The Angels' Share Page #6

You better tell me the truth

or you're getting it. Did you follow me?

HOW?

On my motorbike across the road.

Clancy told me to.

- Have you told him yet?

- No! And I will not.

- Who were you f***ing texting then?

- I was texting my f***ing mate!

Give me the phone.

- Show me the f***ing phone!

- Right. Here you are.

Don't f***ing move.

F***!

- F***ing knows the address! - I'm sorry,

mate. He's lost the f***in' plot!

You better f***ing tell me.

It's so f***ing perfect here.

You've f***ing ruined everything for me now.

You're f***ing lucky, Sniper. You're lucky

I'm not taking your f***ing eye out right now.

Stay there. Don't f***ing follow me. Prick!

- Give me my f***ing phone back.

- F*** off!

F*** you.

(MOTORCYCLE APPROACHING)

Wrong bike, you prick!

Sh*t! F***.

I'm f***ing gonna explode, Harry.

I can feel it in my bones.

I'm scared. Scared the next time

I won't be able to stop.

I was this close. This f***ing close

to taking someone's eye out.

I scared myself, Harry.

Leonie's dad's right. Once you're involved

in this sh*t you cannot get out.

Leonie's dad?

All you've gotta do is keep your head down.

Keep out of sight for awhile.

- Gonna f*** off to London, Harry.

- What?

Gonna f*** off to London.

Psycho-balls offered me five grand.

You what? Leonie's dad's gonna help you?

He's bought you off?

I don't believe this. You're gonna piss off

and leave Leonie and Luke?

Harry, what am I meant to do?

I cannot get a job.

I cannot even get an interview for a job.

I cannot drag my family

through a homeless unit.

They're better off where they are.

Listen, you can't do this.

Now, take it from me.

Time passes and things change.

You might never see them again.

You can't do this.

There's gotta be something else.

Have you ever tried a Malt Mill?

What?

A Malt Mill, have you ever tried it?

No, I haven't, no.

It's... It's the Holy Grail.

ROBBIE:
This is, without doubt, a genuine

Malt Mill, the only cask left in existence,

and since there are only three known bottles,

and two of these are suspected fakes,

every serious collector

in the world would pay a fortune.

In my view, it is likely that the sale could

raise in excess of a million pounds.

What?

- No way.

- F*** me.

A million smackeroonies.

My body is pure shaking, honestly.

- If you were a man you'd have a hard-on.

- (THUMPING)

Have a wee seat, guys. Please. Just till

we have a serious think about this.

RHINO:
I mean, what is that? Like a quarter

of a million each or something?

Right, this is what's happening.

They're gonna have the auction

where the cask is,

away up North in Dornoch Firth.

Then what they'll do is invite

the richest collectors, dealers,

to come for a tasting session

with the Grand Master.

- That's followed by a cellik in a

local hotel. - MO: A ceilidh you mean?

Well, a ceilidh, smartarse. In a

local hotel, and that's the 16th of June.

What the f*** is a "Firth"? Dornoch Firth?

We'll probably need huskies,

maybe even a boat, depending where it is.

Even if we find this place,

how are we gonna get away with it?

It'll be like f***ing Alcatraz or something.

And then when we get it,

who's gonna take it off of scum like us?

MO:
Speak for yourself.

It's equivalent to having

the Mona Lisa in your bedroom.

Mona who?

RHINO:
Mona Lisa.

You know, the Mona Lisa.

All right, I'm just asking, f***'s sake.

You know, when I was in prison,

I met this old guy.

Smart old c*nt. Used to read books and that.

And he used to tell a tale about

an Arab smuggler

who used to go across the border

every day with bags of straw and his donkey.

He admitted to the guards he was a smuggler,

so every day they used to search him.

They couldn't find a thing.

Once he retired, one of the guards found him

one day and says to him,

"Right, come on, tell us. You've gotta

tell us now. What have you been smuggling?"

The old guy smiles and turns round

and says, "Donkeys.

"I was smuggling donkeys. "

How in the name of f***

can we get a donkey away up there?

- RHINO:
You're a donkey.

- I was just about to say that.

We're taking a donkey.

Thing is, look at us. Eh? We'll stick out

like a couple of sore thumbs up there.

May as well have "Criminals on community

service" tattooed on our forehead.

We're all wearing trackies.

We look like neds, right?

You put on a suit then

it just looks like we're going to court.

Especially you, Robbie.

I know what you're saying, guys.

Kilts!

We could wear kilts.

Nobody ever bothers anybody wearing a kilt.

We'd just look like friendly wee c*nts

up the Highlands.

Whisky train spotters, know what I mean?

Albert Einstein.

ALBERT:
Albert Einstein?

Who the f***'s that?

RHINO:
He was a friend of Mona's.

Remember Mona?

For f***'s sake. We're back to Mona now.

What's next, "donkey"? Come on.

Arse!

Arse!

- Come on. Please!

- Now they've gotta let us on.

Stop the bus!

They're stopping. They're stopping.

(ALL CLAMORING)

What did I tell you?

F*** me. Sound Of Music.

- (ALL GASPING)

- RHINO:
Hey, Albert!

Sorry, Sisters, you cannot control

these Protestants, you know.

I would walk 500 miles

and I would walk 500 more

Just to be the man who walked

a thousand miles

To fall down at your door

When I'm working

Yes I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man

who's working hard for you

And when the money

comes in for the work I do

I'll pass almost every penny on to you

When I come home

When I come home

Oh, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man

who comes back home to you

And if I grow old

Well, I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man

who's growing old with you

But I would walk 500 miles

And I would walk 500 more...

ALL:
Cheese!

Lovely. Thank you.

GIRL:
Are you from Highlands?

RHINO:
Actually, my great, great

grandfather, he was a Highland chief.

This kilt is the tartan and I wear it

with pride every time I put it on.

That's why you wear it back to front?

Oh, right.

But I would walk 500 miles

and I would walk 500 more

Just to be the man who walks

a thousand miles...

Albert. Come on, mate. Nearly there.

ROBBIE:
Come on to f***, mate.

It's this sporran, man,

it keeps banging off my tadger.

My f***ing balls are killing. F***ing no

wonder the Highlands are deserted, man.

F***ing, my meat and two veg

are taking a hammering here.

ROBBIE:
God.

Clatty tadger.

RHINO:
It's no your sporran

that's hurtin' your baws.

Guys! What the f*** youse playing at?

It's Alberto!

F***ing in agony here. F***'s sake,

and you're leaving me away behind?

And I'm starving.

F***ing palpi-f***ing-tations in my heart.

F***ing chaffed bollocks.

I'm f***ing raging.

(ALL LAUGH)

Shocking by the way. Youse are shocking.

All right.

- F***'s sake, man.

- F***'s sake, Albert. What you doing?

F***ing howling hoofs!

Give us one of those pieces over, eh?

MO:
F*** off! Go and wash your hands,

you clatty bastard. Disgustin'!

- Look, mate, that'll cheer you up

- For God's sake!

Balblair Distillery.

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