Gangster No. 1 Page #2

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Billy's doing his ribs.

Stone Age xylophone.

He'll be all right.

All right?

The c*nt's in traction

for the next nine months.

Might need a wheelchair!

Plastic surgeon!

All right?

It is not f***ing all right.

It is all f***ing wrong, you morons!

Saw him about a year later.

Some scarring, bit of a limp.

Seemed all right.

He bought me a drink.

What can I say?

He misbehaved.

Got punished.

F***!

Fore!

Should've seen the looks

when we returned the clubs.

Remember what I said?

"This is a delicate matter."

What do you do? You go

and give the c*nt a handicap.

F***ing grief you've caused me.

"F*** what Freddie says!"

Is that it, eh?

Is it?

There's the chair.

Who wants it?

There it is! Come on, who wants it?

Come on, who wants it?

No.

You ain't got the bollocks,

none of you.

And you, you c*nt!

Striding along like John Wayne, looking

for a f***ing bullet in your brain.

Arsehole!

Right.

Now I've gotta go speak to

that sh*t Lennie Taylor.

No. Sit down.

You.

You're coming with me.

- Now?

- Yes, now.

Don't use it.

- What you having?

- Whiskey.

That's it.

- It's on the house.

- No, that's for you.

F***ing hell. Thanks.

Well, well, well.

This is nice.

- Hello, Freddie.

- All right, Lennie.

- Long time, no see.

- Yeah.

Bobby.

Take a walk.

I went to see him today.

Yeah?

Hospital.

No, no, thanks.

I took him up some flowers,

some grapes.

Nice.

I should have took him up

some f***ing Nesquik.

C*nt's got no teeth.

I thought we sorted

our problems out, Freddie.

- Oh, did you?

- Yes, I did!

What's this about, then?

- Why are you here?

- Why do you think?

You want to go to war with me,

Freddie?

That what this is about?

Oi, look at me.

Oi, camel c*nt. Look at me.

Look into my f***ing eyes.

--F***ing Fry's Turkish Delight!

Come on, me and you outside!

Outside!

We'll have a straightener!

We'll sort it out.

Who's who and what's what!

What, you scared?

Are you scared?

Lennie...

...why don't you just sit down?

Sit down?

Sit down? You come into my club,

telling me to sit down?

You long streak of f***ing piss!

Lennie, don't f*** around.

My place was petrol-bombed.

It's about that, is it?

Four thousand it cost me.

Four-f***ing-thousand.

Oh, Freddie, Freddie, Freddie.

Listen, when I heard about that...

...I couldn't have been

more surprised.

I was...

I was gutted.

I hope you ain't insinuating that

that had anything to do with me.

Because that would be wrong.

My conscience is clear.

Look at me.

Burning clubs ain't my game.

Look into my f***ing eyes.

If I want to come

after you, Freddie...

...I'll f***ing come after you.

It's our f***ing...

Maxie, Maxie, Maxie!

Oh, dear, Maxie.

Just you wait, son.

But that's nothing compared

to what happened to Lennie Taylor.

He's a good boy, though, eh?

He ain't scared, is he?

All right.

All right.

Let's just say he did work for me.

Did.

That's not to say I gave the order.

Let's just say,

for the sake of argument...

...that someone's come in your club

with a lighted cigarette.

They've dropped it in a bin...

...and a subsequent fire's ensued.

And let's say for the same

sake of argument...

...that my man slipped in the showers.

Or someone's dropped

a taxi on his head.

Well, these things happen.

How does that sound?

- Sounds about right, doesn't it?

- Yeah.

Sounds about right, doesn't it?

Come here. Come here.

Bobby, Bobby!

Bubbly.

Let's have a nice drink, eh?

F***ing warm champagne.

F***ing prick!

Listen.

- You want to get a proper drink?

- Yeah, go on then.

Right.

He had on that gray

two-piece mohair.

That was a great suit.

Immaculate cut. Italian.

Always with a white shirt.

Always.

His ruby cuff links.

I loved them.

I f***ing loved them.

Beautiful watch.

Wafer thin. Solid gold.

Hardly know you've got it on.

Bond Street.

Two and a half grand.

You like this tiepin, don't you?

Here.

Have it.

Hi.

Sorry I'm late, it's pissing down.

F*** it. Don't worry about it.

- Mel went on for you.

- I bet she's pissed off with me.

Livid. Called you everything:

"F***ing new girl comes in late...

...the second day. Bleeding tart.

I'm earning her f***ing money for her."

I'm joking. I'm not serious.

I'm making it up.

She don't care.

What's your name again?

Karen.

We drinking wine?

- Yeah, why?

- It's a bit suspect, isn't it?

Good for the blood.

- Freddie Mays is in.

- On his own?

No, with a mate.

Who's Freddie Mays?

- Table two, but he's mine.

- Only he don't know that yet.

Right, let's see.

Chateaubriand. Rare.

- Asparagus. Potatoes gratin.

- Bollocks.

No dessert, black coffee.

Espresso. It's called espresso.

Might even order a cigar after.

Cuban. See what you make of that.

- Blow your f***ing mind.

- You reckon?

Yeah. And I've

organized some company.

What do you mean?

You know, couple of blokes

on our own, drinking wine...

Bit suspect, isn't it?

Mel and you. What's your name?

- Karen.

- Right.

I want the two of you to go and

keep Freddie and his goon company.

The ad didn't mention that.

Don't suck him off or anything,

just keep him company.

He's clean, he's well-mannered

and he's rich.

If you like him, be my guest.

Marry the c*nt.

Count yourself lucky, girl.

He's nice.

Not like most of them in here.

How many times have I told you?

Don't bad-mouth the club.

This is a class emporium.

- Where're you going?

- To the bog.

Table two, Karen.

I'll be over in a minute.

Mind if I sit down?

Suit yourself.

I was told you were well-mannered,

Mr. Freddie Mays.

What makes you think

I'm Freddie Mays?

Woman's intuition.

I also heard you're a gentleman.

Did you, now?

Yep.

And that you're rich.

F***ing gold digger, then?

No, I'm not a f***ing gold digger.

I'm a normal working girl.

So you're a hooker.

Well, Freddie Mays don't pay for it.

And I don't sit around in clubs

taking sh*t from gangsters.

So much for the gentleman crap.

I guess they have to talk you up,

you're important.

Karen, I want you to meet

Freddie Mays.

Hello.

Hello, Mr. Mays.

And you are?

Mel, why don't you treat

my friend to a dance?

You're having a laugh, ain't you?

Sorry about the table manners.

Come on.

Come on, he don't bite!

Please, sit down.

Sorry about that.

Who is he?

Just a business associate.

Here, let me do that.

Thank you.

- Sorry, do you want one?

- No, thank you.

I have to look after my voice.

- What's that, then? You an actress?

- No.

Could be an actress, face like that.

- Thank you. Appreciate it.

- Don't mention it.

- No, I sing.

- You sing?

- What, here?

- No, I dance here.

Jane, June, Jackie...

...Jessica, Julie.

She got bumped pretty sharpish.

That's the J's. On to K.

"K" for Karen.

Freddie Mays

and all his skinny birds.

Oh, dear Freddie.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Sing something then.

Go on. Get up and sing something.

Sing something?

I thought you meant here at the table.

For you.

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