Mortdecai Page #7

Valet!

- Oh, I don't like that. I don't like it.

- Close your eyes, sir.

- Give me the keys. Keys to the Rolls.

- Come on, let's go.

Well, at least none of us

had the shellfish.

Jock, please!

My sympathetic gag reflex.

Have you lost your bearings, man?

Shellfish at a catered affair?

I will have you two know that I had a firm

grasp on things before you showed up.

You certainly had

a firm grasp on something!

You dare to cast aspersions?

I am not the one entertaining

at all hours with a failed poet!

At least my focus at university

wasn't plagiarism!

Oh, stay out of it!

Oh, I've got a sensitive tummy!

There's more, there's more, there's more.

- No more, no more, no more.

- I swallowed it.

At least I have the good taste

to hide my indiscretions

and not parade them

under everyone's nose!

- So you admit there were indiscretions?

- I admit nothing!

- Then I deny nothing.

- Oh, shut up!

Questionable attack, Jock.

Spirited, though.

I'm done.

- There's their car!

- Where?

There!

Now we wait. Thirty seconds.

Twenty-nine...

- Twenty-eight...

- Don't count.

Better out than in. All right.

I shall secure the perimeter.

Why, this is an outrage!

There's not an ocean vista

- within miles of this establishment.

- Please don't be tiresome. Jock!

Are you quite finished

with your barrage of insults?

Now we heat the surface,

reveal the codes and transfer the money.

Get the blowtorch.

Nobody make a move.

I really wouldn't, you know,

he's trained and sexually frustrated.

Those bank codes won't fall

into the wrong hands again.

- Back away from the painting.

- Oh, don't do that!

- For heaven's sake.

- For England!

Oh, dear.

- Everyone out!

- Okay.

The local authorities were displeased.

Strago and Georgina fled,

leaving the rest of us to answer

some rather pointed questions.

I recounted the sordid tale

as best I could...

This may be a customary greeting

in America. I don't know.

All the while,

my thoughts were only of home.

If indeed Johanna and I

still had a home to go to.

I'm not sure if Jock has mentioned it,

but I am very, very sorry

about everything.

Darling? Please?

I suppose that we will have

to open the house to tours.

I'll have Jock fix up

the servants quarters for us.

Do you think that Jockie will stay on

without pay or lodging?

Don't be daft. This isn't finished yet.

That painting was a fake.

A fake? How do you know?

A chap called Bunny's got the real one.

- Bunny?

- Bronwen lied from the start.

She never found the lost Goya.

She painted it.

Of course!

Bronwen makes a fake, and calls Krampf.

Am I interested? I'm wildly interested.

Krampf calls Spinoza.

Georgina finds out about it

and tells Emil,

who goes to steal the painting

from Bronwen.

But Spinoza's already there.

He boffs Emil on the bean

and takes the painting.

Spinoza then secrets

the painting into the Rolls

and I unwittingly smuggle it to Krampf.

The Duke told me that Bunny

has the painting, but I can't find him.

- Which Duke?

- Of Asherboroughdon. Bronwen's lover.

Bunny.

"Love, your Bunny!"

Oh! The note in the studio.

It was not from a child,

it was from him.

The Duke is Bunny.

- And it wasn't his tadger.

- Come again?

The Duke kept trying to get me

to go into his lavatory

- to look at his John Thomas.

- Oh. Randy bugger.

Only that wasn't it at all! He was trying

to show me the real painting.

The Duchess of Wellington

is in Bunny's loo.

- Oh, my.

- Oh, my.

- Oh, my.

- Oh, my!

- Oh, my.

- Oh, my.

Well, the water bailiff

won't bother him now.

- Terribly sorry for your loss, madam.

- How very kind.

Would you mind ever so much

if we used the lavatory?

It's this way.

Oh, you beautiful breadwinner.

- Darling, please, you are killing me.

- Right.

- Out the window with it?

- Quite.

However...

I do have the slightest of queries.

What do we do next?

Because if Martland should get

his grubby hands on that painting,

he would destroy a magnificent work of art.

And we will be out a finder's fee.

If it falls into Strago's hands,

he will unleash his unpleasantness

to disastrous effect upon the world.

And if we try to sell it to Romanov,

he will kill us and simply take it instead.

And yet we must find a way to pay

eight million in back taxes.

Quite, quite, yes, indeed, quite.

Quite a conundrum, this. I shall need

a moment to think this through, I'm afraid.

Yes, do. Do think.

Just bear in mind, I'm standing on a loo,

holding a dead man's Goya.

Our painting is entered in Sedgwick's

Friday auction, is it not?

- Yes.

- Perfect.

We are going to enter the Goya into

the auction, disguised as our Sheridan.

But it's already at Sedgwick's.

It's been authenticated.

We'll make a switch.

But first we must convince our buyers

that the Goya's back in play.

They won't take our word for it.

They'll want to see it themselves.

Then we'll show it to them.

What the situation requires now

is a well-spun rumor.

Sir Graham. A message for you, sir.

What is all this nonsense?

You know I'm not interested

in your flaccid Sheridan.

Darling?

Interested now?

Very.

- But I watched it burn.

- It's Mortdecai, sir.

Chatter is he's found a dashedly

clever way to move it on the open market.

- The auction starts at 5:00 p.m.

- I want that painting.

The auction got it.

Good luck!

I believe he still owes me a finger.

- Hello, pookie.

- Hello, darling.

- I nicked one of their passkeys.

- Well done. We're Lot Seven.

I shall need 30 seconds to make the switch

once it's announced. Do not delay.

I know this building like the back

of my hand. You will have your time.

Good luck.

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.

Welcome to Sedgwick's

Autumn Master's Sale.

We shall begin with Lot One.

Barnyard Friends.

A lovely Helen Allingham,

depicting two horses,

an ass, and several c*cks.

There's a lovely sky here.

Shall we start the bidding

at 17,000 pounds?

Seventeen thousand pounds,

thank you very much.

Stealthy, man, stealthy.

Like a jungle cat.

Hello, Vladimir. So good

to see you out and about.

Tell us where painting is,

or you have big hole in your head.

You will have hole in your balls!

Why is Dmitri obsessed with testicula?

Your mother and father only met once.

And money changed hands.

Probably less than a 20.

And they say she was dressed

as a man at the time.

I wouldn't, mate.

I really wouldn't.

Sold to the gentleman

in the fuchsia ascot.

Moving on to Lot Two.

All right. There. You won't be

needing this anymore, will you? Will you?

My God.

Oh, dash it all, Jock, man, your hand!

It's all right, sir, I've got another.

You know, remarkably, this is not

the first time I've shot Jock.

Sir, the switch. The switch, sir.

Oh, quite right. No time to dally.

I'll meet you inside, sir.

And we move on to Lot Four.

Fernand Just Quignon's Lavender Field.

Isn't it charming?

Thirty-five thousand pounds...

Forty thousand pounds?

40,000? 45, isn't it?

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