Jack Irish: Bad Debts

1

(Bell dings)

How the hell's it going to fit

in our apartment, woman?

If you think I'm going to remain

living within the bowels

of a Masonic hall forever,

you'll be living

a long and lonely life.

For you to sign, please.

How are you, Isabel?

Married to a philistine.

Oh, I know.

I need to fiddle with

that second para one more time.

It's Tasmanian blackbutt.

Do you know how rare that is?

I'm guessing fairly rare.

It's not just a table. It's...

This old bloke is an artisan.

It's a work of art.

Well, it is the same price as

a Picasso, so I gather it must be.

You have no taste whatsoever,

Jack Irish.

Oh, come on. I chose you, didn't I?

OK, one good choice.

How good do you look in that suit?

Oh, pretty sharp I reckon.

You do, and who chose that suit?

Can't remember. Lost in time.

We're buying the table.

Think of it as a family heirloom

we pass on to our unborn children.

I do love you, you know.

MAN:
(Yells) Let me speak

to Jack f***in' Irish!

MAN:
Hey, hey, wait a minute.

You cannot come in here...

There you are, Mr Judas lawyer!

I'm sorry, mate.

I tried to stop him.

She left me!

She took me kids from me while I

rotted in that that you sent me to!

Go and wait in the car, will you?

Give me ten minutes.

Parking fines. You let 'em put me

away for bloody parking fines!

113 unpaid parking fines, mate.

That was just the entree.

The cop you assaulted ended up

in hospital for two months.

What did you expect?

I told you I hit him.

But you wouldn't f***ing listen,

would you you bastard!

Just calm down, OK?

Just go and sit in there and wait.

I'll go find your file and we can

talk about this sensibly, alright?

OK, sir...

Don't touch me!

OK, I won't touch you.

I'm calling the police.

No, don't mate, don't.

That's the last thing he needs.

I'll deal with him. It's alright.

(Gunshot)

What was that?

From outside.

(Alarm blares, dogs bark)

Alright, you win.

We mortgage the flat and we buy

a black-bottomed Tasmanian...

See? You wouldn't bloody listen.

You listening now, Jack?

(Gunshot)

NICK CAVE:
Red Right Hand

Take a little walk

to the edge of town

Go across the tracks

Where the viaduct looms

like a bird of doom

As it shifts and cracks

Where secrets lie

in the border fires

in the humming wires

Hey, man, you know

you're never coming back

Past the square, past the bridge,

past the mills, past the stacks

On a gathering storm

comes a tall handsome man

In a dusty black coat

with a red right hand.

MAN, ON RADIO:

..numbers two, six and twelve.

That's two, six and twelve,

The Catharsis, Bridal Sweet

and the New Zealand two-year-old,

In Her Name.

On to race number eight,

there's only one scratching

and that's the favourite,

Corpus Loys, number five.

Beautiful day for racing

in Sydney today at Royal Randwick.

The track is still rated as heavy,

but with the great weather

we have at the moment,

there's a chance

that the track will dry up,

and an upgrade is on the cards

later in the...

(Turns off radio)

Ah, Marinara.

You're a hard man to find,

Mr Dollery.

Do come in,

or I'll shoot your balls off.

Come on.

Turn right.

So, how'd you find me?

Listen, point that somewhere else,

will you?

Those... those things

have a tendency to go off

for motives of their own.

Arggh!

Arggh! Arggh!

Hey! Hey, let go of me!

Please! Please!

You're not gonna knock me, are ya?

You're being a bit paranoid, mate.

Arggh!

Sticking too much marching powder

up your nose.

Oh, come on, mate!

Sh*t.

Give me a chance!

(Dials phone)

Yeah, Harry. I found your mate.

Yeah, I wouldn't mind being warned

about the armed and desperate.

Well there's going to be

an extra five per cent

to cover my shock

at having a World War II pistol

pointed at my genitalia.

Yeah, righto.

Listen, d*ckhead.

You're going to have to be

a bit more cooperative

with people

whose money you've nicked.

Now I've taken the ten grand

out of the dishwasher.

And I reckon there's, what...

..another seventy in

the air conditioning vent?

I s'pose.

Right.

Well, sign here for the rest of it.

And the biro.

Pleasure doing business with you.

Hey!

You're not going, are ya?

Mate!

Here you go.

Just in case you get lonely.

Mate, you can't leave me in here.

Oh, come back, will ya?

I can't get out of here!

(VOICEMAIL) You've called Jack Irish.

Leave a message.

Jack. It's Danny.

I'm in the car park, mate.

Are you coming?

Christ, help me.

Oh, thank God.

I can see your lights flashing.

OPERA MUSIC:

MACHINE:
You have four new messages.

MAN, ON MACHINE:
Jack, Harry Strang.

Sorry about your little mix-up

with Dollery.

Anyway, no harm done.

Listen, I got something

I need you to do.

(Machine beeps)

MAN:
Jack Irish,

it's Danny McKillop, mate.

You know, the hit-and-run

ten years ago?

Look, I'm out now, mate,

but I'm in a bit of strife,

so you reckon

you might give me a call?

It's 0491570110.

Tonight... as soon as you get this.

(Machine beeps)

Jack, it's Danny again, mate.

You... you didn't call.

Um... listen mate. I'm in deep sh*t.

I think I'm being followed.

Do you reckon you could come

and meet me, 7:
00 tonight?

I'm in the car park of

The Hero of Trafalgar in Brunswick.

(Machine beeps)

Jack, it's Danny.

I'm in the car park, mate.

Are you coming?

Christ, help me.

Oh, thank God.

I can see your lights flashing.

(Machine beeps)

Ah.

Don't tell me you're finally

coming back to criminal law.

Hardly.

Bit of conveyancing's

about it these days.

No, just looking for an old file.

Great. Come in.

It's good to see ya.

You too, mate.

His name's Danny McKillop.

McKillop? How old?

About as old as your suit.

F*** off! It's brand new.

You know, Helen has shot through.

Head over heels

with some painter in Eltham.

What, a house painter?

No, artiste painter.

Someone no one's ever heard of.

Bruce Seal.

Bruce Seal? Sh*t.

Drinkie?

So what do you know

about Helen's painter bloke?

Oh, he speaks five languages,

apparently.

He's won the Archibald three times

and his nickname's

the Throbbing Stallion.

Great.

Here we go. Daniel Patrick McKillop.

Convicted of culpable driving,

18th of June, 2001.

Knocked down and killed

Anne Elspeth Jeppeson

in Ardenne Street, Richmond.

Ah, the public housing woman.

The activist.

Your client was as high as a kite.

Cheers.

How do you remember this?

You weren't even on it

It wasn't a good time for you.

I made it to court, though,

didn't I?

Oh, photo finish.

You did go off the rails there

a bit just before you quit.

Anyway,

it was an open-and-shut case.

Your client eventually

pleaded guilty, got ten years.

He was a junkie.

Had a whole stack of priors.

So why's he calling me from

a hotel car park on a Saturday night?

And why is he now not

returning any of my calls?

Can I hang onto this?

Sure.

This has nothing to do with her.

Helen left for her own reasons.

She doesn't even know about Lorna.

Gotta love em when they're around,

don't you mate?

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