RADIO PLAY
This is the first draft of a 45-minute radio play – yes old-fashioned steam radio, what used to be called wireless before the name fell into disuse and was then resurrected with a different meaning (like the word gay).
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For a downloadable script in the BBC format, click here.
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SWEET AND NOT FATTENING
a radio play
by
Principal:
FRANK Mancunian (posh)
ARTHUR London (Cockney)
BRENDA1 Mancunian (posh)
JOHN Mancunian (broad)
POLICEMAN2 Mancunian (broad)
DENNY3 Cornish
Secondary & Minor (played by principal actors):
SUSAN1 Mancunian (broad)
STRANGER (male)3 Mancunian (broad)
MAN ON PHONE3 Mancunian (broad)
COURT OFFICIAL (male)3 Mancunian (posh)
JUROR (female)1 Mancunian (posh)
GALLERY CUSTOMER (male)3 Welsh (slight)
PABLO3 Spanish (Andalusian)
BECKY1 Glaswegian (posh)
JOE2 London (Cockney)
HEAVY2 London (Cockney)
RECEPTIONIST (male)2 Spanish (Andalusian)
HARBOUR OFFICIAL (male)2 Moroccan
HUSTLER (male)2 Moroccan
RENTBOY2 Moroccan
WOMAN IN STREET1 Home counties (posh)
MAN IN STREET2 Home counties (posh)
1Could be played by the same actor.
2Could be played by the same actor.
3Could be played by the same actor.
SCENE 1
EXTERIOR. CLINK OF GLASSES BROUGHT TOGETHER IN A TOAST.
FRANK: Cheers, Arthur. This is the life, eh? Sunshine, cheap Spanish plonk and a plentiful supply of nubile, topless young crumpet to feast your eyes on. Like those two over there on the beach.
ARTHUR: Cheers, Frank. Yeah, when me mates told me I should move to the Costa del Crime to escape the attentions of Mr Plod I visualized it sort of like the East End with better weather and no jellied eels or pie and mash. But till you've lived here you can't imagine it. I felt like I'd died and come to heaven.
FRANK: I'd been here on holiday with my second future ex-wife. But it never crossed my mind that I'd ever be rich enough to be semi-retired at my comparatively youthful age. Able to sit on the terrace of a straw-roofed beach bar in the middle of the day and have a quiet drink whenever I wanted. What's more, without worrying that I might be missing business because I'd closed the gallery for half an hour. Not that there were a lot of beach bars near my gallery in Manchester.
ARTHUR: Not on the Mile End Road, neither. With or without straw roofs. I'm not so sure about the quiet drink bit, though. Look at that mob of Brits what's shambling towards us. They have the look of trouble. Hope they don't all decide to have a drink here.
FRANK: I don't believe it. It can't be them. Not after all these years. And not in Spain. But it certainly looks like the McSweeneys.
ARTHUR: They look like a rag-taggle bunch of no-hopers to me. Tramps or tinkers. Never done an honest day's work in their life, but not bright enough to make a go of serious crime.
FRANK: It's them all right. And you've got them weighed up to a tee. Where's my sunglasses? I don't want them to recognize me. I thought I'd banished them from my life forever. What're they doing in here on the Costa? They were a bunch of country bumpkins. Never even went into Manchester.
ARTHUR: What're letting them get you so agitated for?
FRANK: They caused me a load of bother back in England. I seriously thought about taking out a contract on the whole family and doing the whole world a good turn.
ARTHUR: You what? This isn't the docile pacifistic Frank that I've come to know and love over the years. Tell me more.
FRANK: It all started when I was with my first ex-to-be, living in this peaceful little town up in the hills outside Manchester. I was commuting into Manchester by train to my art gallery and Brenda was running an off-licence. Only a small one, but to be honest she was making more money than I was with my fancy gallery in those days. I got home one day and she was stood behind the counter of the shop in a right state.
SCENE 2
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM. DOORBELL RINGS WITH A PING. DOOR CLOSED.
BRENDA: Lock the door, Frank. We're closing early.
FRANK: What's up, Brenda?
BRENDA: It's those McSweeneys again. I refused to serve one of the young uns for the second time till they paid some of what's already on their slate. The foul-mouthed little cow told me eff off, missus, and said that if I didn't serve her, her mother had told her to say that I'd never get the money they owed. Then later John McSweeney phoned and asked for you and started making threats.
FRANK: Oh he did, did he? I'll go and get the money and see if he'll threaten me to my face.
DOORBELL RINGS WITH A PING.
BRENDA: Come back, Frank, or I'm phoning the police.
DOOR SLAMMED SHUT.
SCENE 3
EXTERIOR. MAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON PAVEMENT, RUNNING THEN SLOWING. JEERS, OFF.
FRANK: (SHOUTING) I don't want any trouble. Just the money that you owe us.
JOHN: (OFF, SHOUTING) Come and get it, then.
MAN'S SLOW FOOTSTEPS ON PAVEMENT,
SUSAN: Get him, John.
JOHN: You're dead, pal.
SOUND OF PUNCH.
FRANK: Ow. There was no need to do that. My nose is bleeding.
JEERS.
SUSAN: Your mother's at the window, waving, John. I think she wants him to go inside.
CROSSFADE.
SCENE 4
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM.
FRANK: Thank you, Mrs McSweeney. I don't know much you owe us, but I'll take your word for it unless my wife says otherwise.
JOHN: What did you want to give him that money for, Mam?
SIREN OF POLICE CAR APPROACHING, OFF. SIREN STOPS. MAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON THE PAVEMENT. DOORBELL RINGS, HAMMERING ON THE DOOR. DOOR OPENED.
POLICEMAN: Your wife phoned from the shop. Why did you come round here. Didn't you realize that there'd be an altercation?
FRANK: They owed me money, sergeant. And they were threatening me.
SIREN OF POLICE CAR APPROACHING, OFF. SIREN STOPS.
SUSAN: John, there's another carful of the filth outside.
POLICEMAN: Inspector, not sergeant. Well, you won't get that money now. And less of your mouth, young woman. I don't want to hear you use the word filth again or you'll be on a charge.
FRANK: Oh, I've got the money. Look.
POLICEMAN: And you've got a bloodied nose and the makings of a nice shiner in return.
CROSSFADE.
SCENE 5
EXTERIOR.
ARTHUR: They didn't even give you a second glance, Frank, behind those designer wrap-round shades. Money well spent. With hindsight. Well, you do surprise me. I never had you down as a bare-knuckles pugilist.
FRANK: It was all over in seconds. He's not a big bloke, is he? You've seen him. Probably a bit shorter than me. But I wasn't expecting him to take a poke at me, and I certainly wasn't going to retaliate surrounded by that crowd of miscreants. The police took a statement and told me I'd have to appear in court as a witness. Then one day I was walking to the train station. The direct route was along a footpath through some woods. A bit isolated. Someone came up to me, from behind...
SCENE 6
EXTERIOR. BIRDS CHIRPING.
STRANGER: Excuse me, pal. Are you going to the station?
FRANK: Yes, it's only a five-minute walk. I'll show the way if you want.
STRANGER: Your wife has that little off-licence, hasn't she?
FRANK: That's right.
STRANGER: Well, let me give you some advice. Be careful what you say when you get into court. It's only five minutes to the station, but you never know who you might meet on the way. You get my meaning? Just a friendly warning, pal.
SCENE 7
EXTERIOR.
ARTHUR: Trying to put the frighteners on you, eh, Frank? If anyone said that to me I'd have given them a knuckle sarny. Sent him back to them scum with a few loose teeth as a return message.
FRANK: I'm not you, Arthur. I grew up in a posh leafy suburb of south Manchester, not the streets of hard knocks in the East End of London, like you. Anyway, he vanished into the trees before I had time to react. It rattled me, I must admit. I started carrying a spray can of hair lacquer in my pocket for self defence. I'd've bought a pepper spray if I'd known where to get one. Or even mace. Then one night...
SCENE 8
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM. SNORING.
BRENDA: Frank, wake up.
FRANK: What do you want, Brenda? It's the middle of the night.
BRENDA: I heard a noise in the shop.
FRANK: I can't hear anything. Go back to sleep. The alarm's on. I remember setting it.
BRENDA: I can smell burning.
FRANK: You're right. Where's my shoes?
CLATTER OF MAN'S FOOTSTEPS DESCENDING STAIRS, RECEDING.
(OFF, SHOUTING) It's nothing much, Brenda. Just a wad of newspapers that someone set light to and pushed through the letterbox. And it doesn't take a genius to work out who that someone was.
BRENDA: Next time it could be a Molotov cocktail.
FRANK: They're trying to scare us, Brenda, not kill us.
SCENE 9
EXTERIOR.
ARTHUR: And did it scare you?
FRANK: Not as much as the incident by the station. That definitely got me looking over my shoulder every time I went out. I even considered braving the traffic jams and driving into Manchester.
ARTHUR: Bet you never told the missus about it, did you?
FRANK: Of course not. I didn't want to worry her.
ARTHUR: And they knew it. They'd got inside your head. Reckoned you'd likely as not ignore that wanker threatening you. So they decided to work on you through the missus. And as a bonus provoke a of a touch of marital discord.
FRANK: Yeah, you're probably right, because the next thing that happened was another night, when we were both sound asleep.
SCENE 10
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM. PHONE RINGS.
BRENDA: Frank. Wake up.
FRANK: (SLEEPILY) Wha'? Wha'?
BRENDA: Oh never mind. I'll answer it. It's probably a wrong number.
MAN ON PHONE: (DISTORT) Put your husband on the phone, missus.
BRENDA: Who is it at this time of the morning?
MAN ON PHONE: (DISTORT) I know Frank's there. Put him on.
BRENDA: Who is that? Frank, wake up.
MAN ON PHONE: (DISTORT) Never mind, missus. You can give him the message. Tell him to be careful what he says when he gets into court. Just a friendly warning.
SCENE 11
EXTERIOR.
FRANK: Needless to say I didn't get much sleep the rest of that night.
SCENE 12
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM.
BRENDA: You're not going to court, Frank, and that's that.
FRANK: Brenda. Let me sleep please. We can talk in the morning.
BRENDA: Not till you promise me that tomorrow you'll go and see that police inspector and tell him...
SCENE 13
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM.
FRANK: Thank you for seeing me inspector.
POLICEMAN: I suppose it's about that business with the McSweeneys, eh?
FRANK: Yes. I've been thinking, and I'd rather not press charges.
POLICEMAN: It's out of our hands now. As you know, McSweeney elected to go for jury trial in Manchester. Naturally enough, because in this town the magistrates know him only too well. So you won't be needed in court again for a few months.
FRANK: Months? My wife and I can't put up with their threats and attacks for months on end.
POLICEMAN: Threats and attacks? You haven't reported anything to us.
FRANK: Well it was just one attack, if you can call it that. Some burning newspapers shoved through our letterbox at night.
POLICEMAN: Did you see them?
FRANK: Of course I didn't see them. It was the middle of the night.
POLICEMAN: What about the threats? Which of the McSweeney tribe was it?
FRANK: None of them. Someone I'd never seen before on that path to the station and a phone call at night.
POLICEMAN: Any witnesses by the station?
FRANK: He wasn't going to threaten me with someone there to hear him, was he?
POLICEMAN: So you've no actual proof it was them?
FRANK: No proof? Who do you think it was?
POLICEMAN: I understand what you're saying, but in the circumstances there's not a lot we can do.
FRANK: By not a lot you mean nothing, I suppose. Well in the circumstances, if you can't protect me and my wife, I won't be going in court as a witness.
POLICEMAN: If you don't appear in court we'll have no choice but to subpoena you. And if you still don't appear we'll be obliged to detain you, forcibly if necessary, and take you there.
SCENE 14
EXTERIOR.
ARTHUR: So did they have to drag you into court handcuffed and struggling?
FRANK: No. Funnily enough the McSweeneys left us alone after that. Except for a chorus of jeers and catcalls whenever our paths happened to cross on the High Street.
ARTHUR: In my experience, at least with the villains in my old manor in the Smoke, someone who seriously intends to kill you doesn't usually advertise the fact by threatening you first. And maybe the fuzz leaned on the McSweeneys a bit, gave them a teeny-weeny warning, off the record.
FRANK: There was just one final threat. In the actual Crown Court building, can you believe?
SCENE 15
INTERIOR. LARGE ECHOING ROOM. MAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON TILED FLOOR, OFF, APPROACHING THEN STOPPING.
STRANGER: This is your last chance pal. Be careful what you say when you get inside the court. Remember, your missus is on her own in that shop.
MAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON TILED FLOOR, RECEDING RAPIDLY.
FRANK: (SHOUTING) Inspector. Over here. Quick.
SCENE 16
EXTERIOR.
ARTHUR: Of course the fuzz never managed to nab him, did they?
FRANK: No. He mingled with all the people waiting outside the courtrooms and vanished. I was furious, although it just made me more determined to go inside and give evidence. But the inspector was worried. Said he thought I might come across as an aggressive witness because I was annoyed.
ARTHUR: So that was their game, then. Trying to get you to lose your cool.
FRANK: In that case it worked.
SCENE 17
INTERIOR. LARGE ROOM.
OFFICIAL: (OFF, LOUD) Court rise.
POLICEMAN: (LOW) Don't let what happened outside the courtroom affect the way you give evidence. Stay calm. The judge and jury don't know about all the previous he's got, not like the local magistrates do. All they see is someone stood there in his best suit, saying yes your honour, no your honour, all nice and polite and respectful. It's your word against his.
CROSSFADE.
(LOW) That's not a good sign The jury back after just twenty minutes.
FRANK: (LOW) Why not, inspector?
POLICEMAN: (LOW) Because it usually takes a jury longer to convict than to acquit.
SCENE 18
EXTERIOR.
FRANK: We sat there biting our nails while they went through their ceremonial legalistic rigmarole. Then this lady juror stood up and after a few more seconds of suspense we heard the verdict.
SCENE 19
INTERIOR. LARGE ROOM.
JUROR: (OFF) Guilty.
SCENE 20
EXTERIOR.
FRANK: Then they read out all his previous convictions. Petty theft, receiving, drunk and disorderly, actual bodily harm, stuff like that. But somehow he'd managed to keep out of jail.
ARTHUR: This time he went down, though?
FRANK: Yes, and I decided to put the McSweeneys out of my head. But one day in the gallery I offered to buy some lunch for this client who'd just spent a couple of grand on a single painting. That was serious money for me in then. He said he knew this pub that usually had something tasty on offer at midday.
SCENE 21
INTERIOR. LARGE ROOM. BAR SOUNDS: CHATTER, CLINK OF GLASSES.
GALLERY CUSTOMER: Mine's a pint of bitter, too, Frank.
STRIPPER'S MUSIC STARTS, OFF.
Told you there'd be some tasty morsels here, didn't I?
FRANK: I thought you were talking about the food. (LAUGHS)
GALLERY CUSTOMER: (LAUGHS) What happened with that bunch of wannabe gangsters you told me were hassling you? The McSweeneys.
FRANK: You remember their name?
GALLERY CUSTOMER: I checked them out. They wouldn't dare come down here to Manchester and play their games where there's real heavies. The leader of the pack, John, he's a weedy little runt playing at being a hard man. They scrape a living from petty thieving, receiving stolen junk no one else would bother to handle, and dealing in scrap metal. Most of which they've nicked themselves. And buying and selling horses.
FRANK: Seems like you've done your homework. But why?
GALLERY CUSTOMER: Thought you might need some help sorting them out. You've always been fair with me. Allowing for the fact that you're a dealer in modern art, that is.
FRANK: What kind of help did you have in mind?
GALLERY CUSTOMER: See that fellow at the other end of the bar? Give him a grand and he'd get them sorted out for you.
FRANK: The one with scars all over his face?
GALLERY CUSTOMER: Razor slashes. Wouldn't do it himself, of course. He'd subcontract the job to some mates. In Dundee I believe.
FRANK: What would I get for a thousand pounds?
GALLERY CUSTOMER: Oh, there'd be no McSweeneys left to bother you again. While you're thinking about it, take a look at the menu and let me concentrate on that young lady with the silver tassels on her boobs. How do they manage get them spinning in opposite directions at the same time?
SCENE 22
EXTERIOR.
FRANK: Life's cheap if you know the right people, isn't it Arthur? I don't know exactly how many McSweeneys there were back then, but if you say well over twenty that's less than fifty quid apiece. To snuff a life out.
ARTHUR: You wouldn't get a bargain price like that nowadays. Inflation's pushed up the cost of everything, and hitmen have to live, like anyone else.
FRANK: Except their victims. It was a tempting offer. But it would still have been murder, even if I didn't do the dirty deed myself. In any case, I couldn't afford it.
ARTHUR: You can now. Say the current going rate was five grand, that'd be peanuts to you these days. I bet you lash out more on fancy wine for a single opening night at your gallery.
FRANK: But why do it at all? After all this time? I've cooled down a lot over the years.
ARTHUR: I read this book about revenge. And you know what they say, that revenge...
FRANK: Is a dish best taken cold.
ARTHUR: Anyway, you weren't so cool when you first clapped eyes on them today.
FRANK: It was the shock of seeing them after so long.
ARTHUR: So just the sight of them can still set the old ticker racing, eh? There was a few good ideas in that book. For example, a phony death notice in the local rag.
FRANK: Now that's not a bad idea. John McSweeney. Died suddenly on holiday in Spain. Of course we'd have to get a copy of the paper to them while they were still here. I know a couple of ageing queens that run a hairdresser's on the High Street, who had a brush with the McSweeneys themselves. John had a reputation for being a gay-basher. They'd place the ad.
ARTHUR: Seems like you're warming to the idea. Tell your mates to make sure they do it anonymously. They mustn't leave a papertrail.
FRANK: We could have some fun with this, Arthur. First we've got to find out what hotel they're staying at and how long they're going to be here. Then we need to check on their movements. You don't think they have friends here, do you? They don't call it the Costa del Crime for nothing.
ARTHUR: No self-respecting villain would want scum like that for mates. But I'll make some discreet enquiries, just to be sure.
FRANK: The last thing we want is to end up under surveillance by some buddies of theirs because we're watching them.
SCENE 23
INTERIOR. LARGE HALL. AIRPORT SOUNDS.
PABLO: Welcome to Spain, sergeant.
BECKY: Call me Becky, please.
PABLO: I'm Pablo. It's good of you to come and help us with your less respectable compatriots who have taken up residence here. Let's go to a bar for drinks and tapas before I introduce you to everyone at the police station, or the comisaría (PRONOUNCED CO-MEE-SA-REE-A), as we say. But first may I ask you, did you have time to investigate that suspicious gang which has just arrived here?
BECKY: Yes, I checked with the police in England. They're just petty criminals. Not gangsters. I don't think you need to worry about them.
PABLO: We'll initiate surveillance on them anyway. Just as a precaution.
SCENE 24
EXTERIOR. TRAFFIC SOUNDS.
ARTHUR: Looks like your McSweeney friends are heading towards that bar what my pal Joe keeps, Frank.
FRANK: That hangout for mobsters who did a runner from England before the extradition laws were changed, you mean? It's down the next street on the left, isn't it? And that's where they've gone.
ARTHUR: Joe's a good mate of mine, but he's from south of the river, and he only lets us East Enders in on sufferance. So he's not exactly going to welcome that rabble with open arms.
FRANK: Arthur, I think we're being followed.
ARTHUR: It's us what's following the McSweeneys, Frank.
FRANK: Don't make it too obvious, but take a look at that woman behind us.
ARTHUR: Nah. She probably lives near here. She's not dressed like a tourist.
FRANK: Let's see if she follows us round this corner, then.
JEERS, OFF.
ARTHUR: I told you there'd be a kerfuffle if they tried to set foot in Joe's bar. Looks like he's made it pretty obvious he doesn't want their custom.
FRANK: That woman's still behind us. You see her?
MOBILE PHONE RINGS, OFF,
Someone's phoning her. Who can have put her onto us?
ARTHUR: Nobody has, Frank. She just happens to be walking the same way that we are.
CROSSFADE.
BECKY: Thanks for phoning me back Pablo. I followed the McSweeneys, as we agreed. They've got themselves into an argument.
PABLO: (DISTORT) Where are you Becky?
BECKY: Near that criminals' bar that you showed me earlier. There's a bit of a fracas here.
PABLO: (DISTORT) I'll be with you in a minute. I was already on my way there to chat about the McSweeneys with Joe, the landlord.
CROSSFADE.
ARTHUR: Looks like Joe's laying down the law to them. The one that's arguing with him's the one what bopped you, ain't he?
CROSSFADE.
JOHN: You've no right to bar us. Someone told us last night that this place was a local den of thieves. So how come we're not welcome an' all?
JOE: It's rubbish like you what gives respectable criminals a bad name.
PABLO: Hello, Joe. Are these people causing you problems?
JOE: Hello Pablo. I've told them they're not welcome, but they won't take no for an answer. I keep a nice quiet respectable bar, as you know, and that's the way I want it to stay.
PABLO: I'm a police officer. So I suggest you all leave now if you don't want to be on the next plane back to England.
MUTTERING, OFF, RECEDING.
JOE: I'd already heard about them on the grapevine. Crowding into bars and taking them over, shouting their mouths off, driving out the regulars. They're bad news, Pablo.
PABLO: Let's go inside and talk, Joe. (RECEDING) Tell me where they've been and who they've spoken to.
CROSSFADE.
FRANK: Who's that, Frank, that just went into the bar with your friend?
ARTHUR: One of the local fuzz. Strange he turned up like that. Joe would never phone the pigs. Prefers to sort out his problems himself. Or sometimes with some help from one or two of the regulars.
BECKY: Excuse me, could I have a word? Here's my ID. One of the pigs. Detective sergeant, Scottish police, on secondment to Spain.
ARTHUR: Don't tell her nofink Frank. She ain't got no authority to ask you nofink over here.
FRANK: I was right. She was following us.
BECKY: Frank? It's you who had some trouble with the McSweeney family years ago, back in England, isn't it?
FRANK: Yes, but why were you following us?
BECKY: I wasn't following you. I was following the McSweeneys. What interests me is why you were following them.
ARTHUR: I'm warning you, Frank.
FRANK: Relax Arthur. We haven't done anything wrong. You see, sergeant, I saw them down by the beach the other day. So naturally I was curious to know what they were doing in Spain.
CROSSFADE.
ARTHUR: There he goes, Frank, the Spanish Mr Plod. He hasn't even given us a glance. I told you he wouldn't. Now, let's go inside and see if we can work out a plan of action with Joe.
FRANK: Are you crazy, Arthur? Right after that close encounter with the sexy lady detective?
ARTHUR: It was you what said we could have some fun with this. Don't chicken out now. She swallowed your story all right. That you just wanted to be sure the McSweeneys hadn't come over here looking for you. They want sorting out. When you phoned your shirt-lifter pals in England to put the death notice in the paper, they told you the McSweeneys were still up to their tricks, didn't they?
FRANK: (RECEDING) Arthur, shirt-lifter isn't an expression that's used in polite society any more. You say gay or homosexual.
SCENE 25
EXTERIOR. SOUND OF LAPPING WAVES. MEN'S FOOTSTEPS ON CREAKING PLANKS.
FRANK: What are we doing down by the marina at this time of night, Arthur?
ARTHUR: I told you, Frank. If we're going ahead with our plan of action we'll need a bit of extra muscle. So I want you to meet someone, and he lives right here. On that boat. Denny. Short for Denzel. If you're looking for muscle Denny's your man. A right big geezer he is, a mountain of a man. Used to be a smuggler.
FRANK: Smuggling what? And where?
ARTHUR: Ask him. He tells the story better than me. (SHOUTS) Denny. Can us two landlubbers come on board?
DENNY: (OFF) Arthur, me old reprobate. I'd just gone below deck to fetch my nightly ration of grog. Come and sit on deck and have a glass of rum with me and watch the harbour lights. Mind that plank. Who's your friend?
ARTHUR: This is Frank. We've come to ask you a favour.
CROSSFADE.
DENNY: I don't think the Gibraltarians were really bothered about anyone smuggling stuff from Spain after Franco closed the border. After all, I was during my patriotic duty, helping to break a blockade imposed by a hostile foreign power. But it drove the Spanish border guards crazy, the Guardia Civil, (PRONOUNCED GWAHR-DEE-A THEE-VEEL, WITH TH AS IN THING), that is. Their launches stopped me every time I came back from Gibraltar, looking for tobacco or drugs. But of course they never found a thing, because they didn't stop me on the way to Gibraltar.
FRANK: So what were you smuggling, Denny?
DENNY: (LAUGHS) Mushrooms. (LAUGHS) You couldn't get 'em for love or money in Gibraltar while the border was closed.
LAUGHTER FROM ALL THREE MEN.
ARTHUR: Well, Denny. What do you think? Are you with us? If we are going to snatch him we're going to want a bit of help. Maybe the death notice wasn't such a good idea after all, Frank. Could have put them on their guard.
DENNY: What death notice?
ARTHUR: Oh, we never showed you it, did we? Here, take a butcher's.
RUSTLING NEWSPAPER.
DENNY: John McSweeney. Son of duh, duh, duh, duh. Died suddenly in Spain. Will be sadly missed by duh, duh, duh, duh. Duh, duh. List of names that fills nearly half a column. Ending with the fuzz! The fuzz?
FRANK: We included all their names to show that we knew them. To get 'em on edge. Spoil the rest of their holiday.
DENNY: But the fuzz? Missed by the fuzz? You mean the police? How did you persuade the paper to print that?
ARTHUR: Maybe the pal of them two arse-bandit mates of Frank's who actually placed the ad told 'em it was the name of the McSweeneys' cat.
FRANK: The police'd miss him all right. Like a festering boil on their arses.
DENNY: Burial at sea. What's that about?
ARTHUR: It was my idea. To make him nervous of going down the port at night, where all the action is. In case someone snatched him and put a pair of concrete wellies on him and dumped him in the briny still struggling. Probably too subtle for their tiny minds. All the same it has a sinister ring about it, don't you think?
FRANK: Burial at sea! Wait a minute. That's given me an idea.
SCENE 26
INTERIOR. MEDIUM-SIZED ROOM. BAR SOUNDS: CHATTER, CLINK OF GLASSES.
JOE: (OFF) Evening, Arthur. Pint of London Pride?
ARTHUR: Make that two, Joe. Is that right, Frank?
FRANK: Yes, fine, Arthur.
ARTHUR: So, Denny's prepared to go along with our scheme. But where're we going to buy a coffin? We can't just turn up at the local undertaker's and buy one off of the shelf. The minute we left the morgue he'd be straight on the blower to the law.
FRANK: There's loads of scrap timber by the marina. Broken pallets and stuff like that. We can easily knock something together with a hammer and nails.
ARTHUR: Yeah, suppose it just has to be the right shape and size.
FRANK: We should really sew him in sailcloth and weigh him down with two cannonballs. I did a search for burial at sea in the Internet. But where would we lay our hands on a couple of cannonballs?
ARTHUR: Why don't we just lash a plank over the side of the boat and prod him with a sword to encourage him to start walking?
FRANK: A sword? Same problem as the cannonballs. Let's find out what Joe wanted to talk about. Where's he vanished to, anyway?
ARTHUR: He'll be with us as soon as he's got a minute. This place is heaving tonight.
CROSSFADE.
JOE: ...and bundled the head of the tribe, what's his name?
ARTHUR: Dunno. What's his name, Frank?
FRANK: John.
JOE: Anyway, grabbed him, blindfolded him and bundled him into a car. Three heavies. One driving, him sat in the back between the other two. Real evil-looking pair of bruisers. Giving him menacing stares every time he asked them where they were taking him, but them keeping stum, not letting a word pass their lips. Drove him to that bridge over the motorway...
SCENE 27
EXTERIOR. SOUND OF HEAVY TRAFFIC, OFF. CAR PULLING UP WITH A SCREECH OF BRAKES. CAR DOORS OPENED AND SLAMMED SHUT.
JOHN: Where am I? Take this blindfold off. Let go of me ankles. What are you doing?
HEAVY: Now you can take the blindfold off of 'im.
JOHN: (SCREAMS) No-o-o.
HEAVY: See that traffic down below? Well next time we will let go of your ankles.
SCENE 28
INTERIOR. MEDIUM-SIZED ROOM. BAR SOUNDS: CLINK OF GLASSES. FOOTBALL COMMENTARY ON TV AND DRUNKEN BOOS AND CHEERS, OFF,
ARTHUR: Well that's really put the kibosh on me and Frank's scheme, Joe. He's gonna be scared to set foot outside of their hotel now unless he has the entire family with 'im as a bodyguard.
JOE: You weren't listening, Arthur. I never said nobody'd snatched him.
ARTHUR: How can you expect me to hear you with the football going full blast on the telly and the racket them West Ham supporters is making?
JOE: What I said was, what if a few heavies grabbed him, blindfolded him and bundled him into a car. I never said nobody'd actually done it. But what if somebody had? It's not Frank's private vendetta.
FRANK: We'd really appreciate it, Joe, if you'd use your influence to give us a clear field to sort this out our way.
JOE: They want driving out of town. And a few of the lads is ready to do it. 'Cause they're well and truly pissed off with that mob filling up bars, causing a rumpus and forcing out the regulars who live here. Plus the tourists who're out on the town with money burning a hole in their pockets.
ARTHUR: Joe, you and me go back a long way, don't we? And this is your manor, isn't it? So give Frank and me a day or two and we'll do more than just drive 'em out of town. I promise you. On my mother's grave.
JOE: Don't give me that crap, Arthur. Your mother's still alive and well and living with your sister in Soufend.
SCENE 29
EXTERIOR. SOUND OF LAPPING WAVES. MEN'S FOOTSTEPS ON CREAKING PLANKS.
FRANK: Before we go on board, I've got to be honest with you, Arthur. I still have my doubts. Maybe we shouldn't waste any more of Denny's time.
ARTHUR: You blowing hot and cold again, Frank? What are you, a man or a mouse? If I'd'a known back in the bar that you was gonna get cold feet I'd'a let Joe's mates go ahead with their plan. Dangle him 'im by the ankles over the rush-hour traffic. In the hope that they might accidentally loosen their grip. Anyway, I thought you wanted the McSweeneys to know it was you what was behind it. Private satisfaction wasn't enough. That's what you told me.
FRANK: But I don't want them to be able to prove it was me.
ARTHUR: Wouldn't you like to go back to England, to that yokel town where you used to live, and saunter into his local, as cocky as hell, and look him in the eyes and just smile? You knowing he knows and him knowing that you know. Then turn your back on him and walk away.
FRANK: Turn my back on him? Inside a pub where he's going to be surrounded by half his family and all of his cronies? No way.
ARTHUR: If you can't do that when we've finished, if they'd lay as much much as the tip of a little finger on you, then maybe you're right. Perhaps we should throw in the towel right now.
FRANK: Another thing, once they read that death notice they'll be on the lookout.
DENNY: (OFF) Hello there landlubbers. Just in time for another ration of grog. Watch that plank. I know you two don't have sea legs like me.
CROSSFADE.
ARTHUR: They should have the paper by now, Frank. My man said he'd deliver it to their hotel this afternoon.
DENNY: I agree with Frank that we'll have to take extra care once they've read it. Like I should keep my lips firmly sealed when we grab him, in case some of his tribe are hanging around to hear me. How many Cornishmen are there with a boat in this marina? Just me. So I don't want to give them a clue that'll lead them straight to this boat. Or the police.
ARTHUR: You two still don't understand the mentality of these geezers. They wouldn't go to the police any more than Joe or me would. We sort our own problems out, and them too.
FRANK: It's not just that we might get caught. I still think there's something lacking in our plan. You say we don't threaten him, Arthur. Is that right?
ARTHUR: Yeah, 'cause if you do and he ignores your threat, then you've got to carry it out. Like in the scenario of dangling him upside down over the motorway. I love it. But if push comes to shove you've got to take him back and drop him. Otherwise you've lost, and they they can do anything they want. You've shot your load, and they know it.
DENNY: What exactly to you want out of this, Frank?
FRANK: I want to stop them hassling people like they did me. They're still up to their usual shenanigans. My hairdresser friends told me on the phone.
ARTHUR: You'll never do that, Frank. It's bred into them. They don't know any other life. The best you can hope for is to run them out of town, like Joe said. But not just here. Back in England.
FRANK: If we could rid that town of those vermin, that would be fantastic.
ARTHUR: So that's our aim. Plus revenge pure and simple. Oh, I brought that book that I told you about. Listen to this.
PAGES OF BOOK BEING TURNED.
What Alfred Hitchcock said, something to do with a picture he made, I think. Here it is. He reckoned that revenge was sweet and not fattening.
DENNY: I hope you're not showing everyone that book all over town, Arthur.
ARTHUR: I might have shown it to a few of my drinking pals. And I took it to Joe's bar the other day.
DENNY: Well stop flashing it around. Burn it. No, better still, throw it in the drink. Not here. When we're well out to sea.
ARTHUR: What is it that the McSweeneys value most?
FRANK: Their horses, according to my hairdresser friends. One of them's stayed England just to watch over the field they use for grazing.
DENNY: But once you've stolen their horses, where's the threat? You've played your trump card.
ARTHUR: In any case, silent menace can better than any threat. What they can imagine could be a hundred times worse than anything that you could threaten them with.
FRANK: What we need to do is terrify him, freak him out so much that he doesn't want another experience like it ever again in the rest of his life.
DENNY: Or turn him into a laughing stock. Ridicule's a powerful weapon, too, you know.
FRANK: Or the two things combined. Wait a minute. I've got an idea. Would this boat of yours get us to North Africa, Denny?
DENNY: It got me here from Falmouth, across the Bay of Biscay. And in a force nine on the Beaufort Scale.
SCENE 30
INTERIOR. MEDIUM-SIZED ROOM. MAN'S AND WOMAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON TILED FLOOR, OFF, APPROACHING AND STOPPING.
JOHN: Someone phoned our room and said there was a letter for us here in reception.
RECEPTIONIST: Good afternoon señor. Good afternoon señora. Mr and Mrs McSweeney. Correct?
SUSAN: But nobody could send us a letter here, 'cause we never gave no one the address of the hotel.
RECEPTIONIST: Here it is, señor.
SUSAN: That's a bloody big envelope for a letter. And there's no address on it. Just your name. What the hell is it?
ENVELOPE RIPPED OPEN.
JOHN: John McSweeney. Died suddenly in Spain. Will be sadly missed by. Look, it's got all our names here. Burial at sea? What are they on about? When I find the wankers what done this, they're dead. Take it upstairs and show it to everybody. I'm going out for drink.
SUSAN: But they could be watching out for you.
JOHN: I'm just going for a quick un in that bar along the street. Then we can all go out together later, like we always do.
SUSAN: What, you're not going to that pooftahs' place again? Where that Spanish fella wearing a dress and a wig dances on top of the bar? Don't go, John. You could get in bother like you did in that queers' pub back home.
JOHN: I'm not gonna get involved in no fisticuffs. Not here in Spain. I might be daft but I'm not stupid.
SCENE 31
EXTERIOR. TRAFFIC SOUNDS.
ARTHUR: That's him coming out of the hotel, isn't it? My watcher said he always went for a drink on his own round about this time. At that trannies' bar over on the corner.
DENNY: But who's that woman with him?
FRANK: That's his wife. It's OK. She's just waving him goodbye.
DENNY: Right. On with our sunglasses and hats, and keep the brims pulled down. And remember, Frank, leave all the talking to Arthur.
ARTHUR: So I'm the fall guy, eh?
FRANK: It's logical Arthur. We don't want any witnesses hearing my Manchester accent any more than Denny's Cornish one.
DENNY: Everyone in town must know about that barny at Joe's bar by now, Arthur, and the place is always full of Cockneys. So no one's going to suspect you.
FRANK: Stop arguing, you two. He's nearly here. Oh shit. His wife's running after him. She's seen us.
DENNY: What's that envelope she's waving.
ARTHUR: The one we sent the newspaper in. I knew that death notice was gonna come back and haunt us.
DENNY: Never mind. Let's do it. Now!
MAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON PAVEMENT, OFF, APPROACHING.
ARTHUR: Excuse me mate.
MAN'S FOOTSTEPS STOP.
JOHN: Yeah? What are you doing? Get that blindfold off me.
ARTHUR: Gimme the handcuffs. Hands behind his back.
JOHN: Let go of me.
SUSAN: (OFF, SHOUTING) John.
RUNNING WOMAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON THE PAVEMENT, OFF, APPROACHING. CAR DOORS OPENED AND SLAMMED SHUT. CAR ENGINE STARTED. CAR DRIVEN AWAY, TYRES SCREECHING.
Help me someone. They've got my John.
FADE OUT.
SCENE 32
EXTERIOR. SOUND OF LAPPING WAVES. MEN'S FOOTSTEPS ON CREAKING PLANKS. FOOTSTEPS STOP.
JOHN: Take this bleedin' blindfold off. And let go of me, you friggin' toerags.
ARTHUR: There's a plank in front of you and water down below. So don't try and do a runner. 'Cause if you fall, I'm not jumping in to save you.
JOHN: (OFF, RECEDING) Where're you cretins taking me?
DENNY: He's an obstreperous little blighter, ain't he Frank?
FRANK: Let's go and get these leg irons on him.
METALLIC CLANKING. CROSSFADE. CHUGGING SOUND OF BOAT ENGINE, OFF.
ARTHUR: OK lads, he's had a bit of time to think about his predicament. And he must realize we're well out at sea. So let's go and slip his blindfold down, just a touch, accidentally on purpose like, and give him a glimpse of his coffin.
CROSSFADE. SOUND OF WOODEN CRATE DRAGGED ON PLANKS.
JOHN: What's that? Put me down. Let me out. (SCREAMS) No-o- o.
SOUNDS OF A SCUFFLE.
ARTHUR: On with the lid.
LID PLACED ON CRATE.
JOHN: (OFF, MUFFLED) Let me out. Let me out.
ARTHUR: Where's the hammer and nails?
HAMMERING.
JOHN: (SOBS) Let me out.
FADE OUT.
SCENE 33
EXTERIOR. CHUGGING SOUND OF BOAT ENGINE, OFF.
FRANK: There hasn't been a peep out of our guest over there for a while now, Arthur. You don't think he's suffocated because we nailed the lid on too tight, do you?
ARTHUR: We'll soon find out, because I fink it's about time for the next phase of our plan. Go and get Denny. We'll need a hand from him to lift that crate.
CROSSFADE. SOUND OF WOODEN CRATE DRAGGED ON PLANKS.
JOHN: (OFF, MUFFLED) What're you doing?
ARTHUR: Right lads, after three. Up onto the side of the boat. One, two, three.
JOHN: (OFF, MUFFLED) No, please, no. What do you want? I'll do anything you want. Just tell me. Anything.
ARTHUR: (SHOUTING) Anything?
JOHN: (OFF, MUFFLED, SOBBING) Anything, yes, anything.
ARTHUR: (SHOUTING) Back on the deck, lads. Careful you don't let him slide overboard. Not now he's promised to change his ways.
CROSSFADE.
DENNY: We're nearly there. See those lights ahead of us? That's the African coast.
FRANK: And our timing's perfect. It should be almost dark by the time we get there.
CROSSFADE. SOUND OF BOAT BANGING AGAINST DOCK.
DENNY: Get your money out, Frank. They all know me in this harbour, but they still want their baksheesh.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: (OFF, SHOUTING) As-salam alaykum. Hello my friend, Denny. Let us come on board and do the usual routine check for contraband.
FRANK: I thought you said they wouldn't search the boat.
DENNY: Relax, Frank. It's all just a ritual. Give me two of them 100- dirham notes there, and that should be the end of it. Always has been up till now.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: What is in that box?
DENNY: It's to smuggle the drugs out, Hassan. When we leave. You can open it then.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: (LAUGHS) Ah, very funny, Denny. I will hold you to your promise. Your passports, please. Just you three? No illegal immigrants?
DENNY: Yes, a whole boatload of Spaniards, all desperate to steal your well-paid jobs.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: (LAUGHS) Ah, very funny, Denny. Very funny.
JOHN: (OFF, MUFFLED) Help.
FAINT BANGING SOUND, OFF.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: What was that noise?
ARTHUR: I never heard nofink.
JOHN: (OFF, MUFFLED) Help. Let me out.
FAINT BANGING SOUND, OFF.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: There it is again. A voice. And a banging sound.
FRANK: It must be the ship's cat.
DENNY: Frank, give me two more of them 100-dirham notes.
HARBOUR OFFICIAL: And another two I think.
FADE OUT.
SCENE 34
EXTERIOR.
ARTHUR: Pull his hat down, one of you, to hide his blindfold a bit. That's it. Now I'll walk on with our guest, lads, and you follow. Down this alleyway, right?
JOHN: Where are we? And when are you Cockney gits gonna take these bleedin' handcuffs off?
MEN'S FOOTSTEPS ON PAVEMENT, RECEDING.
DENNY: Every time I come to the casbah I feel like I'm stepping back into mediaeval times. You know what I mean?
INDISTINCT SOUND OF PASSERS-BY TALKING, OFF. CHILDREN'S LAUGHTER AND SCREAMS, OFF.
FRANK: Yeah. Look at that old fella sitting cross-legged tapping away at that sheet of metal with that funny little tool. What's he making? And that other fella, rotating that rod between the palms of his hands. Is he trying to start a fire on that piece of wood?
DENNY: No it's what passes for a drill here. The design can't have changed in centuries.
CROSSFADE.
JOHN: I thought you was gonna let me go.
ARTHUR: What on earth gave you that idea? You promised to mend your ways and in return we didn't dump you in the briny. Not for the time being, anyway. That's the only bargain there was.
JOHN: You're not all Cockneys, are you? I heard a Manchester accent back there.
FRANK: (LOW) He heard me.
DENNY: (LOW) Relax. Let them walk on a bit.
FRANK: Watch out for that mule.
SLOW CLIP-CLOP OF HOOVES.
How do they load it so high without everything falling off its back? And what's that smell? It niffs a bit here, doesn't it?
DENNY: From the tanneries. See those vats over there? They use cows' urine to cure the skins.
CALL TO PRAYER FROM MOSQUE.
JOHN: What the bleedin' 'ell's that?
ARTHUR: It's the call to prayer from the mosque, isn't it? You effin' northern country bumpkin.
CALL TO PRAYER FROM ANOTHER MOSQUE, THEN ANOTHER, ALL SLIGHTLY OUT OF SYNC.
FRANK: Why don't they all start at the same time?
DENNY: Maybe they start at sunset, rather than an actual time.
HUSTLER: Hello my friends. What are you looking for? Carpets? Hashish? A boy? I know where to find anything you want.
DENNY: Just ignore him. There's always hustlers as you get near the souk.
HUSTLER: I will take you to the souk.
DENNY: Look, sonny boy, we know the way to the souk. So just eff off, will you?
FRANK: Are we nearly there? 'Cause it'll be dark soon.
DENNY: Any quiet spot around here without too much light is pretty much as good as another, ain't it? Like down this side passage.
FRANK: OK, let's do it, then. (SHOUTS) Stop. Here.
JOHN: I know that voice. What're you doing to me?
ARTHUR: Unlock them cuffs for a minute so I can get his shirt off. Pull his trousers down. And his underpants.
JOHN: You're you perverts doing to me? (SHOUTS) Help.
ARTHUR: There's no one to help you here, pal. Take his shoes off. You'll never get his trousers off of him otherwise.
RENTBOY: Hello my friends.
DENNY: Not another hustler.
RENTBOY: I am sex from the Sahara. Soft and wet inside like the flesh of a melon. Come with me to my room.
DENNY: He must think we're sexual tourists.
ARTHUR: Eff off and leave us alone. Can't you see we're otherwise occupied? No wait a minute. How much?
FADE OUT.
SCENE 35
INTERIOR. SMALL ROOM. MEN'S FOOTSTEPS CLIMBING UNCARPETED STAIRS. SOUNDS OF A SCUFFLE.
JOHN: (OFF, RECEDING) Where're you taking me? Gimme me clothes back.
FRANK: I don't like this, Denny. Who knows what we're gonna find upstairs. Perhaps a gang of the local hoodlums. Or maybe even the police. It could be a setup.
DENNY: Nah, he's just a freelance rentboy working on his own.
FRANK: But we agreed what we were going to do. Strip his clothes off and leave him in the middle of the casbah to find his own way back to Spain. Blindfold and handcuffed.
DENNY: I know what we agreed, but we voted to amend the plan, and you was outvoted, Frank. We weren't going to let you miss an opportunity like this. Come on, let's get upstairs and see what's going on.
MEN'S FOOTSTEPS CLIMBING UNCARPETED STAIRS. RECEDING. CROSSFADE.
ARTHUR: Come on in lads. Look at what these two are up to. And he likes it! Who would have thought it? Our tough hoodlum's a nancy boy.
GASPING AND GRUNTING.
FRANK: He's not protesting.
DENNY: If only we had a camera.
FRANK: I've got my mobile. I could video them while they're at it.
ARTHUR: Quick. And off with his blindfold off so his face shows up on the video. Take the cuffs off, too, so it's obvious he ain't being forced to do nofink against his will.
FRANK: What if he recognizes me?
DENNY: I don't think he'll be looking at you. And who cares if he sees you now?
ARTHUR: Hurry up. Before they're finished. Imagine what a video of this is going to do to his reputation back in England. Not just a bit of French kissing and groping. The full monty.
SCENE 36
EXTERIOR. INDISTINCT SOUND OF PASSERS-BY TALKING, OFF. CHILDREN'S LAUGHTER AND SCREAMS, OFF. SLOW CLIP-CLOP OF HOOVES.
DENNY: Look at him, dashing off, naked as the day he was born. Where does he think he's running to?
FRANK: Culture shock doesn't start to describe what he's experiencing now. Spain must have seemed exotic to him. But this place? People all around him in Arabic dress. All the street signs in Arabic. He doesn't even know what country he's in.
ARTHUR: And them street urchins running after him, laughing. And the men jeering and the women looking the other way.
FRANK: He's gone. Down some dark alleyway that leads to nowhere in particular. He's living a nightmare. He's lost touch with reality. Maybe he thinks he's going crazy. Perhaps he will. How did he get here? In a boat and before that a car. That's all he knows, the poor sod.
ARTHUR: You're not starting to feel sorry for him, are you?
FRANK: No, not really. But I expected a feeling of satisfaction. Instead I feel, I don't know, sort of dirty.
CROSSFADE.
WOMAN IN STREET: That man's got no clothes on. And he's running towards us.
JOHN: (PANTING, BREATHLESS) Help me mister.
MAN IN STREET: Cover yourself up man. Are you English?
JOHN: Yes. Help me. Where am I? What country am I in?
WOMAN IN STREET: He's crazy. Look at his eyes. He's frothing at the mouth. Come on. Let's get away from him.
MAN'S AND WOMAN'S FOOTSTEPS ON PAVEMENT, RUNNING, RECEDING.
JOHN: (SOBBING) No, don't leave me here on me own, mister. Please.
SCENE 37
INTERIOR. MEDIUM-SIZED ROOM. BAR SOUNDS: CLINK OF GLASSES.
ARTHUR: Two pints of London Pride, Joe.
JOE: Hello strangers. Where've you two been hiding yourselves? Heard the news about that tribe you had all the bother with, Frank? Wait a minute while I get your beer from the other pump. This one's off.
FRANK: Joe's very friendly today, Arthur. Actually addressed me by my name.
ARTHUR: Maybe it's because of what he's heard about your McSweeney friends. That was a turnup for the books with the rentboy, eh? His previous queerbashing was obviously a denial of his own repressed sexuality.
FRANK: That's a very profound statement for you, Joe. Although somewhat marred by your politically incorrect phraseology.
ARTHUR: I told you before, Frank, I've nothing against shirt-lifters. Some of my best mates back in the Smoke were pooftahs.
JOE: Here you are lads. These two are on the house. For services rendered.
ARTHUR: What d'yer mean Joe?
JOE: Come on, you must have had something to do with that lot scarpering.
FRANK: They've gone?
JOE: Yeah. Vanished without a trace. Booked out of their hotel and skedaddled, even though they'd paid for another week, so my spies tell me.
ARTHUR: Gone where?
JOE: Who knows? And who cares? Did the rounds of the English-speaking travel agents. Tried to change their flight, so another spy tells me. But their wads of fivers and tenners weren't acceptable. Or mebbe didn't cover the cost of all the tickets needed to transport that mob back to Blighty.
ARTHUR: And I don't suppose had no plastic.
JOE: Next they went to the British Consulate and asked to be repatriated. But they drew a blank there, too. Then they vanished off the radar. Frank, exactly what did you two do to spook him so much? He vanished for a few days, and when he reappeared he was wandering round just staring into space. Like a zombie. Not speaking to anyone.
FADE OUT.
SCENE 36
EXTERIOR. INDISTINCT SOUND OF PASSERS-BY TALKING, OFF, AND WHINNYING HORSES, OFF. HOOVES OF TWO HORSES GALLOPING ON ROAD, OFF, APPROACHING THEN RECEDING.
ARTHUR: Look at them two, racing bareback down the main street of the village. Never in me life have I seen so many horses in one place, Frank. Not even when I used to go to the races.
FRANK: It's one of the oldest horse fairs in England. Centuries old. Gypsies come from all over the country. There's even a few still make the journey in traditional caravans, like those parked over there.
SLOW CLIP-CLOP OF HOOVES, OFF, APPROACHING.
Watch out, Arthur. This fella wants to ride his horse into the river to wash it.
SPLASHING.
ARTHUR: So the McSweeneys' horses is somewhere in that seething mass of horseflesh?
FRANK: Yep. Hopefully they'll be sold by now. My life's certainly changed this past few weeks, hasn't it? First a participant in a kidnapping. And then an accomplice in horse rustling.
ARTHUR: You fink the McSweeneys is here?
FRANK: I can't see it. From what Joe said John McSweeney's had all the fight knocked out of him.
ARTHUR: Mebbe we should watch our backs, all the same.
FRANK: Perhaps, but the fact that the rustling took place while we had hold of him proves that we've got friends in England. (PAUSE) Arthur. I've been doing a lot of thinking. Was what we did justifiable revenge or just sadistic torture?
ARTHUR: You been thinking too much, Frank. We've probably saved a lot of their potential victims a load of heartache. We done society a service.
FRANK: But I'm talking about myself. It certainly hasn't given me any closure. Back in that room, would I have encouraged that male prostitute to do what he did to him if he hadn't wanted it?
ARTHUR: But he couldn't get enough, could he?
FRANK: That's not the point. We've almost certainly helped other people, but what have we done to ourselves in the process?
ARTHUR: I'm not losing no sleep over nofink we done. He had it coming to him.
FRANK: It's as if I've lost whatever innocence I had left. But you know what bothers me most?
ARTHUR: I'm all ears.
FRANK: What we did got me excited. Particularly the business with the coffin and in that room. I could get a taste for it, and that scares me.
ARTHUR: Give it a rest, Frank. Let's change the subject. You never told me what happened between you and that sexy lady copper. I reckon she had the hots for you. Am I right? Or was she hoping you'd let something slip so she could nick you?
FRANK: We arranged to meet in Joe's bar. It was her idea. We were sat there and I was wondering whether to make a move when she asked Joe to switch the telly on. And on came our video.
CROSSFADE.
SCENE 37
INTERIOR. MEDIUM-SIZED ROOM. BAR SOUNDS: CHATTER, CLINK OF GLASSES. GASPING AND GRUNTING FROM TELEVISION, OFF.
BECKY: Interesting video, Frank.
FRANK: Sergeant...
BECKY: Becky. My name's Becky. I hear your little movie's number one on the bootleg video list in that town in England where you used to live.
FRANK: You'd seen it before, er... Becky?
BECKY: Me and every other copper in Britain. Could come in handy if the McSweeneys ever get up to their old tricks again and need a gentle reminder to behave themselves. Wherever they are now.
FRANK: What do you mean?
BECKY: Haven't you heard? They did a moonlight. Right. Business over. This is your town, so where're you taking me for a meal? Then you can show me some nice Spanish bars where I can ply you with drinks. And later, well you own an art gallery. So I suppose you'll be wanting to show me your etchings.
END
