Revolver Page #3

My neighbors used to write down chess moves

and concepts of the con

in the back pages of books

based on subjects like...

Theoretical Astrophysics Part Four,

The Mathematics Of Quantum Mechanics.

They just used them for the con.

I used to intercept the books, because

I was sandwiched in between their cells.

It's a dangerous combination, chess and cons.

These boys were locked up on their own

for ten years with no distractions.

Nothing to do but think about

how to steal one another's pieces.

Yeah, they thought.

They really thought.

I was under the impression that I was

the clever bastard before I went in.

But these boys were a completely different

class. Head tricksters of the premier division.

Their sole ambition was to create

the ultimate con and win the ultimate game,

always thinking quicker, always thinking bigger.

Gradually, they thought

they'd found a formula to the con. Check.

A formula to win the ultimate win, the formula.

I couldn't understand the depth of it,

but they were confident it was real

and I believed them.

After all, they'd been right on everything else,

so now they felt they'd had their moment

and it was time for them

to leave the confines of their cell.

The concrete and steel wasn't even mentioned.

I didn't even doubt them.

They got whatever they wanted anyway.

I could smell their food

through 12 inches of concrete.

Bastards knew it used to drive me mad.

You bastards.

We were all going to go together,

they swore to me. "You're coming with us, Jake."

And I trusted them.

Never for a second did I doubt them.

Next day, they were gone without a trace.

For the next week,

the authorities tore the place apart.

Couldn't find evidence of their existence,

let alone their exit. They just evaporated.

Check.

Two years later, I was out.

But those two knew everything about me.

Everything. All my dirty little secrets,

how much money I had, where I kept it.

The hustling bastards cleaned me out.

They didn't leave so much

as a pair of socks, only a note.

Rule one:
You can only get smarter

by playing a smarter opponent.

But I had their formula and

it worked.

It really worked.

Not doing you much good now, is it?

Checkmate.

He needs to get moving.

Give him the addresses.

Why are they dragging this on?

They could just clean me out in one hit.

They want me to suffer.

These twisted bastards are making me pay.

Pay for my own pain.

Hands down, that's the most radical concept

I have ever heard of...

...and a part of me dies every time I think about it.

I told myself if this is my last round,

they'll have to tear me out, piece by piece,

but this I can't take.

They've found a weakness.

Caught me fair and square, cross-haired,

blind-folded, one foot in the grave

and two hands on the coffin.

I'm cooked, well done,

stick a fork in me and see if I bleed.

- Checkmate.

- You're quite good at this game, Mr. Green.

I am stuck in a trance...

...somewhere between hell and a hard place...

...in a gear that doesn't exist,

and all I want now...

...is a little peace.

Where are you?

- At the old lady's house.

- Does she have it?

Of course she doesn't have it.

She's barely got a heartbeat.

How the hell is this woman

going to get that kind of money?

That's what she owes. Any furniture?

No.

Take the dog.

I am not taking the dog.

- Then take the TV.

- The TV don't work.

Then get your ass over here.

How do you sleep at night?

How are we doing?

Ask the man.

No thanks, darling.

Time's up, lets go.

Mr. Green, you took your time.

- Did you get anything from the old lady?

- No.

Did you get anything from Horowitz?

- No.

- Why not?

Because he didn't have it.

Listen, pal, either he pays or you pay.

I pay anyway.

Don't be a smartass.

Look, man,

we are not sending you out to polish door knobs.

You've got to get with it, man.

Doreen, take his car.

Come with us.

What is this?

Where was security?

They gassed them. We found them tied up.

Hold tight, Mr. Green.

It was a 12-ton Hermann and Ziegler safe, Mr. D.

It was impossible to break into.

Time's up, let's go.

Obviously, it wasn't f***ing impossible

to move, was it, Paul?

What did anyone take it for?

We don't even use that safe, do we, Paul?

Checkmate.

How in the hell did you do that?

Not usually, no.

Sam Gold's powder was in there.

It came in yesterday.

No, Paul, you're wrong.

Try again.

You stupid motherf***er.

That should rattle him.

What the f*** was it doing

on one of our properties?

Why don't you just f***ing rape me, Paul?

Pull the troops together.

Break some bones, hurt some people, results.

- You hear me?

- I'll take care of it.

You're damn straight

you're going to f***ing take care of it.

The word "excuse" does not exist

in Sam Gold's lexicon.

We are the walking dead

until you f***ing remedy this situation.

- Do you understand?

- I'll take care of it.

I said, do you understand?

- Yes.

- You'd better.

In the meantime, get some more powder.

I don't care where it comes from

or how much it costs, just get it.

There's only one man who can get us

that amount on such short notice.

Who?

Lord John.

No way. I'm not nourishing the competition.

That's twice the market price.

Sorry, we can't help, Mr. Paul.

Tony'll show you the way out.

All right. Hold on, hold on.

I am prepared to talk.

What do you want to talk about?

OK, get it.

What?

Am I having dj-vu, Paul?

Didn't I just say "get it"?

This is Sam Gold

I have found myself chained to.

Mr. Black Magic.

Mr. "l-run-this-game" Gold.

Not some plastic gangster

with a pocketknife for backup.

Gold doesn't give second chances, Paul.

I want in and I want rewards.

Got it?

Paul,

when you make the deal, keep both eyes

on that untrustworthy, greedy motherf***er.

If anyone asks, you don't speak the language.

After you, Mr. Green.

I'm taking the stairs.

What's the problem, Mr. Green?

- I don't like elevators.

- What are you scared of?

Are you f***ing deaf?

I said I just don't like them.

Tough, because you're getting in.

Everything?

If he wants a f***ing war,

I'm going to give him a f***ing war.

I don't think it was Lord John, Mr. D.

He knows you'd come looking for him.

He's not far from wrong. Because

that is exactly what I'm going to f***ing do.

I'll take the stairs.

Before we do anything, Mr. D,

we have to get Sam Gold his powder.

- Don't pull the trigger...

- Shut your f***ing mouth.

- I'll get out.

- You ain't going nowhere.

I said you're staying right here.

Get rid of the Lord...

there will be consequences.

Do I look like I'm afraid of the consequences?

- I'm taking the stairs.

- You ain't going nowhere.

You motherfucking listen.

Look at me. You think I'm afraid

of the f***ing consequences?

- Take the stairs.

- You listen to me.

You open your mouth one more f***ing time,

I'll blow your f***ing head off.

F*** him.

F*** the consequences.

F*** them all.

- Do I look like I'm afraid?

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