Run, Fat Boy, Run Page #8

---

I meant

I didn't have the money here.

- I can pay.

- Oh, you're gonna pay.

No, wait. Look...Vincent.

Wait-- Wait-- What?

Wait. Wait a tick.

Not so bloody fast, mate.

Who the hell are you?

Thanks a lot, Mr G!

Your friend is a man of honour.

What, Vincent?

Yes, he said he's going to kick

sh*t out of you later instead.

I don't understand.

On the TV, they said

he was being brought here.

One second.

I could sue him.

You know that, right?

I could sue him

for everyhing he has...

but, you know, seriously,

what am I gonna do...

with some pizza boxes

and a Judas Priest t-shirt?

Honey,

I'm sure it was an accident.

Well, you weren't there, OK?

You didn't see it.

He was wild-eyed, all right?

He was frothing at the mouth

at one point.

It was like running a marathon

with Cujo, OK?

Jake, buddy,

can I control the bed, please?

No, but you can watch me

control it.

Libby? Where are you?

- The hospital.

- Are you with him?

No, he's not here.

Well, what do you mean

he's not there?

I mean, he's not here.

Well,

where the hell is he then?

All right.

It's still-- It's on.

The race is still on.

I can't believe

you let Gordon go, Vincent.

- Yeah, but he said

he was gonna pay us...

- Back to the story.

- right, Vincent?

- The first images

are coming in...

- from what looks

like a camera phone...

- Vincent?

- Vincent?

- showing a lone,

mysterious runner.

Uh, he's looking very badly

injured, I must say...

and he's also causing

some major traffic--

- Cab.

- Yeah, it's a Rolex.

I'm not gonna sell it.

It's a family heirloom now.

What!

Wait! What are you doing?!

- Step on it!

- You can't

just take a man's cab!

All right!

Hello, there...

Dennis Doyle from downstairs!

Who the hell are you?

You beauty, come on!

And as the sun

sets over London...

we're still looking

into the identity...

of that mysterious runner.

Come on, Dennis,

you can do it! Come on!

The only concrete thing

we do know...

is that he's running

for erectile dysfunction.

Good news, Mr Bloom.

No rupture, no ligament damage.

Oh, that's great.

Jake, please?

In fact,

there's no real damage anywhere.

Are you sure, doctor?

Jake, please.

It's, uh, like, uh...

What is it you runners say?

You hit the wall.

No, no, that--

That's not possi--

God damn it, will you stop...

messin' around with the bed,

you little sh*t?!

God.

Good evening.

It's time for a sports update.

Top story, the Nike River Run.

We'll be chatting to the winner

a little bit later on...

but first, we've had thousands

of e-mails and calls...

about our mystery runner.

Well, I can tell you now,

our TV crew...

has just caught up with him.

Excuse me. Sorry.

Will you slow down, please?

You hungry?

You wanna get a bite?

Stop! Stop!

Everyone out. Get out.

- Come on!

- I'm goin'!

Hey!

Just go away!

- Somebody trip him.

- Go away!

Knock him over.

No, invalid. Off-side.

- Oh!

- Leave him alone! Get off him!

I want my money now!

Don't listen to them, Dennis!

You are a winner!

I want my money now!

Stop it! I'm wearing helmet!

Clear off!

"The loneliness

of the long-distance runner"...

a phrase epitomized by this man,

Dennis Doyle.

For the last eleven miles,

he's been running...

on what appears to be

a severely sprained ankle.

What a testament to the power

of the human spirit.

Mr Doyle, how do you feel?

How the f***

do you think I feel?

What an inspiration.

We'll keep you updated

as this story progresses.

- Get out of the bloody way!

- Sorry.

- Well, what a remarkable day...

- Libby. Libby, I'm sorry...

- we've had at

the marathon on the Thames...

- all right? I lost it. I--

- with an event

dominated as ever...

- I wasn't thinking.

- by the crowds

and the fun runners...

- I'm sorry.

- Honey, can we just--

- but particularly by

- Jake, buddy...

- one man.

would you mind just giving us...

a little peace with the TV,

please?

- Thank you.

- Go on, Dennis!

The whole of London...

Honey, can we

just talk about this, please?

- Chin up!

- Keep it up, mate!

Do you know, Mr Doyle, sir?

Oh.

I'm the assistant coach.

Oh. Oh, really.

What's your name?

- Uh, Mr Ghoshdashtidar.

- Gosh--

- Ghosh...

- Gah--

OK, just call me John.

It was me who discovered

his potential.

I can't breathe.

My head's gonna explode.

He's not gonna make it.

I-- I have to stop.

- I have to stop this.

- No.

- I'm sorry.

- No, you can't.

What are you doing?

You can't stop.

You're nearly there.

What? How much further?

It-- It's a little, tiny--

Nine miles.

OK. OK.

Oh, no.

What?

He's hit it.

OK, baby,

let's get you to bed.

Jakey.

-...by the crowds

and the fun runners.

- Dennis.

- For those of you

just joining us...

- Dennis?

it looks like Dennis Doyle, a

clothing store security guard...

running for the last ten

and three quarter hours...

on basically one leg...

is refusing to rest

until this race is run.

Unbelievable!

You've never finished anything

in your entire life, Dennis.

All you're gonna

wanna do is give up.

I'm not the quitter!

That's exactly

what you're gonna do, Dennis.

Go on, run away!

Run away!

That's what you always do!

Dennis!

Dennis!

Dennis?

Oh, I don't believe this.

Yeah, boy, yes!

He's still going!

Go on, you beautiful man!

Apologies there,

ladies and gentlemen, uh...

but it's, uh, really rather hard

not to get caught up...

in the drama of it all.

Now let's take one more look

at how Dennis broke that ankle.

And here it is.

It appears

that the runner there...

next to Mr Doyle

is involved in some way.

In fact, if we look at it again

here...yes!

He deliberately trips him!

Bastard!

Apologies again, uh...

That didn't--

That's not what happened.

That is--

That-- That didn't happen.

I can't believe this.

I don't believe it, either.

I don't understand that.

What is that?

Honey. Honey...

That angle makes it look, but--

He tripped me.

He tripped me! Yes, he did!

- Go, Dennis!

- It's him! Dennis!

Go, Dennis!

I can't believe this.

Come on, honey.

Please, like I'm gonna do that.

What are you--

Are you kidding me?

Honey.

All right, look,

I'm just-- I'm not--

I'm not myself, OK?

I haven't been myself

for a long time.

Work has not been...

It's, uh...

It's just this city, you know?

It's just--

It's really hard here for me.

You know,

everyone's so polite here...

and it's like the food and the--

and the--and the ca--

I just don't-- I don't

know what happened to me.

I don't know what--

It's just this place.

It's this place, you know?

And if we-- I just know it's

gonna be better once we move.

- Move?

- To Chicago.

What?

Too soon?

Oh!

- Come on, Jake.

- Libby, wh--

Where you goin'?

Where you goin'?

Oh, you got to be kidding me.

Dennis?

You can't be serious.

The guy left you

at the altar pregnant.

Nobody's perfect.

Libby.

Libby! L--

What a shithead.

Jake.

Hey. I know you feel bad.

I know you're

in incredible pain...

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes