Mortdecai Page #6

and retrieving a certain something

in the process.

Stay away from Krampf's daughter.

She's a well-known nymphomaniac.

Is she? How do you know such things?

Johanna, we seem to be out of ice.

Should I send for some?

It's my husband on the line.

Oh, is he still alive?

Has he got the painting yet?

- Is that Martland?

- I'll just be a moment, Alastair.

That Judas! That Ajax! That Paris!

Or was it Agamemnon?

Oh, you know who I mean.

That ghastly chap

who stole Helen of Troy and started

all that nasty business in Greece.

- Done!

- Finally!

Charlie? Why are people achieving

climax in your immediate vicinity?

Well, I think I'm staying in some

sort of cement brothel, my love.

- Say that again.

- You look here, I will have you know

that I too am capable of being desirable

to a certain type of woman!

- Charlie!

- Yes, oh, yes!

Some women go blind batting their lashes

for mustachioed men such as I!

Charlie Mortdecai,

you are on very dangerous ground!

Tell me the name

of that nympho daughter of Krampf's!

Perhaps she would render

an opinion on the issue!

Never mind. I've found a cold Latour

which we might enjoy...

Johanna?

Oh, balls.

Jock and I set off to deliver the Rolls

to my client, Milton Krampf.

Ruthless billionaire, art collector,

and the rumored possessor

of the lost Goya.

I was hot on the scent,

and a teensy bit curious

about his nympho daughter.

Yes... Right.

We must secure the painting,

escape this nightmare posthaste

and you should interrupt me

as soon as you can.

Yes, sir.

Lucky saddle.

Yes! The fine life-giving

drinks tray manifests itself.

- A mint julep, sir.

- Anything will do, I thank you.

I'm Georgina Krampf.

Oh! How do you do?

You must be Mortdecai.

Yes, indeed I am he.

Are you not having

a little something to drink?

No, I never drink alcohol.

I don't like to blunt my senses.

How awful.

Oh, I feel wonderful.

Feel me.

Feel? Oh.

- Oh, yes.

- No, not there, stupid. Here.

- Charlie Mortdecai, you son of a b*tch...

- I was not squeezing the breasts...

The Rolls.

So, I was a mule!

Right. You know, Bronwen called me

when she discovered the Goya,

and I called Spinoza,

and then he arranged for everything,

including the smuggling

of the painting in your Rolls.

Yes, but someone found out

about the plan,

and now Bronwen is as stiff

as my Uncle Richard's hatband.

- Art restoring is a nasty business.

- You are a nasty business, sir.

Just look at her. Isn't she a beauty?

- Yes, she is.

- My God...

- She's exquisite.

- So good...

The expert brushstrokes,

the smooth lines...

Doesn't she look like my mother?

Can you see a resemblance?

I never met your mother.

No, not in her, in me.

She's got prominent lips like me...

and those far-searching eyes...

Don't you think so?

Oh, yes. Do you mind?

I was just looking for something...

else.

Okay.

Branspath? Okay. Thank you so much.

- In my study, please.

- Very good, sir.

Thank you. No hard feelings.

I hope you'll stay with me tonight.

I'm throwing a party.

I'm gonna unveil the Duchess,

and watch every art world snob

in town drool all over her.

We'll have your things sent over

from the hotel. Go upstairs and freshen up.

You smell like a horse!

And if you're quick about it,

you might have time to couple

with Georgina before dinner.

She's been through

half the staff already.

Sir, you're staring at your liquor.

So I am.

Jock, I fear we are

in the eleventh hour, man.

Our very future rests on getting

our hands on that blasted painting.

And therefore it's imperative

that we devise a plan.

And it will have to be

a fiendishly clever plan.

- Well, sir... I've been thinking...

- And I mean dizzyingly complex,

replete with feints and distractions

and calibrated movements

of the Swiss watch type.

What? Thoughts?

During the party, we steal it

while no one's looking.

Ingenious. Once again?

You go down,

get your face seen a bit...

then you meet me 'round the back later,

we climb up the side of the building,

break through the window,

grab the painting.

Oh, diabolical.

Let's review it

a few more times, shall we?

It's just the old

smash-and-grab routine, sir.

Of course it is. This is just

the old smash-and-grab business.

Smash-and-grab.

- Jock?

- Yes, sir?

- I am so very proud of you.

- Thank you, sir.

- And, Jock?

- Yes, sir?

- You know, I've always been fond of you.

- Thank you, sir.

- Jock?

- Yup?

- Will it be all right in the end?

- How the f*** should I know?

Unremarkable.

Keep the Englishman busy.

I create distraction.

No problem.

Hi.

- That's my bottom.

- Dance with me.

Starburst!

Oh! So much! So much to look at!

Have me.

Oh, my dear, I'm so tired.

And so married and so tired.

And so married... Oh!

And I'm married and tired, you know.

I...

Darling! Whatever brings you here?

This is not a breast in my hand!

I was unhappy with our last conversation,

so I got on the next plane. Surprised?

Oh, pleasantly.

Aren't you going to introduce us?

Johanna, my dear,

this is Milton Krampf's nymph...

Daughter Georgina.

And she was, well, we were having

a discussion about three...

Sometimes, you know, how it's like a...

My, my, look at the time!

Carry on!

A beast... A beast...

Yes, yes, yes. Good hungry doggie...

Weenie, weenie, weenie, weenie...

Weenie, weenie, weenie, weenie,

weenie, weenie, weenie...

I met a beast...

Krampf's window

is the second one on the left.

- No, no. I met a beast!

- Get on that ladder!

And what, pray tell, might you be doing

whilst I'm engaged in thus heroics?

Beast! Beast! Beast...

How I long for the rain

and indifference of Europe.

- Well done, Jock!

- It's a privilege, sir!

Well then, Mr. Krampf.

I suppose since you're here

and I'm here,

it's time for you and I to talk turkey.

Oh, I see.

Oh, I see.

Bad news for you, Strago.

There are no bank codes on that painting.

I think we both know that there are.

Invisible ink, no?

Stop right there!

Sit down. Sit!

I... I warn you, Georgina. You have

no idea what you're getting involved with.

Despite his man purse,

Strago is very dangerous.

- Darling, they are in cahoots.

- How do you know?

Oh, that's gross!

We are in love.

Drop the gun!

Emil!

- Alastair!

- Do it now!

Good show, Martland!

Bit redundant, really, as he's dead.

- Alastair, what are you doing here?

- I followed you.

Wouldn't do to have you walking into all

this mess on your own, now, would it?

Jock, give me the painting.

- Sit down!

- Drop the knife! I will shoot you.

Yes, most likely by accident.

None of you will ever know what it's like

to make love to a man with principles.

Well, in my case,

I can safely say you are correct.

However, I never went to Eton

where buggery is rampant.

Oh, you were at Eton,

weren't you, Martland?

Yes, yes, I was. Yes, I was!

Please don't be sick!

Please don't be sick!

It's the shellfish!

- You have it? Do you have it?

- Go! Go!

I go, I go, I go!

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