Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels Page #6

EDDY:

I'll see ya.

HATCHET:

For half a million?

EDDY:

Unless you are going to accept twenty quid.

HATCHET:

And still got a sense of humour. That's not monkey nuts son; you can

still fold.

(Pause)

OK, before I loan you this, I expect, if you lose of course, my money

back within a week, Crystal? That's Sunday, OK?

These last few words echo in the distance of Ed's mind (and ours). He

is committed, but has now left the world of the conscious. Hatchet

turns over the first card; it's a seven. EDDY

ushers him on; another seven, it looks as though he will have three;

then the third:
it's a four. There is an anti-climatic silence. After a

loud pause . . .

CROUPIER:

Is that it?

* Cut from completed film.

56

FRAZER:

He was bluffing!

Hatchet looks content and rather nonchalant.

HATCHET:

Let's see your f***ing cards.

Nobody is impressed by Hatchet's cards; all eyes fall on EDDY

expectantly We crash in to Ed's pupils with a loud swoosh. They

contract to the size of pinheads. His world has changed for ever.

FREEZE SHOT OF EDDY

EDDY:

(voice-over)

I knew he was bluffing, but somehow the worst card player round the

table had f***ed me like a frozen virgin with a pair of sevens. A

series of blows to my head with a baseball bat would have been greeted

with a grin compared to this. Ten minutes earlier, I was two hundred

thousand pounds richer; now I owed half a million.

RELEASE FREEZE SHOT OF EDDY

Harry approaches Ed and whispers in his ear.

HATCHET:

I know your friends are responsible for most of that cash, so I'll give

you all a week to find it. After that, I'll take a finger off each of

you and your friend's hands for each day that passes without payment;

and when you have all run out of digits, then who knows what?

Ed gets up. We stumble with him in slow motion. He is hardly able to

stand. He wobbles over to the door. Harry continues to talk over the

top.

Business is business, and I am good at making mine work. I like your

dad's bar, JD's, so don't get clever or lethargic. If you can't pay in

a week, a few fingers and a bar for starters.

Ed stumbles out of the door, doubles up and vomits all over the f door.

INT. SAMOAN JO'S - NIGHT

Ed has made his way into the bar. All his friends have fallen asleep.

One of Bacon's eyes opens to see Ed cleaning himself up.

BACON:

This doesn't look good.

The others wake on this statement. We cut between the lads and their

frozen reaction.

FREEZE SHOT OF LADS IN SHOCK

EDDY:

(voice-over)

I then explained the unfortunate position we were in. Harry was going

to start sizing up all our fingers in a week, 'cause he knew there was

no way I could raise that kind of money on my own. Harry saw it as

their money on the table so it was also their debt off the table. I

hate to admit it but I could have kissed the old bastard for that. If I

said I wanted to settle this debt on my own it would have been a lie.

RELEASE FREEZE SHOT OF LADS

EDDY:

Listen, I wish he would let me settle it on my own.

Tom drops his drink and rushes Eddy.

58

TOM:

I'll kill him!

BACON:

(intercepts Tom)

Stop f***ing around, Tom, and think. What are we going to do?

SOAP:

What's all the fuss about Harry? Why don't we just boycott the payment?

They all look at Soap like he is mad.

INT. HATCHET HARRY'S' OFFICE - NIGHT

BACON:

(voice-over)

Let me tell you about Hatchet Harry. Once there was this geezer called

Smithy Robinson who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on

the take. Harry invited Smithy round for an explanation. Smithy didn't

do a very good job. Within a minute Harry lost his temper and reached

for the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a fifteen-inch

black rubber cock. He then proceeded to batter poor Smithy to death

with this; that was seen as a pleasant way to go . . . Hence, Hatchet

Harry is a man you pay if you owe.

EDDY:

I'll think of something, don't worry.

EXT. STREET - DAY

Ed, who looks like he is close to suicide, has developed a two-day

stubble and his eyes have disappeared into black sockets. He stumbles

along the street with a bottle of scotch poking out of a pocket. He

stops outside JD's, looks at the entrance and decides not to go in.

60

INT. SLOANES' SITTING ROOM - DAY The ridiculous door-bell horn blows.

J:

Who the hell's that. It's only twelve.

WINSTON:

Use that cage, that's what it's there for.

WILLIAM:

(off)

Who is it?

PLANK:

(off)

Plank, open up.

This is done without the use of the steel-caged security door.

This weed is getting quite a reputation, you know, fellas. Gloria

remains motionless in her chair. Plank waves his hand about in a sort

of `how you doing' way to everyone and goes to take a seat. At the last

minute, poised like he is sitting on a potty he realizes he is about to

sit on this girl.

Jesus! Never saw you there. Hello, love. Enjoying yourself?

Gloria doesn't respond. Plank waves his hand over her face. Still no

response. Plank looks around for some acknowledgement.

Is she, er, compus?

WINSTON:

(doesn't look up)

What do you think?

Plank takes a close look at the girl.

61

GIRL:

BOO!

Plank jumps back, completely taken by surprise, knocking over a

pedestal of shoe boxes stacked up against a wall, full of fifty-pound

notes.

PLANK:

F*** me!

Charles, pissed off, looks at William like it's his fault.

CHARLES:

Fod God's sake.

WILLIAM:

Clean that up, Charles.

CHARLES:

Sod you, you clean it up.

PLANK:

Sorry fellas, but that stupid cow!

WILLIAM:

Never mind, could you please just sit down and stay out of the way.

WINSTON:

Anyway, how much do you want?

PLANK:

(trying to look like the money hasn't had an impact on him)

I am after a half weight.

WINSTON:

That's one and a half thousand. Pass those scales, Willie, and sort out

the gear, Charlie. Any chance of seeing your money?

INT. JD' S BAR - DAY

Cut to Bacon, Soap and Tom sitting and talking in the back of JD's bar.

They don't look a lot better than Ed.

BACON:

The odds are one hundred to one so all we need is five grand.

SOAP:

I would rather put my money on a three-legged rocking horse. The odds

are a hundred to one for a good reason, BACON

. . . it won't win. So where is Ed with all the bright ideas?

BACON:

At the bottom of a bottle and has been for two days; it's hit him hard.

SOAP:

It's hit us all hard!

BACON:

Yeah, but he has got to tell his Dad he is about to lose his bar.

Tom, who has not really been listening, suddenly interrupts.

TOM:

Listen to this one then; you open a company called the Arse Tickler's

F*ggot Fan Club. You take an advert in the back page of some gay mag,

advertising the latest in arse-intruding d*ldos, sell it a bit with, er

. . . I dunno, `does what no other dildo can do until now', latest and

greatest in sexual technology. Guaranteed results or money back, all

that bollocks. These dills cost twenty-five each; a snip for all the

pleasure they are going to give the recipients. They send a cheque to

the company name, nothing offensive, er, Bobbie's Bits or something,

for twenty-five. You put these in the bank for two weeks and let them

clear. Now this is the clever bit. Then you send back the cheques for

twenty-five pounds from the real company name, Arse Tickler's F*ggot

Fan Club, saying sorry, we couldn't get the supply from America, they

have sold out. Now you see how many of the people cash those cheques;

not a single soul, because who wants his bank manager to know he

tickles arses when he is not paying in cheques!

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