Mean Machine Page #3

Yeah, I know, but I'm better than him

because I had trials, didn't I.

We all had trials. That's why we're here.

F*** off! F*** off!

Football trials, yeah?

I could be the physio.

No, no, I could be the pharmacist. Get

the lads pepped up and all that bollocks.

I don't think so, mate.

Good job he likes you.

He blew up five people, he didn't.

They're slags. They won't even

let me in their poxy squad.

I don't give a f*** about their poxy squad,

do you understand me?

If you want out of this f***ing prison,

you gotta come up with something

to spoil their little party. Otherwise...

...you're f***ed.

OK, relax.

Be in the atrium

- Mr Burton.

- Thank you.

It's only a paper.

One down, two words, you're nicked.

Do you know the penalty for possession of

illegal substances in a prison? Search him.

- What are you looking at, freak?

- You were grassed up.

That dodgy Meehan

is getting well pally with Mr Burton.

I've seen them talking.

- What are you doing?

- No one likes a grass.

- What do you mean?

- The big man's right.

We'll see what we can do

about them beady eyes.

- Chiv, you know it wasn't me!

- You know it's not me!

Which one am I going to burst?

You choose-the left or the right?

- For f***'s sake!

- Go on, pop it!

- Hold him!

- Hurry up, Jock bastard.

- Who are you calling a Jock bastard?

- You!

- I cut myself shaving.

- Nosebleed. It's the altitude.

You want to get that seen to.

All right, that's a yellow card, gentlemen.

Behave yourselves.

You wanna be more careful with this.

You could have had my eye out.

Hey, big-un, here.

It's Chiv.

Get him, Tone.

Thanks, by the way.

You saved me a lot of grief back there.

- Sorry about the...

- That's all right.

- Anyway, you need a few more players.

- What about your lot?

I don't think so.

Not against Sykes' word.

Not that some of them

wouldn't be up for it.

What makes you bulletproof?

He's not. But he's pally

with the bloke that Sykes is cagey about.

- Who?

- The Monk. That dude is beyond mental.

And so are his pals on the outside.

Sykes, he wants a smooth flow.

All he really cares about is profit.

- What money?

- You're a betting man. We'll make a deal.

Let your lads play. Win or lose,

you call the result. Bet accordingly.

Back to your fixing

the match routine, right?

Now, listen. It's like this -

I'd never take a bet against England, and I

wouldn't bet the screws against the cons.

Capisce?

Then we can play to win.

- Would you think about it?

- Yes, I'll think about it.

But right now I'm thinking

you're polluting my air.

Now go away.

- How did it go?

- It didn't.

Here, Dan. Dan, um...

- I've been thinking.

- Leave the thinking to me.

Yeah, yeah, of course, Dan, yeah.

Well, what it is, Dan...

What, what...

I was wondering if...

Wondering what, Billy?

Can I be in the team?

The squad, Billy. You can be in the squad.

- I won't let you down, Dan.

- All right.

Yes! The squad, yes!

Come on, well in, Bill. Well done!

Yeah, squad, squad! Well in!

You told me they were reasonable.

They are, but they're businessmen.

You got me into this,

and you can get me out.

Hey! I opened the door,

you walked through it.

You've been making money ever since.

So, why haven't you got it?

It is just a temporary cash flow problem.

The team is bleeding me dry.

Well, get it sorted.

Because this lot have a bad habit

of turning cash flow problems

into blood flow problems.

I used to do double this just for a warm-up.

Anno Domini, mate.

I used to be able to piss in one go and then

forget about it for the rest of the morning.

Bloody hell.

You never did say how come it ain't

done your nut in, being in so long.

Only does your nut in

if you don't think you should be here.

Look at me. Sweet old geezer?

A bit bumbly,

full of jail-block wisdom,

cornerstone of the nick,

put in with the foundations, right?

Right.

I didn't get to be the oldest lag

for breaking windows.

Villains spend their lives

shitting themselves

that other criminals

are going to see to them.

So they get their retaliation in first

and twice as nasty.

A bloke was coming after me,

so I...

I went around to his digs

and lobbed a grenade in the window.

Left over after the war,

you know, army surplus.

I didn't know, but he had his little nipper

and his bird in there with him.

The house went up

like Guy Fawkes' Night.

No one came out.

He'd barricaded the door with furniture

in case I came around.

By the time they got in,

the screaming had stopped.

learning to walk, apparently.

Nothing I can do

is ever going to make up for that, is it?

- You're on.

- What's that, a joke?

I'm not famous for my sense of humour.

I know Nitro is the grass, not you.

- One thing:
you fight one of my boys.

- Fight?

A little earner I stage now and then.

I can't be seen to be giving you a free ride.

- Fight who?

- Fight him.

- Soft as puppy sh*t, Nick is.

- I'm an ex-footballer, not a boxer.

So? Kick him.

An eye for an eye, you bastard.

- F***ing eye for a f***ing...

- Boo!

- Don't you do that again.

- Calm down, silly bollocks.

You seem to be making

more enemies by the minute.

Yeah? Well, I want out of this sh*t house!

Please! Please!

You're half way home, son.

I'm taking you down to segregation now.

- That's why I'm here.

- Yeah?

- Yeah.

- Just give me a transfer, sir, please.

Please, please. Silverino Sands, yeah?

I will do anything, Mr Ratchett.

I will do anything, Mr Ratchett.

You owe me for this. Out, now!

We have a small change of plan.

Nick has come over all poorly.

So I had to bring in a substitute.

Walk away, Danny. Walk away.

Mass, this is the only way

we're gonna get these boys to play.

In the dirty brown corner,

with a record of 35 and 0

all coming by the way of the big KO.

The heavy duty

champion of the penal world

Ketch, the Black Country Bastard.

Come on. Come on.

And in the other,

equally dirty brown corner,

we have the challenger,

formerly known as the "Mean Machine" -

Danny "I've had more backhanders

than Boris bleeding Becker" Meehan!

Yeah!

Gentlemen, it's alternate punches,

followed by one mug

of five-star prison cognac. Cheers.

No using your left hand, no butting,

biting, spitting, poking or kissing, you.

It's show time!

First head to hit the table loses.

First punch to the challenger.

Is he trying to kiss me or what?

Yeah!

Come on, Danny, wake up!

He f***ing...

Focus, Danny.

By the way, I'm in here for GBH.

And again, come on!

Keep your head up.

I'm in here for drunken assault.

Yeah!

First, I'd like to welcome Mr Sykes' boys.

Watch this.

Go on.

Hey!

OK, if you wanna do that, join a circus.

It's no good to us.

We need 1 1 men

to play as a team. Right?

- Right!

- Yes!

That's lovely, Dan. Well in. Right!

OK, positions. I play centre midfield.

Let's have all midfield players behind me,

defenders to me left, strikers to me right.

Come on, lads, come on.

Terrific. Let's move on.

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