The Hooligan Factory Page #3
- Year:
- 2014
- 90 min
- 87 Views
A magician never reveals his secrets.
And by the way, you're one step away from
a free corn on the cob
at Papa Poulet's Chicken Palace.
That's a touch.
He's got my wallet, ain't he?
'Fraid so, son.
Weasel!
he didn't have the best start in life.
His mum had been having a fling
but she had to break it off
when her fella got her pregnant.
To say young John took it badly,
would be a bit of an understatement.
Baby. Baby, baby, baby, relax.
Relax, baby. Relax, baby. Baby.
I did this to prove how much I love you.
I love you, baby. I did
this for both of us.
Poor bastard never stood a chance.
He was a crackhead before he was even born.
F***ing result.
You all right, Dexy, mate?
You look a bit down.
No, I'm sweet, son. Sweet.
Look, I'm glad I got you on your own
because I want to talk to you
about my missus.
Why? What you heard?
Well, you took care of her
and that while I was inside.
Oh.
Right. Think nothing of it, bruv.
I don't want to seem ungrateful, mate,
but, as you know, I was a long time gone.
Too long, mate.
F***ing right too long.
And while I was inside I had one thing
on my mind and one thing only.
- The Baron.
- Baron.
Now he needs to get what's coming to him.
Yeah.
When I left we were the most violent,
blood-thirsty bunch of c*nts in London.
Yeah.
Now tell me, Midnight, where do we stand?
Where do we stand?
When was the last time
we had a proper tear-up?
Funny thing is, mate, recently when we show
up for a ruck, we get a reception from plod.
- Yeah?
- Yeah.
How long's that been going on?
- Don't know. A couple of years.
- F***ing filth.
Well, I'm here now.
We'll take plod by surprise.
When's the rest of the boys coming down?
Erm...
Well, this is it, mate.
What do you mean this is it?
Where's the old guard?
- Where's Bobby Iron?
- He got ironed out.
- By who?
- West Ham.
- The Irons?
- Yeah.
- Gunned down.
- By who?
- Arsenal.
What, the Gunners?
Next thing you'll be telling me, Midnight,
is Barry the Hammer got beaten to death
with his own hammer
- So you read about it then?
- No, I didn't f***ing read about it, Midnight!
At least no one went down to Fulham, hey?
Cottaging.
You know, Fulham. Cottagers.
What do you know about the Cottagers, boy?
Erm...
Nothing.
It was just a joke, mate.
As you probably know by now
I weren't one for backing down,
but I weren't stupid either.
I knew who this was.
This was Bullet,
Dex's right-hand man and a total nutter.
First of all, I ain't
your f***ing mate, boy.
And second,
the Cottagers ain't no joke.
You don't know you're born, do you?
- You ever been down there?
- What? The Cottagers?
Yeah. The big boys.
'Cause I have. I've been there.
We all have. Ain't we, boys?
Yeah!
Balls deep in sh*t.
Hands grabbing at you from all angles.
Faces screaming.
People you've never even met before
coming right in your face.
That's when you find out
who your mates are.
They're the ones who are right behind you.
Packed in. Tight.
That's what separates
us real men from little poofs like you.
So come on then, Dex, who's the dry lunch?
Drop him out, Bullet. He's just a kid.
Welcome home, son.
- Who the f*** are you?
- This is Bill.
Allo, allo, allo.
Pleasure to meet you at last, Dex.
- What's the problem, Dex?
- What's the problem, Dex?
- You're amongst friends now, mate.
- Am I?
'Course you are. This geezer's Old Bill.
He's been inside too long.
He's getting paranoid.
Dex, he's sweet, mate. Old Bill's been
following us about for a while now.
- How long?
- Couple of years.
Sorry. Yeah. Can't be too careful.
You understand.
Roger that. So, what were we talking about?
Rucks, was it?
I've seen nothing like it before.
It was f***ing huge, mate.
Oh, f***, come on, Trumpet,
we're gonna be late for work.
- What do you do?
- Florists.
- What, all of you?
- Yeah.
Obviously. Except for Bill of course.
Why? What do you do, Bill?
Why are you so interested in
what we all do? You undercover?
What?
'Cause if you are, you have to tell us.
It's the law.
I don't think it is, Weasel, mate.
So you know all about it then, do you?
- Cozzer.
- Actually, he's quite right.
Section 4, Paragraph 2 of
the Metropolitan Police Code of Conduct
states that an officer only has to
identify himself at the point of arrest.
Apparently.
I don't know how he does it.
He's a fountain of knowledge, this geezer.
Where do you get it all from?
He's bailed you out there, son.
That's one you owe him.
That's enough.
No one's going to work today.
Go home, sort yourselves out,
and meet back at my house.
Lively.
- Dex, mate, I don't...
- You don't what?
Nothing.
That's right, nothing.
My house, couple of hours.
- Savvy?
- Sweet.
- I feel rough.
- Get cleaned up back at mine.
- Thanks, Dex.
- And don't worry about Bullet.
He just don't like outsiders, that's all.
- Well, he seems to like Bill enough.
- Yeah.
Something not quite right about that one.
Yeah, I thought that and all.
I mean, you don't think he's...
I don't miss a trick, boy.
The geezer's undercover.
Undercover journo.
- Sharon!
- Who's that?
It's your husband.
Now don't you start crying, princess.
Dexy. Why didn't you call?
I must look terrible.
No.
You look beautiful.
I've missed you so much.
We've f***ing missed you and all.
- Where is it?
- He's there.
Playing with his toys,
waiting to meet his daddy.
Well, go on then, come and say hello.
Go on, mate, it's all right.
Right.
My boy.
Apple didn't fall far from
the tree, did it, Dan?
Ah! It's like two peas in a pod, mate.
I know.
I used to sit and play with my
toys as well. All the time.
- Grab it for me, babe, I want to hold it.
- All right, babes.
You are his daddy.
His undisputed biological daddy.
Dex, you might as well
be looking in a mirror, mate.
Yeah, I know.
Two peas in a f***ing pod.
Dan, mate. You don't mind
holding my kid for me, do you?
Oh, no, of course not, mate.
I'm just gonna go get some things
for later, you know what I mean?
Come on, babe.
- Hey, what's his name?
- It's f***ing Curtis.
'Course it is.
Don't worry, babes.
Your room's just how you left it.
Baron.
Baron! Baron! Baron! Baron!
- Baron! Baron! Baron!
- Babe. Babe.
- Baron!
- Babe!
- Baron!
- Dexter!
What? What? What?
It's Sharon.
Right. Sorry, babe.
Sharon. Sharon.
Sharon.
Sharon.
That's my son.
before I got sent down.
Oh, where is he, your son?
It was the mid '80s.
And we were in our prime.
No firm in London could touch us.
It was the last game of the season.
And we had one more firm to turn over.
Dexter!
- I'm calling you out.
- Well, here I am.
And we didn't think you'd show.
We've battered every firm in the country.
Why wouldn't we show up to school
a second-rate outfit like yours,
you two-bob shithead?
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"The Hooligan Factory" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/the_hooligan_factory_20452>.
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