Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels Page #8

EDDY:

All right, but for Christ's sake we're in the soup and this is the

silver spoon. If you can think of another way to get out, let me know.

It's not like we've got all the time in the world either . . . Dig?

Silence falls over them.]

BACON:

I am game.

TOM:

Me too.

S0AP

Oh, god!

EDDY:

Well, we hit them as soon as they come back. We'll be waiting and

prepared for them.

Pause as Ed's voice drops a little. And they are armed.

SOAP:

What was that, armed? What do you mean, armed? Armed with what?

EDDY:

Er, bad breath, colourful language and a feather duster! . . . What do

you think they will be armed with? Guns, you tit!

SOAP:

Guns! You never said anything about guns. A minute ago this was the

safest job in the world, now it's turning in to a bad day in Bosnia . .

.

EDDY:

Jesus, Soap, stop being such a mincer. I thought about that and...

SOAP:

And what exactly?

EDDY:

And we will just have to find out who's going to be carrying them.

SOAP:

Carrying them. They could all be carrying them for what we know.

EDDY:

No, just one of them is in charge of them going to the job. So I assume

he will still

be carrying when he comes back from the job.

SOAP:

Oh, you assume, do ya? What do they say about assumption being the

brother of all f***-ups?

TOM:

It's the mother of f***-ups, stupid!

SOAP:

Well, excuse me, brother, mother or any other sucker, doesn't make any

difference, they are still f***ing guns, and they still fire f***ing

bullets!

72 ~ 73

EDDY:

Soap, if you got a better idea to get five hundred grand in the next

few days you let us know . . . In the meantime, Tom, speak to Nick the

Bubble about moving the weed.

INT. JD'S BAR - NIGHT

Tom and Nick are stuck away in a corner playing on a fruit machine.

NICK:

Weed?

TOM:

Not normal weed. This is some f***ed-up skunk class A. I can't think

let alone move sh*t.

NICK:

Doesn't sound very good to me.

TOM:

Neither me, but it depends on what flicks your switch, and the light's

on and burning bright for the masses.

NICK:

You'll need samples, Tom.

TOM:

No can do.

NICK:

Where's that? A place near Katmandu? Meet me half way, mate.

TOM:

Listen, it's all completely chicken soup.

NICK:

It's what?

.

TOM:

Kosher as Christmas

NICK:

(rolls his eyes)

Jews don't celebrate Christmas, Tom.

TOM:

Never mind that now. I also need some artillery, you know, a couple of

sawn-off shotguns.

NICK:

Bloody hell, Tom! This is a bit heavy. This is London, not the Lebanon'

Who do you think I am?

TOM:

I think you're Nick the Greek.

INT. RORY BREAKER'S OFFICE - DAY

There's a cacophony of seventies funk and football filling the room. We

meet Rory Breaker. Rory is a very well-dressed cool-looking black dude.

He is in his own way sophisticated, considering what he does for a

living. His help, however, are less well-informed. Rory has Nick the

Greek in front of him.

RORY:

Nick, I don't have anything to do with weed, normally, but if it is

what he says it is, I'll give him three and a half thousand a key,

that's if it is what he says it is. I don't want to see it after a

sample, I don't want to touch it after a sample. I'll leave you in the

capable hands of Nathan here. He will work out the details, but let me

get this straight. If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kind

of p*ssy who will drink it. Know what I mean?

74 ~ 75

INT. GARAGE UNDER THE ARCHES - DAY

The Scousers are handing over all the shotguns from their previous job

to Barry and assistant. Dean has got a complicated hair arrangement to

disguise his accident with the butler. Barry raises his eyebrows at

this new look.

BARRY:

Is your hair supposed to look like that, then?

Gary ignores this question.

DEAN:

Next time we do a job like this we gonna want more money, or we are

going back to post offices and cars.

BARRY:

Where're the others?

Barry is looking with same concern for the hammer-lock Purdeys.

DEAN:

There are no others.

BARRY:

Now, stop f***ing around. The others, the old ones?

DEAN:

I don't know what you mean.

BARRY:

(dead serious)

There were two old guns there; where are they?

DEAN:

Not in the cabinet there wasn't. There was a couple of old hammer-lock

muskets the butler was carrying; they were ours, and we sold 'em!

77

BARRY:

Well you just better un-sell 'em, sharpish.

DEAN:

They were . . .

BARRY:

(interrupts)

I am not f***ing interested.

Shouting. If you don't want to end up counting the fingers that you

haven't got, or sharing a bed with the anti-Christ, I suggest you get

those guns, quick.

INT. BACK OF VAN - DAY

We are facing Nick's large behind, builder's cleavage poking out of the

top of his trousers. Nick is unwrapping two long implements from a

sheet:
the hammer-lock Purdeys.

TOM:

Jesus, if I pick them up, will they stay in one piece? Where did you

get them from?

NICK:

I got contacts. Listen Tom, if you pointed them at me I'd sh*t myself

or do whatever you said to do. Either way you still get the desired

effect.

TOM:

They look nice, I agree . . . but lacking in criminal credibility,

aren't they? I might get laughed at. How much do you want for these

muskets?

NICK:

Seven hundred each.

78

TOM:

What's that, a pound for every year they have been around? I know

they're antiques, but I ain't paying antique prices. Pause.

And they're a bit long, aren't they?

NICK:

Sawn-offs are out, Tom; people like to have a bit mare range nowadays.

TOM:

Range? I don't want to blow the arse out of this country, granted, but

I don't want anybody blowing a raspberry at me either. I want to look

f***ing mean.

NICK:

Of course you will look mean, Tom, you will look really scary.

TOM:

All right, let's forget about them for the time being. What about your

weed man?

NICK:

Rory Breaker is standing by. You stand to make a lot of money, Tommy

boy.

INT. JD'S BAR - NIGHT

We are looking directly at JD's shell-shocked face. He gently lays down

an empty glass on the bar.

HATCHET:

I understand if this has come as a bit of a shock, but I'll tell you

how this can be resolved by the good father.

* Big Chris in completed film.

Pause. The camera spins round to reveal Hatchet and Barry the Baptist.

JD:

Go on.

HATCHET:

I like your bar.

JD:

Yes?

HATCHET:

I want your bar.

JD:

And?

HATCHET:

Do you want me to draw a picture?

JD:

Harry, that boy doesn't know his arsehole from his ear-hole, or you

from a hoodwink. This bar is mine, and he has nothing to do with it.

HATCHET:

What, and I care? Remember, you do have the luxurious advantage of

being able to sustain your son's life.

JD:

And you do have a reputation, so I'll choose my words carefully. But

not to put too fine a point on it, f*** yourself, Harry!

Barry pulls a kind of mock-scared face and clutches his heart.

80

HATCHET:

Oh, careful JD, you'll give Barry a heart-attack.

We crash-zoom again into Harry's eyes to see the pupils contract. It's

time to look mean.

I'll put that down to shock, but only once, only once can or will I let

you get away with that. Your son's still got three days to find half a

million, but make up your mind which one you prefer: your son, or your

bar.

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