Trading Places Page #6

embezzling funds, selling drugs.

Now he's dressing up like Santa Claus.

Very sordid business.

I can't believe Winthorpe

would fall to pieces like that.

It's not my business,

but he belongs behind bars.

- He's unemployed, Valentine.

- It's no excuse, Mortimer.

He's flat broke, obviously hungry.

But he has money to buy drugs, right?

You can't be soft on people like that.

Take it from me, Randolph.

Pay up, Mortimer, I've won the bet.

Here, one dollar.

We took a perfectly useless

psychopath, like Valentine,

and turned him

into a successful executive.

And during the same time,

we turned an honest, hard-working man

into a violently deranged, would-be killer.

Now, what are we going to do

about taking Winthorpe back

and returning Valentine to the ghetto?

I don't want Winthorpe back

after what he's done.

You mean keep Valentine on,

as Managing Director?

Do you really believe I would have a n*gger

run our family business, Randolph?

Of course not. Neither would I.

I do think we should hold off

on switching them back, though.

Until we get that crop report,

New Year's Eve, don't you?

Absolutely, no sense

rocking the boat until then.

If Mr Beeks does what we paid him to do,

we should have a very happy New Year.

Indeed.

Hey, Winthorpe, Winthorpe.

Hey.

Hey, Winthorpe.

Yo, Winthorpe.

Winthorpe. Yo.

Sorry about that.

Yo! Yo!

Hey, Taxi!

Hi, Louis. Merry Christmas.

Louis, I have a big surprise for you.

Excuse me. The door was open...

I'm looking for a Louis Winthorpe.

- Does he live here?

- Wait here a minute, I'll be right back.

Louis, Louis. It's him. It's Valentine.

Louis... Louis?

Louis.

It was close but he's going to be all right.

Now, make sure he gets plenty of rest.

And for God's sake, no excitement.

Thanks, Doc. Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas to you.

I'll let myself out, Coleman. Thank you.

- Merry Christmas.

- Merry Christmas.

It was a dream.

I dreamt the whole thing.

It was just a bad dream.

Good morning, sir.

Merry Christmas.

Coleman, I've had

the most absurd nightmare.

I was poor and no one liked me.

I lost my job, I lost my house.

Penelope hated me.

And it was all because

of this terrible, awful Negro.

- Oh dear!

- It... was... the... Dukes.

You're a dead man, Valentine.

It was an experiment.

They used us as guinea pigs, man.

The Dukes used us as guinea pigs.

To see how our lives would turn out.

They made a bet.

- I'm afraid it's true, sir.

- I believe him, Louis.

The Dukes ruined my life over a bet?

- For how much?

- A dollar.

One dollar.

Fine, that's the way they want it.

No problem.

You can't just shoot people

with a double-barrelled shotgun

cos you're pissed at them.

- Why not?

- It's assault with a deadly weapon.

You get 20 years for that sh*t.

Do you have any better ideas?

Yeah, it seems the best way to hurt rich

people is by turning 'em into poor people.

You have to admit,

you didn't like it yourself a bit.

Under heavy security,

the crop estimates

for next year's orange crop

are being delivered to the Department

Of Agriculture in Washington DC.

Louis, Louis, that's him,

the guy who paid me to talk dirty to you.

In charge of security, Mr Clarence Beeks

of Lyndhurst Security.

Clarence Beeks.

- The Dukes gave him 10 grand.

- I saw 50,000 in the payroll.

Mortimer said it was for research.

Research, so he can get that top secret

report, two days before it goes public.

Oh my God, the Dukes will corner

the entire frozen orange juice market.

Unless somebody stops them.

Or beats them to it.

Eggnog?

Duke & Duke, may I ask who's calling?

Duke & Duke, he's busy.

Can you hold please?

May I help you? One moment,

Mr Beeks, I'll put you right through.

Operation "strange fruit"

proceeding according to plan.

I anticipate penetration and acquisition

at 21:
00 tomorrow. Hold on.

F*** off!

- When can we expect delivery?

- I will be leaving DC by train.

Will rendezvous at 24:00 at the

Hilton Hotel, parking level D, Section 4.

That's the orange section.

Orange, I like that, very good.

The final payment is due on delivery,

in cash.

Jesus, hey!

Happy New Year!

- Ever make it with an ape?

- Harvey, haven't you had enough drink?

Are you kidding,

it's not even New Year's Eve.

Come here, kiss this beautiful ape.

Come on.

Harrisburg Express...

- What?

- It's my turn to drive.

- No it isn't.

- It is.

- I'm sure you think it is, but it isn't.

- Don't you remember?

You drove the shipment of anchovies.

Yeah, but you had the video tape

recorders this afternoon.

I backed them up about five feet.

We take turns. Sometimes it's longer,

sometimes shorter. It's my turn now.

- No it isn't.

- Yes it is.

- Merry New Year.

- Happy New Year.

In this country, we say, "Happy New Year".

Thank you for correcting my English,

which stinks.

I am Naga Eboko,

exchange student from Cameroon.

Beef jerky time.

- You want some beef jerky?

- No, please.

There's plenty, you know.

This animal's being

routed through to New York.

Its care and feeding instructions

are on this bill of lading.

OK, gotcha.

I doubt you'll have need it but, there's

a tranquilliser gun in the First Aid kit.

- Oh, yeah?

- Say, have you guys been drinking?

- No, sir. Not us.

- There's enough drunks here already.

Happy New Year.

That's kind of you, son.

A Happy New Year to you, too.

Could I offer either of you two gentlemen

a wee jolt of Irish whisky,

to usher in the New Year.

Not for me, pal.

I do not drink. It is against my religion.

I always say, religion's a fine thing,

taken in moderation.

Beef jerky?

No son, it gives me wind,

something terrible.

We are moving! We are moving!

New York, here we come!

Come in, my child, join the party.

Let me see, you would be from Austria.

Am I right?

- No, I am Inga from Sweden.

- Sweden?

But you're wearing Lederhosen.

Ja, for sure, from Sweden.

Please, help me with my rucksack.

Oh yeah, sure, why not?

I'm hungry, man.

I've got to get something more to eat.

Well, maybe there's

some pretzels in the bar car.

You're welcome!

- Who is that?

- Open the door, man.

I'm dressed as a baggage handler.

Imagine how embarrassed I was that

someone had the same costume I had!

Monkey, monkey?

I'm a f***ing gorilla you clown!

I certainly hope there's

enough space on the train for me.

Naga, Naga Eboko, from Cameroon.

Do you remember me? It's Lionel Joseph.

Lionel, from the African Education

Conference, right?

I was Director of Cultural Events

at the Haile Selassie Pavilion.

I remember

we have big fun there.

Now we are all here,

we will have a picnic, ja?

You will help me get my rucksack down

for the Swedish meatballs.

- Remember the one we did?

- Yeah.

- The memories.

- All day long I could tell those stories.

- Those were good ones.

- The good old days.

- There you are, sweet pea.

- Danke.

So, the train will be

pulling into Philadelphia soon.

Will you be getting off

at the city of brotherly love?

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