Shabandar a cad.

Now the prevailing parlance

for a fellow of this type

is, I believe, shitbag.

Hello.

This bloody thing is not operational.

Ah, well, that's because,

I believe, my lord...

Because you believe what,

you steaming turd?

Now he would have his revenge,

for Mr Deane had a plan.

To be grandiose, a heist.

To be accurate, a bit of a thieving.

This is where I came in.

I am, you see,

a rather capable forger of fine art.

I was pleased my little hobby

might prove of use to him.

The plan relied on securing the aid

of one PJ Puznowski.

"Find this Puznowski," Mr Deane told me,

and it would all fall nicely into place.

Excuse me.

We were given to understand

that there was an equestrian tourney

in the area.

Well, we got a law attorney,

don't know his religion,

up downtown Alpine.

He's a fairy.

Moved here from Albuquerque,

it'll be five, no,

six years ago, come May.

Not that I judge.

How terribly interesting, but is there

a tournament of some description

with various rowdy goings-on?

Rough-riding,

bronc-busting sort of thing.

It's a competition.

A test of skill involving farm animals.

Yippee-ai-yay.

Alright, Pecos!

This is the West of the Pecos Rodeo,

featuring America's number-one team,

Team Ghostrider with Tim Lepard

and his cowboy monkeys.

Go on, Suzie! Go get 'em!

And it's brought to you by Charlie

Goodnight and all those good people

down at Charlie Goodnight's

Implements 'n' Feed.

Let's put some hands together

for the monkeys!

And first out of the chute

is PJ Puznowski from down Terlingua way.

There.

Gonna try to put a rope around Rodney

from the Lazy L Sickle Y Bar Ranch.

And, folks,

Rodney ain't gonna be heppin' any.

That's 11.7 for PJ Puznowski!

- That's her.

- Alright, Jammies!

# If you wanna go

# Let's go rodeo

# If you wanna rock

What makes you so certain

she'll be game?

Good God, she works in a poultry

processing plant for minimum wage.

- You think she'll turn this down?

- How much are you going to tell her?

Just as much as she needs to know.

That's nice.

This is Major Nigel Nelson-Wingate,

King's African Rifles, retired.

- Sunday painter.

- Madam.

Now, the simple question is,

how would you like to make

half a million pounds sterling?

I have a little plan.

Straight?

- Have a good day, sir.

- Shut up.

- Sorry, sir.

- Bloody hell, man, be careful!

Shabandar Media.

I wonder if you might approve this last

photo layout for the Horse and Hunt.

Is there a problem, sir?

Slazenger, give me a loupe.

Haystacks, Dusk.

Get me Harry Deane.

Old man just called me up.

Yes, he's expecting you.

- No, no, no.

- Oh, I am sorry, sir.

What? Come in.

Have them proof it quick as possible.

We'll try and get it into next month's.

Deane, sit down.

Have a look at these.

I've sent the plane

to collect this woman.

Arrives at Heathrow in about an hour.

You'll pick her up.

Interesting. Oh, I see, the painting.

- A reproduction, though, in my opinion.

- Bloody hell. Based on what?

On the fact that it's hanging

on the wall of a caravan, sir, in Texas.

Yes, precisely.

But whose caravan, you plank?

- The cowgirl, sir.

- Puznowski, Deane.

PJ Puznowski. Think, man.

You stupid bastard, what!

Welcome to London.

Before we throw you

into the thick of it,

I should give you a bit

of the history.

Monet's Haystacks.

On September 15th, 1891, during

the course of one very productive day,

the master Impressionist

finished two oil paintings:

"Haystacks, Dawn",

"Haystacks, Dusk".

"Haystacks, Dawn" was traded

amongst various private collectors

over the years.

"Haystacks, Dusk" was put on display

in Paris at the Jeu de Paume.

That is,

until the Nazi occupation of 1941.

"Haystacks, Dusk"

was carted off to Carinhall,

the private residence

of Air Marshal Hermann Gring,

for the delectation of his eyes only.

In 1945, Carinhall is overrun

by the first division of Patton's army,

the Big Red One.

The point platoon is led

by Sergeant Brian "Bulldog" Puznowski,

the Killer of Kilgore, Texas.

Your grandfather.

For the next 67 years,

the whereabouts of Haystacks, Dusk

has proved one of the art world's

most tantalising mysteries.

And what is all this to Shabandar?

A man of outsized appetites

and enormous enthusiasms,

and no few eccentricities;

an avid nudist, a case in point.

Owing to his considerable fortune

and my not inconsiderable knowledge,

he has assembled

the most important collection

of Impressionist masterpieces

in private hands.

The prize? Haystacks, Dawn.

Acquired at auction 20 years ago

in spirited bidding.

The bid is with the gentleman

on the aisle. The bid is 8 million.

- Good heavens.

- I have eight and a quarter.

The bid is with the gentleman

on my left.

The bid is against you, sir. The bid

is eight and a quarter million pounds.

Shabandar rolled

all his competitive impulses into a ball

and outbid his great rival,

Akira Takagawa.

He purchased the painting

for 11 million.

His ownership of the one has merely

whet his appetite for the other.

For years now, Shabandar

has been seeking Haystacks, Dusk

with a passion

bordering on monomania.

When he saw that photograph,

Shabandar conducted his own

investigation into your family history.

Best to let the fish

work the hook in himself, eh, Major?

Much the best, Mr Deane.

He will want to negotiate

the price with you.

You must stick at 12 million.

Pounds.

He'll pay it,

no matter how much he protests.

Be firm. Be polite, but firm.

He will try to charm you.

He will try to impress you.

- Ms Puznowski!

- He will try to...

An honour! Welcome, welcome.

Painting in the gallery, men.

I knew a Koznowski once,

charming man, no relation I suppose.

Baron Koznowski. Quite the equestrian.

Man had horse blood in his veins.

This way, please.

Right, let's take a look, shall we?

Mere formality, of course.

Oh, yes.

So...

What do you think, Deane?

- Yes, I'll need a few moments, sir.

- Oh, yes. Quite.

You may not realise it,

Ms Puznowski,

but Harry Deane knows Monet

like I know...

Actually, I don't know anything

quite like that.

The artist has used a light ground

true to Monet's habit.

The palette is very limited,

no blacks or browns.

Cerulean blue and cadmium yellow

to achieve his broken colour.

And unlike the heartbreaking fraud

perpetrated on the Austrians,

the signature is correct.

It is Monet and it is very fine indeed.

And that, Mr Deane,

is good enough for me.

Shall we discuss terms?

System armed.

System armed.

Hello, kitty.

Your wages.

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