Mortdecai Page #5

a polychrome James Bourne, rare,

a pair of rather flashy Varleys

from his last period,

and the finest Edridge

I have ever seen.

Yes. Where is the Goya?

Well, where is the last place you saw it?

Have you looked under your couch?

Yeah, because when I've lost something,

sometimes I say to myself,

"Charlie, where could it be?"

God! That wasn't nice!

Oh, no! No.

For 17 years, I pursued this painting.

You know why?

Because I want, I will have.

This will be easier and much

less painful if you please to tell me.

Where is the painting?

But why does everyone seem to think...

Oh! You pretended to be gentle,

but you weren't!

Milton Krampf tells everyone

he is getting painting.

You're his dealer,

so you have painting!

I am very sorry. I simply don't know.

Dmitri, please to fetch

12-volt high-tension car battery.

I am afraid you are barking up

the wrong Englishman, comrade.

Vladimir, please to take

Mr. Mortdecai's trousers down.

Perhaps we can work something out.

What if I find it for you?

Say, 30% finder's fee, what?

Open your balls.

I shan't! What does that even mean?

I'll go to 20.

Balls.

10% seems exploitive!

That's not cricket!

Oh, Jock...

Jump! Oh, dear, sweet, resourceful Jock.

It's my manservant.

It appears he's requesting

my immediate self-defenestration.

Balls!

Forgive me, Vladimir.

No balls.

Thank you so much, Vladimir.

Oh, I see...

- Hello! I'm outside.

- Come on, sir.

- I wish to use your telephone!

- Head toward the bike.

Oh, I love motorcycles.

They're very fast.

- Sir? Sir?

- What, Jock?

Your trousers. It's a little unseemly.

The trousers... Jock, you know,

it's entirely possible...

- ...that I've bumped my head...

- You think?

Have you heard the expression,

"Open your balls"?

- No, sir.

- It made me feel dirty.

Hang on, sir!

Bloody good show, Jock!

You really are a cut above!

Where would you like to go, sir?

The only safe ground is English soil.

To the Embassy, chop-chop.

Jock?

Keep your head down, sir!

- Hang on, sir!

- Okay!

- Jock?

- Yes, sir?

- Will it be all right in the end?

- I couldn't say, sir!

No, not the stairs!

A bit of noise, sir!

There we go!

- Oh, it was dashed exhilarating.

- Where to, sir?

Well, it was long ago,

and she was underage,

but I do believe

the embassy is that way.

- Right you are, sir.

- Right.

- Jockie?

- Yes, sir?

- "Open your balls"?

- I have no idea.

Is it that you actually know

and don't want to tell me?

Yes, sir.

They've got him.

Ambassador's residence in Moscow.

They're putting him

on the next flight to Heathrow.

- Thank you.

- And his wife is on line six for you.

Thank you!

Thank you, Maurice.

Maurice?

Shut the door.

Yes, sir.

Hello, Johanna. We've found him.

He's on his way home.

Thank heavens. This place is an absolute

mausoleum on one's own.

- Do you feel unsafe?

- A bit.

I could park outside for the night.

Oh, I couldn't ask.

But how about tomorrow?

Do come in, of course. Say, 8:00?

You, me, and Charlie?

Well, of course, Alastair. Wouldn't do,

the two of us here alone, would it?

No, I suppose not. Still...

if he can't make it, he can't make it.

May I bring anything?

Perhaps there is something

you could bring.

A bottle of Chardonnay?

A complete regimental listing

of the British 7th Army,

2nd Division, June of 1945.

- Very well, Johanna.

- 'Til tomorrow. Ta!

Well, maybe he won't

be able to make it.

- Uppy, uppy, Jock!

- You are uppy, sir.

Am I? Where are we?

You should see the other fellow.

The fact that you're as drunk

as a fiddler's b*tch

in no way obviates the fact that you very

nearly caused an international incident.

A man your age has no excuse

for looking or behaving like a fugitive

from a home for alcoholic

music hall artistes.

I will have you know

that I am not an alcoholic.

I am a drunk,

and there is a vast difference.

In my defense,

I was not drinking until the plane.

- And in the car, sir.

- And a bit in the car.

- And the Ambassador's residence.

- And at the Ambassador's residence.

The only advice I offer is you do not apply

to another of our embassies for help

if and when you outrage the laws

of the United States, once you are there.

Stop! Stop!

Are you suggesting

that I go to the Colonies?

Perish the vile thought.

I couldn't possibly.

The sale of your Rolls-Royce to Krampf

will offer you a perfect cover.

Find out if he's got that painting.

Get behind the gates of his estate

and poke around a bit.

The car has been loaded

upon a cargo flight to Los Angeles,

and is halfway across the Atlantic.

You will follow.

California? Oh, icky!

Your bags have been packed and checked,

and your flight leaves... Now.

On your feet, soldier.

Hang on to me.

I should like to ring my wife because

she's probably quite worried about me.

Oh, don't worry about her.

I've been keeping her filled in.

I say, old bean!

Go to America and see Krampf.

Do what it takes to bring the painting back,

and leave Johanna to me.

Jock? Come here.

I'm frightened.

Do you think that Johanna is thawing

on the subject of the moustache?

Hi.

Hello.

Sorry, there was a queue.

Good God, man!

Jockie! Focus, man!

There are but five days to insolvency.

- Two, sir.

- No, today's, what, Monday?

- Thursday, sir.

- Well done. Carry on.

Jock. Dear, sweet, sperm-heavy Jock.

Behold this America, this new colossus,

this fair land of the free!

What kind of hell-place is this?

I feel as though

we've made a wrong turn

and arrived on the set

of a pornographic film.

Have we taken a wrong turn and arrived

on the set of a pornographic film?

Checking in?

I am Mortdecai, Lord of Silverdale.

I should like to request a bucket of ice,

"Do Not Disturb" sign, and a bulldozer.

- Checking in?

- Yeah, we're checking in.

I suspect I may need to redecorate.

Room 326, overlooks the pool.

So all I must do is show up,

and I'm presented with a credit card.

No wonder your country's

in financial ruin.

Do you need help with your bags?

No, I do not need help with my bags.

I have a f***ing manservant.

Strange country.

Hello.

Hold it.

Thanks.

Hey.

Hello...

It's like listening

to bloody orangutans!

Oh, really, why? Why?

Hello, American?

The rooms here are made of cement.

Very good in case of an air raid.

But for those of us trying

to get a bit of rest

after an arduous crossing,

a bit of an acoustic nightmare.

So would you please stop

grunting like wildebeests

and allow me to get some sleep, man?

Please! Please!

Sorry, sir. We'll try and keep it down.

Good God, Jock!

Put that thing away, man!

Hello?

Apple of my eye. The love of my life.

Everything here makes me think of you.

Who is this?

It is I, your beloved.

Your husband, Charlie.

Where are you?

Oh, a terribly vulgar place

called Los Angeles.

Apparently located

in the far West colonies.

Well, what are you doing there?

Well, I'm delivering the Rolls

to that grotesque Milton Krampf

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