Hot Fuzz Page #5

You don't have to be a detective

to work that out!

Yeah.

- Are you causing trouble?

- Yes, they are.

Well, a spot of bother up at Ellroy Farm.

Old Arthur Webley's been clipping

hedgerows that don't belong to him.

- Yes, sir?

- That's it.

Yes, sir.

- Why do we need the dog?

- It's not the dog we need.

Right.

What did he say?

- What did he say?

- He said, "An 'edge is an 'edge.

"He only chopped it down

'cause it spoilt his view.

"What's Reaper moaning about?"

Right.

Look, I appreciate your position,

Mr. Webley,

but you can't go around chopping down

other people's hedges without permission.

"Yes, I suppose."

Thank you.

All right.

Mr. Webley,

I trust you have a license for that firearm?

He does for this one.

What do you mean by "this one"?

By the power of Grey Skull.

Where on earth did you get these?

- Found them.

- He found them!

- And what is this?

- Sea mine.

Sea mine.

Well, Mr. Webley,

this is an extremely dangerous collection.

It's a wonder nobody's been hurt before.

No, it's just a lot of junk.

Move, move, move!

- You what?

- No, apparently it's been deactivated. Over.

That's right, deactivated!

- It's not live.

- It looks live.

All right.

That was quite an impressive haul today,

Constable Butterman.

Well, you know, I mean, maybe

we should do something to celebrate.

Unless you gotta water your Peace Lily.

- What exactly did you have in mind?

- I don't know. Pub?

Right you are, my love.

Yes, sirs, what can I get you?

Pint of lager, please, Roy.

And what can I get you

that isn't a cranberry juice?

- I don't really wanna get drunk.

- You can get a little drunk.

- Okay, I'll have one.

- Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.

Mr. Porter, what's your wine selection?

Oh, we got red or white.

- I'll have a pint of lager, please.

- Yeah, Roy.

- Any news from earlier?

- Yeah. CSI found nothing.

Doctor Hatcher reported no misadventure

and Mrs. Blower has four alibis.

Now, come on, Sergeant, it's not your job

to investigate this incident, is it?

Is it?

- No, it isn't.

- No, it isn't.

- You don't switch off, do you?

- You sound like my ex.

- Well, you are always thinking away.

- It's what I do.

- Don't get me wrong. I think it's amazing.

- Really?

I mean,

what made you wanna be a policeman?

Officer.

What made you wanna be

a policeman-officer?

I don't remember a time

when I didn't wanna be a police officer.

Apart from the summer of 1979

when I wanted to be Kermit the Frog.

It all started with my Uncle Derek.

He was a Sergeant in the Met.

He bought me a police pedal car

when I was five.

I rode round in it every second I was awake.

Arresting kids twice my size

for littering and spitting.

I got beaten up a lot when I was young

but it didn't stop me.

I wanted to be like Uncle Derek.

He sounds like a good bloke.

Actually, he was arrested

for selling drugs to students.

What a c*nt.

Probably bought the pedal car

with the proceeds.

Needless to say I never went near it again.

I just let it rust.

But I never forgot

the clear sense of right and wrong

that I felt at the wheel of that pedal car.

I had to prove to myself

that the law could be proper

and righteous

and for the good of humankind.

It was from that moment,

I was destined to be a police officer.

- Shame.

- How so?

I think you would've made a great muppet.

What about you? What made you

wanna become a police officer?

I don't know. Dad does it.

I think after my mum died, it's what

he wanted, you know, keep me close by.

- Do you mind if I ask how she died?

- Traffic collision.

I'm sorry.

Never mind. Hey, watch this.

- Jesus Christ!

- Oh, my eye!

Ta-da!

Hey, come on, silly bollocks, get them in.

- 777.

- Mr. Skinner.

- You know George Merchant, don't you?

- Evening, Officer.

Yes, we were just discussing the accident.

I'd come to know Martin

and Eve very well of late.

Such a loss.

What say we drink to their demise?

Shouldn't that be "drink to their memories"?

Of course. Cheers.

I must go to the little boys' room.

- I'm all right!

- "Little" being the operative word.

Oh, he'll be in bits tomorrow.

I think somebody needs to go home.

- I'm... I'm not that drunk, sir.

- Not you. Him.

What?

Hey, we did get a little drunk.

Did you get it?

'Cause he's... He's little and he's drunk.

Oh, good grief.

It's hardly in keeping

with the village's rustic esthetic, is it?

- How much do I owe you?

- Twenty quid.

There you go.

- And there's your change.

- God bless you.

Bye-bye.

I'm all right.

I would not wanna be him in the morning.

Well, this is me.

Well, I shall see you in the morning.

Unless you wanna come in

for a cup of coffee?

- I don't drink coffee.

- Tea?

No caffeine after midday.

How about another beer?

Oh, dear.

- When did you move in?

- About five years ago.

- You should get some house plants.

- Oh, yeah, yeah.

Yeah. I've been tending my Peace Lily

for about three years now.

It oxygenates the room,

helps you think, relieves stress.

Its needs are simple.

Janine used to say I love my Lily

more than I loved her.

- Is that why you split up?

- What?

- 'Cause you did it with a plant?

- No, no, no.

It was more about me being

obsessed with the job.

That's good though, right?

Is it though?

I did miss a few dinners.

You know, parties, a birthday or two.

- Listen, mate, I...

- Her dad's funeral.

- I just wanna be good at what I do.

- You are good at what you do.

You've just gotta learn to switch off

that big old melon of yours.

That's the whole problem, Danny.

I don't think I know how.

I can show you how.

By the power of Grey Skull.

Point Break or Bad Boys II?

Which one do you think I'll prefer?

No, I mean which one

do you wanna watch first?

You are pulling my leg?

What did you think of that?

Well, I won't argue

that it was a no holds barred,

adrenalin fueled thrill ride

but there's no way you could perpetrate

that amount of carnage and mayhem and not

incur a considerable amount of paperwork.

That is nothing, man.

This is about to go off.

This sh*t just got real.

Nasty way to go.

I think our Mr. Merchant tried to have

a little fry up and left the gas on.

Spends his whole life

devoted to the refrigerator

then gets killed by an oven.

I told him several times,

you shouldn't eat late at night.

Oh, I don't know.

I quite like a little midnight gobble.

C*cks.

So, what do we reckon? Angel?

Help me.

Okay, we get a proper cordon up,

we let the fire crews finish their stuff,

and then we get forensics in

to do a thorough sweep of the house.

Very good. What he said.

Sergeant Angel, hi-hi. A quick word?

Mr. Messenger,

a statement will be issued shortly.

Actually, I just wanted to ask,

"What's your perfect Sunday?"

I'll deal with the press, Sergeant.

Now, my perfect Sunday

is a lovely long lie in...

Fire to destroy all you've done

Like in the films.

Something like,

something out of Backdraft.

- What are you thinking? Foul play?

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