The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover Page #7

- He's too old.

- What's that mean?

He's the same age as me - 40, almost.

If he had been a younger man

it would've been all right?

- My God.

- When you're 17, is being 40 old?

He probably hasn't had a bath recently.

God, Mitchel, you are a prize mule.

Well, I mean, certainly...

- He must've been with Georgina last night.

- No! Shut up.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!

You pissing little worm.

God, you are an idiot, Mitchel.

You can be guaranteed

to say the wrong thing at the right time.

I didn't mean that you literally

had to chew his bollocks off.

I meant it metaphorically.

What does that mean, Albert?

"Jewish Book-keeper Savaged

By Young Sex Maniac."

I don't want this to

look like a sex murder.

It's what it is,

a revenge killing,

an affair of the heart,

a crime passionnel.

I want no evil gossip

spread around about me.

They are not going to say...

They are going to say this was

a dignified revenge killing.

They're gonna admire the style.

"He was stuffed.

And Albert liked good food."

They might even smile.

"He was stuffed with

the tools of his trade."

"He was stuffed with books.

The crummy little book-keeper was..."

Mitchel, no unnecessary... No unnecessaries.

Finish him off!

Shut his mouth, hold his nose,

ram the bloody books down his throat.

Suffocate the bastard!

Michael!

Michael.

OK, so this is how you eat the crayfish.

First, you snap off the head.

Then you pull out the whiskers,

then you strip off the legs.

And then you poke out

the soft part of the body.

- You turn the light out?

- What light?

Idiot. You wouldn't remember to fart.

Place might burn down with all them books.

That would nicely

destroy the evidence.

I don't want the evidence destroyed, idiot!

I want Georgina to see it.

What did he say?

The French Revolution

was easier to swallow than Napoleon.

Napoleon was a prat. He wasted everything,

he threw everything away.

Napoleon was keen on seafood.

His favourite dish was

oysters Florentine.

It's amazing, isn't it?

Churchill liked seafood.

All the great generals were keen on seafood.

What did Julius Caesar like, or Hitler?

Hitler liked clams.

And Mussolini liked squid.

- You're making it up.

- Oh, yeah? What do you know, Harris?

- What did the bookseller eat?

- You could tell from his vomit.

What do I care what he ate?

It all comes out as sh*t in the end.

I'm so tired.

I'm going to sleep.

I've got a lot to tell you in the morning.

And I want you to listen.

Somebody should know.

And who can I tell but you?

And then...

when I wake up in the morning,

I want you to kiss me.

And then I want breakfast.

Erm, coffee and fresh rolls and butter

and marmalade.

And toast.

And...

Good night, Michael.

I'll see you in the morning.

I love you.

You shouldn't have done that, Albert.

It wasn't worth it.

You what?

Georgina wasn't worth it?

How bloody dare you say that?

Georgina's worth a thousand

snooty little Jewish book-keeping clerks

who masturbate over their

French Revolution.

I'm saying that the book-keeper

is gonna get us into a lot of trouble

and he wasn't worth it.

Calm down, Albert.

Little circumcised mediocrity

was screwing my wife!

I will not calm down!

I've seen you, Harris, eyeing Georgina,

looking at another man's wife.

I've seen you watch her skirt fly up

when she got out of the car.

Yes, I've seen you sniffing her, Harris.

And to think I ever trusted you with her,

that I ever trusted you to drive her home

when I was drunk.

You get out of this restaurant!

Calm down.

Mitchel, get Richard in here.

I want this man banned, Mitchel. Get out!

- If you want to shout...

- I can shout in my own restaurant!

I own this restaurant. Get out! F*** you!

Go, you mule! Richard, I'm closing you up.

- Really?

- You are finished, Richard.

Your restaurant is -- allowing

decent people to dine with wife snatchers.

You're finished!

I think not, Mr Spica!

And if I did, where would you eat?

Who would have you?

Now, if you'd kindly leave, we can start

clearing up the mess you have made.

I'm warning you, Richard.

Tomorrow your restaurant

will be just one big car park.

- Nothing more.

- I wonder how you will do that.

A bulldozer, Richard.

Your cuisine will be

20 feet under brick dust.

Get out of it, Harris.

You get out of it.

Go on. I can tell loyalty when I see it.

Well, Michael,

you didn't kiss me

so...

I suppose I have to make my own breakfast.

Don't get up yet.

Well, Michael,

that's that.

Short and very sweet.

Now you're not listening,

I suppose I could tell you about Albert.

I meant to tell you eventually

but I'd have to

get to know you better because...

Well, because I'd be so ashamed.

But it's important that I tell you now

so that I can have done with it.

Albert beat me. Well, I know you know that.

You saw the bruises.

He was regular in his habits.

After we got back from that restaurant,

he'd make me get a hot, wet towel

and accompany him to the toilet.

And I'd have to wipe his...

After I finished, he... he made... Oh...

Help me, Michael.

On his side of the bed he had

a suitcase with all kinds of objects in it.

Er, a toothbrush,

a wooden spoon,

a plastic train,

a wine bottle.

And he'd use them.

If I didn't do it whilst he watched,

he'd insist on doing it himself.

At least when I did it,

it hurt less.

I don't think he was

very interested in sex -

I mean, not with me,

not with women.

I left him four times.

I caught the night ferry.

He and Harris found me in Brussels,

they brought me back.

On the boat, Albert cried,

bought me presents.

But then after we landed,

when we got just outside the harbour,

before the motorway starts,

he stopped the car

and he and Harris and

Spangler dragged me out

and stripped me and beat me.

Michael,

all this must finish.

Help me, Michael. Please.

He's dead.

They stuffed his mouth with paper

ripped from his favourite book.

- Could you cook him?

- Cook who, Georgina?

Michael.

No. Mon dieu, non.

You have a reputation

for a wide range of experimental dishes.

He might taste good.

I'm sure he would taste good.

What would taste best?

His heart? His liver?

The cheeks of his backside?

His prairie oysters?

Georgina,

sit down.

Sit down.

When you make out a menu,

how do you price each dish?

I charge a lot for anything black.

Grapes, olives, blackcurrants.

People like to remind themselves of death,

eating black food is like consuming death,

like saying, "Death, I'm eating you."

Black truffles are the most expensive.

And caviar.

Death and birth.

The end and the beginning.

Don't you think it's appropriate

that the most expensive items are black?

We also charge for vanity.

Diet foods have an additional surcharge

of 30%,

Aphrodisiacs, 50%.

And from what I saw,

your lover did not need an aphrodisiac.

What did you see?

I want to know.

Nobody knew but you.

Everyone pitied me. Even you pitied me.

And how can I know that he loved me

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