Mortdecai Page #3

Sir Graham has been the rudest man

in England for years.

Recently, he's been working

his way up to the wickedest.

Looks like something curled up

and died on your lip.

It's not herpetic, I hope.

Hello, Sir Graham, you old member.

Who are you hiding in your belly?

I see you've put your Sheridan up

in next week's sale. Hard times, old boy?

No, no, no, no. Just getting rid of some

choice items while the market's right.

What do you make of

this Bronwen business?

Ghastly affair. One always bemoans

the loss of a great restorer.

Old bag. She should have

put locks on her doors.

You used her frequently, didn't you?

Not lately. She's been unavailable

for three months.

The Goya she was cleaning...

rather simple job, wouldn't you say?

Usual dirt and grime

one finds on the Spaniards.

Haven't the foggiest

why it took her so long.

What's your sudden interest,

if I may ask?

A client with a mild curiosity,

that's all.

We must go shooting again.

Jock has fully recovered.

There's only one reason you might be

interested in a museum-owned Goya,

and that's because

there's money involved.

You are mistaken, sir.

There's a great deal of money involved.

I've always admired your rapacity, sir.

I say, Sir Graham, I wonder,

your... protrusion...

Might it be possible to swing

the old fellow north, as it were?

Who's the client?

Terribly sorry, sworn to secrecy.

Perhaps a brisk walk down the stairs

will do some good.

Yes.

So it's that sort of Goya.

Romanov.

That painted lady

you've been searching for,

I believe she may be in play.

I want that painting.

- Johanna!

- Alastair.

So glad you called.

I've asked for a Chardonnay.

That is your drink, isn't it?

Oh, you remembered.

Thank you.

Oh, God. How thoughtless of me.

You're on duty.

And in charge, thank you very much.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

I was just in the neighborhood

and thought I'd pop 'round,

and see how you secret agent men

run the world.

Not nearly.

Although it is terribly vital work.

It's not all chardonnay

and afternoon trysts.

Is this a tryst?

No, no. No, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no.

No, no, no, no. No, no, no.

- No, I was just...

- Of course you were.

How are things at home?

You've touched a nerve.

You've sensed it, Alastair.

You always were the sensitive one.

- You've got a difficult chap.

- Beastly.

- Bit of a moron, actually.

- Maybe I should have an affair.

- Wouldn't that be funny?

- Hilarious.

- Do you think I could keep it a secret?

- Yes!

Well then, what's the point?

Now, tell me, what are you and my husband

working on at the moment?

Oh...

Well, in vague terms

there's a very bad man

who wants what I want,

and I'm trying to stop him.

And what does a missing Goya

have to do with national security?

In vague terms.

Johanna...

You think poor Miss Fellworthy

stumbled into something,

- and that's why she got killed.

- I really can't say.

This is interesting.

Creates quite a market when a painting

with a little mystery goes missing.

So much to do. What was the name

of Bronwen's college at Oxford?

Johanna, I simply can't.

Right. Sorry.

Oh, golly. Look at the time.

I really must be going.

It was lovely to see you, Alastair.

Thank you ever-so-much

for letting me confide in you.

I feel that I could share

anything with you.

Don't you feel the same?

That you could share with me?

Bronwen's college?

You're rather monstrous.

Of course you're aware of that.

- Blackfriar's Hall.

- We must do this again.

Hopeless.

Besides being the finest garage man

in Western Civilization,

Spinoza was the best

art smuggler in the business,

and the eyes and ears

of the art world's underbelly.

Hello, Spinoza, you handsome devil!

It's a fine day to be alive, what?

You bloody chicken, bloody monkey,

so good-for-nothing pot of piss, innit?

Spinoza, you silver-tongued scallywag.

What's the matter with you?

You one book short of a library, you maggot?

You one megabyte short of a RAM?

The rest was a bit rude,

so I won't quote him verbatim.

But what vexed him so was a matter

of some overdue bills on the Rolls,

which I had now asked him to package

and ship off to America on credit.

You mother-loving bastard! Hello.

Right. Spinoza, I did not come here

to discuss my relationship with my mother,

nor my relationship to your mother.

No. We have two items of business.

Item one:
The Rolls-Royce,

which I have reluctantly agreed to sell

to that thick-fingered American, Krampf.

Item the second:

I need to ascertain whether any

unsavory types have enlisted you

to smuggle a painting

out of the country recently.

And for your information,

I am holding up

a 50-pound note.

Never mind about that.

You should treat

a jam jar car like this

with more respect when you drive it

down the frog and toad road.

- It's not some Toyota Clitoris.

- No, no.

No! Is a Rolls... The bloody Silver,

the whacking Cloud, the bollock Royce!

Someone shooting at the bloody car!

Someone shooting at me!

I'm armed!

- Oh, Jock!

- Yeah.

I should probably mention that this

was not the first time I had shot Jock.

Come on, you little bastards.

Come out and get it.

Afraid I'm all thumbs

with these damn things!

- I believe I've just shot Jock.

- Quite.

Man down! Man down!

- Could you give me the gun, please?

- This bit?

Yes, most... No, no.

Oh, and poor Spinoza...

You should go, sir,

before the shooter circles 'round.

- I'll handle things on this end.

- Quite.

- Cover me, as it were?

- Yes, sir.

- That's the old feudal spirit, Jock.

- Get in.

Oh, dear!

- Oh, Jock. Jock?

- Yeah?

The door? Please?

Right. Gosh, it's been ages.

Goodness, that's awkward.

It's all right, sir. It's all right.

It's just a cracked rib.

Please, sir, if you wouldn't mind

leaving out the back. On foot.

- By myself?

- Please, sir. Just leave.

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear,

oh, dear, oh, dear...

- Give me the painting.

- What makes you think I have it?

Give me the painting!

That is a superb Hulihee sans sideburn,

I must say.

- I was admiring your Franz Joseph.

- Oh, thank you very much.

- I'll have it on my wall.

- Jock?

Oh, well done.

- What should I do now?

- Run, sir!

- Again?

- Yes!

Run, I shall, like a bloody gazelle!

The Mortdecai men have always been

in tip-top shape, don't you know?

Fit as a fiddle!

Oh, it's burning...

I... I can't go on...

Want to die...

No, I don't.

Sir!

I'm on the bonnet!

Get in the car, sir!

I don't like it!

Hello!

Jockie! Advise?

- Get in the back seat, sir!

- Okay!

Foreigner!

- No!

- Out you go!

Oh, Jock!

Don't worry, sir.

I'm all right. I am all right.

No, no, man! My little sproutling.

- What?

- Has it been compromised?

- Well done, Jock.

- It's a privilege, sir.

Didn't take long for you

to make a mess of things.

Oh, you listen here, you do-gooder!

Your Emil Strago just killed my garage man

and physically assaulted my person.

- He seems to think that I have the painting.

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