Mercenaries: Episode 1: Guns for HireMature

 MERCENARIES

EPISODE ONE

“GUNS FOR HIRE”

1. EXT.  Park.  Day.
A park in England.  It is summer.  HAPPY KIDS play football and chase in the sun.  As they do this, rousing orchestral music plays (Radetsky March).  The KIDS run into a white-walled suburban middle-class kitchen with pine fittings.  A hand raises a tray of orange squash from a worktop.

Close-ups of the children eagerly quaffing the summery beverage.

A cut reveals that a BLACK AND WHITE MINSTREL is also holding a glass.  He smiles at the camera.

MINSTREL: (To us, gleeful Uncle Tom voice)
Lawks-a-lawdy, it’s a fuckin’ quench!

A close shot of bottles of orange and lemon ALLISON’S BARLEY WATER.

Pull out to reveal screening room.  


2. INT. SCREENING ROOM. DAY.
TOM CHEVRON and LEROY DAINTY are standing proudly at either side of the screen.  The screen goes black, the music ends.

A beat.

TOM:
So!  How about that, then?

The EXECS stare in appalled disbelief.

EXEC # 1: (Hesitantly)
Well… we can’t possibly use this.

LEROY: (Questioning, almost confrontational)
Why?  Any technical problems?   From where I’m standing, it was smooth as a bucket.

TOM:
Is it the music?  It’s the music.  I knew it, should have gone with “Born Slippy”.


EXEC #1:
It’s… it’s just that it’s deeply racist… obviously.  I mean, is this a joke?  It’s… it’s a joke?

EXEC # 2: (A thick Scots drawl)
Why did you have to make him foul-mouthed?  I might have believed you were serious, but this is for the 1pm to 3pm slot…

TOM: (Defensive, interrupting)
Well, the kids-

EXEC #2: (cont.)
…which was written on your brief, which you’ve obviously ignored – you’ve cast it aside and made an abomination!  How much of the budget did you spend on this!?

LEROY:
Well, er, we had £30 left but, er, (slyly) we had a tickle.

The EXECS stare, dumbfounded.

LEROY: (cont.)
On the gee-gees.

EXEC #2:
I know what a “tickle” is!

LEROY:
That means “horses”.

EXEC #2:
You are trying my patience!

LEROY:
What I’m swingin’ at here is, we gambled money on the outcome of a horse race.  Don’t worry though, we got spannered.  Might as well have thrown it in the river.

TOM and LEROY perform an awkward, long high-five across the screen.

A beat.  The Execs look like they may kill.


3. EXT: Agency HQ entrance.
TOM and LEROY are lying on the pavement.  Security guard MULLIGAN TROPE dusts his hands.

LEROY: (To Trope)
Why, Mulligan?  I went to your Bat-Mitzvah!

TROPE: (Sheepish)
Sorry lads.  It’s my job. (To Tom) We still on for tonight, Tom?

TOM: (Still face down on pavement)
Hell yeah.

TROPE:
Safe.

TROPE heads back into the building.

LEROY:
What you got happening tonight?

TOM:
Thinking we’d get our crisps on, then watch “Damn the Defiant”!    


4. INT. PUB. LATER.

TOM and LEROY sit in sombre reflection, scarcely touched pints before them.

TOM:
This is it, Leroy, we’re unemployable. I think it’s time to leave this game behind.

LEROY:
It’s been a crazy fortnight, but it’s time to slide that bacon into the ferry.

TOM:
Yeah…what?

LEROY:
(Whooshing sound and hand-motion)

TOM:
No, wait, did you say ‘slide’ –

LEROY:
Slide that bacon, yeah, into the ferry.

TOM:
I have no idea what that means. What does that mean?

LEROY:
(Whooshing again)

TOM:
No, just stop it, what does that actually mean?

LEROY:
Y’know, slide. The old bacon… into the ferry. Saddle up the walrus, yeah?


TOM:
You mean… move on.

LEROY:
(Whooshing again) Cross-slash!

TOM:
Just say yes, please.

LEROY:
Yes.

TOM:
I understand you perfectly. (sips pint)


5. INT. KEBAB SHOP. NIGHT.

TOM and LEROY walk up to the counter. The OWNER smiles.

OWNER:
What would you fellas like?

TOM:
I would like a chicken kebab with red onions. Shredded. And a naan, with saveloys tucked inside.

OWNER:
I can doooo… one saveloy inside. Tucked in HALF.

TOM:
(Pained) Alright.

OWNER:
And what would you like mate?

LEROY:
(Smug insider tone) Gyro.

OWNER:
(Can’t be bothered) Oookay.

Same.  Later.  TOM and LEROY sit in the afterglow of their repast.

TOM:
(Downcast) …But I mean… what was it we wanted to do?

LEROY:
When?

TOM:
When we were kids.  When we were growing up.  What did we want to be?

LEROY:
I wanted to drive a bus.

TOM:
What?  When?

LEROY:
(Defensive) When I was four.

TOM:
I didn’t know you then.  I wouldn’t know that, would I?

LEROY:
Well you do now.

TOM:
But I didn’t, did I?

LEROY:
That’s not the point.

TOM:
Yes, it is the fucking point!

There is an awkward silence.

LEROY:
(Reproachful) …Pint?

TOM:
This is a kebab shop!

OWNER:
I can do you ciggies or a wrap of crack.

LEROY:
(Ignores) Well, what’s the most fun we’ve ever had?

TOM:
When we were playing at being “Mercenaries”.

LEROY:
Well, can’t we do that for real?

TOM:
If only. (Realisation) ...Why not!?

LEROY:
Mm.

TOM:
We CAN be mercenaries!

LEROY:
Can we?

TOM:
Mercenaries.  Think about it, Leroy.  A life of pure hedonism.  Living the now.  Never knowing if the next day will see your face off!  Fast women!  Loose a-ciiiiiid!!  BIFTAS FOR TEA!

LEROY:
Seriously!?  Why didn’t we do this before!?

TOM:
We weren’t HUNGRY before.

OWNER:
You want more chips?

TOM:
(Cont.) We’ve got it, Lee.  We’ve tried the straight, goody-goody man-of-the-90s life.  It’s not for us.  We’re different.  We’re special.  We have special needs, Lee.

OWNER:
(Mumbled) Wrap of crack.

LEROY:
But what if we fail?

TOM:
Screw your courage to the sticking place and we won’t fail.

LEROY:
(Awkward) …Where?

TOM:
Take heart.

LEROY:
You mean we’ve gotta bend it like Morph? (Smiles at his joke)

TOM:
Kind of, yeah.

LEROY:
Stick it to the man.  Like Chas.

TOM:
We have to be willing to kill anyone.

LEROY:
Eeh… I dunno…

TOM:
Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.  But tonight, our lives have changed.  From this day forward, we are mercenaries.

LEROY:
Champion.

They shake hands.


6. INT. LEROY’S SHITTY ROOM

There is shit everywhere.  There is no clean surface.  Plastic bags full of misc. paper.  Empty food containers.  Broken pots.  Plants.  A stack of oasis foam.  If it’s worthless, it’s all up in this bitch.

Leroy appears to be wanking under the covers.  Tom bursts in.

TOM:
Wakey wakey!  I – what are you doing!?

LEROY:
Just.. uh, (Lifts covers) counting my chocolate bars, eeeeyyyy!!

TOM:
Waheeeey!!! (Serious) Really though, this is the first day of the rest of our lives.  Breakfast.  0800 hours.  See you there.

LEROY:
But I’m hungry now.

TOM:
It’s four minutes.  Have a chocolate bar.

LEROY:
It’s a slippery slope.  If I’m not careful I’ll end up counting dust.

TOM:
Make a change from collecting it.  Waheeeey!!!

LEROY:
You vain, pugnacious bitch!

Tom indicates that his arse is as hot as an iron.


7. INT. KITCHEN  

Shithole.  Tom and Leroy sit at the table.  Tom is eating a slice of toast, Leroy is enjoying a bowl of Ringpieces (maybe we’ll explain later).

TOM:
Are you still munching them Ringpieces?

LEROY:
With relish.  You know, I think that these would have been more popular if we hadn’t decided to call them Ringpieces.

TOM:
I suggested “Fairy-Os”.

LEROY:
King Tut’ll get ya.

TOM:
That was a frivolous lawsuit, alright.  I do not accept that the Cairo Museum are ever gonna use that cereal option.

LEROY:
Honestly.

TOM:
So, where have got so far?

LEROY:
Well –

Sudden cut to Tom, standing before poster of SAS dude, to camera.

TOM:
The hunger for freedom drove us to this resort like mad, heat-seeking Vikings. If you’ve got a problem, if no-one else can help, and if you can –

LEROY:
That’s just the A-Team.

TOM:
If you can – shit. You’re right.

TOM throws himself onto the sofa, joining LEROY.


LEROY:
How about…a fire?

TOM:
How’d you mean.

LEROY:
I’d buy. Fire.

TOM:
Seriously, no, what’s the defining characteristic of mercenaries. What is the thing that makes them so beloved of women and befeared of men? We need to find that, and make it our brand.

LEROY:
I thought you wanted to get away from advertising?

TOM:
Yes, but…you have to break a few eggs to make an omelette. Everyone advertises for something, remember the seminars? In a way, life is an advert for death.

LEROY:
That’s bollocks. Are we having omelettes or not?

TOM:
Er. In a sense.

LEROY nods.

LATER.

TOM:
Like Vikings, by the power of Greyskull, we have the power! To kill for pound.

LEROY:
That’s just He-Man.

TOM:
But you’ll agree, we’re moving forward, right? Going through a process. I mean, I wasn’t sure whether you’d catch that echo, that’s very… that’s very perceptive.

LEROY:
You said Greyskull. It’s, I mean, you’d have to pay royalties if we put this on telly.

TOM:
Did you catch that then? I undersold it, I wasn’t sure –

LEROY:
Blatox.

TOM:
Eh. Mh. What?

LATER.

TOM hums the AIRWOLF theme, his arms air-conducting.

LEROY:
That’s… beautiful. I knew you had it in you.

TOM:
Does it remind you of anything?

LEROY:
No. Maybe…

TOM:
Um?

LEROY:
…Georgia on My Mind.

TOM:
Aw, thanks man. That was my mum’s song.

LEROY:
Your mum’s not dead.

TOM:
I told you not to mention that fucking woman to me again.

LEROY:
You brought her up.

TOM:
More than she did for me.

LEROY:
(Abruptly) Amazing tune! (Attempted Roger Moore) Supershonic.

TOM nods, affirmed.


8. INT. GARAGE. DAY.

RAKE is underneath a car fixing it up.

COLLEAGUE:
‘Ere, Rake, did you see the rack on that bird, then?

RAKE:
Mate, all I can see is arse of car.

COLLEAGUE:
Arse!  Auuugh, yeah, I love women’s arses!

RAKE:
Corrr, it’s baking down here.

COLLEAGUE:
Fuck me!  I love bacon sandwiches!!

RAKE:
Where’s me spanner?

COLLEAGUE:
Tinned grapefuit’s got no flavour.

RAKE:
What?

COLLEAGUE:
Er, um.  Not like a woman’s minge!  Whooooaaaagggrrgggghhh.  Eh?

RAKE:
Ah, this is the life.

TOM and LEROY enter the scene.

COLLEAGUE:
Look this pair of greenhorns.  I bet you boys never even seen a ve-hickle before.

TOM:
(Defensive) There’s like ten of them over there.  We’ve seen masses.

LEROY:
Are those Rake’s clogs?

Reveal that Rake is wearing clogs.

RAKE:
Ah, Dainty and Chevron!  How’re you doin’?

TOM:
We wanna sell you some… parts, to fund a new enterprise.

RAKE:
But spaceships are well pricey.

TOM:
Sp-… wh-…


LEROY:
We’ve got some car shit here.

TOM:
Arrrgh, it’s not that kiiiind!

RAKE:
I’ll come out and take a look.

Rake comes out.

TOM:
So Rake, you’ve finally decided to come out, eh?

RAKE:
Urrrgh.

The colleague reaches out to high-five TOM and is ignored.  TOM mimes blowing smoke from his guns, which are also his index fingers.  LEROY places a big suitcase on the bonnet.

LEROY:
Gentlemen – the merchandise.

He opens the case.

RAKE:
That’s just a tumbler, four or five lolly sticks, a copy of Nuts, some old, broken headphones and an empty pepper shaker.

LEROY:
That doubles as a salt shaker.  Added value, son.

RAKE:
This roll of toilet paper has a whole poo inside.

LEROY:
Added value once again.

TOM:
For fuck’s sake!  How long has that been in there now, nine days!?

LEROY:
Eight.  I did spray it with Pledge.

TOM:
…Fuck’s sake.

The colleague returns.


COLLEAGUE:
Doesn’t matter.  The best of this stuff is still useless crap.

TOM:
Excuse me, we are engaged in a private transaction here, yeah.

RAKE:
He’s right, lads.  This is useless, I’m afraid.  What do you need the money for, anyway?

LEROY:
We’re going off the grid.

RAKE:
How so?

TOM:
We’re sick of the rat race.  From now on we’re living by our wits.

LEROY:
Going back to basics.

TOM:
We’re mercenaries now, Rake.  Hired killers.  We kill.  For hire.

LEROY:
We understand if you don’t want to be seen with us any more.  It’s an edgy profession.  Like animal testing and that.

RAKE:
That’s a big step, man.

TOM:
As we see it, we’re giving a voice to the voiceless.

LEROY:
Providing they’ve got money.

RAKE:
It’s a noble cause, then.

TOM:
Yeah.  I mean, we’re not gonna be that expensive.  As far as we see it you can either have a take-out or kill a man.  Get your beers on, get your doner on.

LEROY:
Gyro.




TOM:
(Cont.) Go to a tit bar.  Trouser some gak.  Before you know it, three hundred quid, down the crapper.  Or, you can stay in and have the satisfaction of knowing that someone is hacking pieces of their gut into a bin.  Because you paid two rogue angels who just care too much.

RAKE:
Yeah…!  Rogue angels, like on the telly!

TOM:
Where on the telly?

RAKE:
National Lottery Red Alert.

LEROY:
What!?

RAKE:
Making people’s dreams reality.  You’re right!  It’s better than ruining the ozone layer and fixing up cars for paedophiles!

COLLEAGUE:
Where?

RAKE:
They’re among us like a parasite.  Poisoning our beautiful garage with their noncey jellies.

COLLEAGUE:
Are you thinking of that bloke who came in with Wotsits all over his junk?

RAKE:
That was my dad. He dropped my Wotsits.  I explained that to you at the time.

COLLEAGUE:
But there were no trousers.

RAKE:
I can’t explain everything!  I’m not the Eggheads.  But I know what I believe.  And this brave new way of life... it speaks to me.

LEROY:
But you do look like the woman from Eggheads.  Buuurn!

TOM and LEROY high-five.  Again.

TOM:
Like, the ugly woman!

High-five.

RAKE:
This is it.  This is what I’ve got to do.

TOM:
So you’ll join our merry band?

RAKE:
Yes.  It’s destiny.

COLLEAGUE:
Can I join too?

TOM:
You can fuck right off.

RAKE:
Take a hike.

LEROY:
Fuck off, you fucking fuck-OR!!

Everyone looks at LEROY.

LEROY:
…Fucking peer pressure.

The three put their hands into a flan-shaped communion. (Power Rangers)


9. EXT. ON THE STREET

LEROY:
So where to?

TOM:
Alternative bookshop.  I think I can get us some scratch for the ad.

RAKE:
What, you’re gonna advertise?

LEROY:
How else will people know what we’re doing, Sexton Blake?


10. INT. ALTERNATIVE BOOKSHOP

SARAH, the proprietor, is playing Sega Nomad behind the counter.  A customer, 60, male, with a mighty druid beard, approaches her.


CUSTOMER:
Do you have the “Illuminati Cookbook”?

SARAH:
Mm, I’m afraid we’re out of that – oh, but we do have the audiobook, read by Sammy Davis Junior.

CUSTOMER:
8-track?

SARAH:
Naah, sorry.  Only Minidisc.

CUSTOMER:
Jesus.  Why don’t I just buy a mound of dog’s eggs and try and listen to ’em?

SARAH:
Well, we do have those.

CUSTOMER:
Really?

SARAH:
Fuck off.

CUSTOMER:
(He cups his bollocks) My chi!

The customer eases out of the shop as TOM, LEROY and RAKE pass him.  They look appropriately bemused.

SARAH:
Hey, Tom!

TOM:
Hello Sarah.  We’ve done it!!

SARAH:
(Resigned) Done what?

TOM:
We’ve broken on through to the other side!

LEROY:
Actually, Tom, that song wasn’t about breaking anything at all – it was more of a lucid description of the effects of LSD.

TOM:
Side!  We’re gonna live the way that you do – alternative!

LEROY:
Yeah, sleeping with druids!  Wahey!!

SARAH:
(Not hostile) Yeah, har har.  What’s up, Tom?

TOM:
I’m afraid we’re going to be killing people.

LEROY:
For money.

TOM:
It’s all God has left for us.

LEROY:
Killing.

SARAH:
Have you come to kill me?

TOM:
Nah.  You’re our bwoooy.

SARAH:
Ah.  What can I do you for?

TOM:
Well… remember you said this place was doing pretty well?

SARAH:
Yeah, I’m surprised.  Though I guess that hawking weed over the counter has helped.

LEROY:
Helped me through my GCSEs.

TOM:
And you expressed an interest in diversifying?

SARAH:
Yeees…

TOM:
I’m here to offer you an investment opportunity.

SARAH:
How much do you want, Tom?


LEROY:
We wanna go on telly!

SARAH:
Badical!

RAKE:
I’m here too!


11. INT. SARAH’S FLAT.  KITCHEN.  AFTER HOURS.

TOM, LEROY, SARAH and RAKE are all sat around the table.

SARAH:
How much money d’you think this’ll cost, anyway?

TOM:
Shouldn’t be more than about forty grand.

SARAH:
Seriously!?

TOM:
Yeah, I mean, the crane hire alone is gonna be about 2 Gs.

LEROY:
And that fleet of Mazdas shan’t be cheap.

RAKE:
I have a video camera.

LEROY:
Yeah, but you got it from the skip outside Radio Rentals.  It doesn’t fucking work.

RAKE:
You’ve no basis for saying that.  I’ve done weddings.

LEROY:
Yeah, up the chuuuuuff!

Leroy and Tom fist pound.

RAKE:
What?  What does that mean?

SARAH:
Can’t we just start and see how much it costs… at the end?


TOM:
Whoa-ho. Oh-ho!  Really?  You wanna spend your money like that!? You’re alright with that, are you?

SARAH:
Well, yeah, I mean, er… then we’ll know how much it cost, right?

TOM:
You own a shop!?  You actually run a shop.  You?

SARAH:
What!?

TOM:
Joking aside, I think it’s an excellent idea.

LEROY:
(Stands up) To Cash Convertors!


12. EXT. A PRIMARY SCHOOL, PERIMETER FENCE, DAY

Video camera P.O.V.  TOM is standing with his back to a playground of screaming, playing children.

TOM:
(Shouting) Have you ever had a worst enemy?  Someone you really wanted to degrade, destroy…?  (Turns to the kids, hollering furiously) SHUT UP!  SHUT THE FUCK UP!!  SERIOUSLY!!  FUCKING FILMING HERE!

Cut to RAKE holding the camera.  SARAH is carrying a clipboard against her chest.  LEROY is holding a torch as far above his head as possible.  It adds nothing.

SARAH:
Are you sure this is such a good place to film?

TOM:
(Frustrated) Well, it’s good enough for that guy!

Cut to video camera P.O.V.  It suddenly pans and zooms in on a man at the other end of the fence.  He is holding a massive video camera on his shoulder, rubbing cheesy Wotsit residue into his jeans.  He is making a Steptoe Sr. face.

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LEROY is still holding the torch.


LEROY:
Why did you wanna come here?

TOM:
It’s poetic.  In the midst of life, we are in death.

LEROY:
Well, I think we should go to a maternity ward, then.

TOM:
I don’t like the lighting in those places.  It’s a bit… Farmfoods.

RAKE:
How about an underground car park with loads of children duking it out?  Bare knuckle shit.

TOM:
Ah, well then you’ve got catering to consider haven’t you?

SARAH:
For fuck’s sake.  Let me direct it.  I have an idea.


13. EXT. BEER GARDEN.  DAY.

Video camera P.O.V.  LEROY is eating a luncheon meat sandwich.  RAKE is visible, just out of frame, looking to someone behind the camera like he’s waiting for his cue.  Polyphonic ringtone version of “Coming Round the Mountain” is heard.  He looks up, sheepish.

Cut to: SARAH looming over him in a tracksuit, hair in a ponytail.  She is chewing gum aggressively.

SARAH:
(Sounding a bit Geordie) Will ye ginna give me that sarnie, eeneet?

LEROY looks at camera, gulping.  This goes on too long.

TOM:
(V/O, too close to the microphone) Are people fucking with your shit?  Have you ever wanted to make them pay… in PAIN?

LEROY nods, far too vigorously.  This, also, goes on too long.

TOM:
(V/O) Now you can!!

RAKE suddenly jumps into shot and gives SARAH a hefty shove.

SARAH:
Not that hard, Jesus!

Abrupt cut to: TOM, dressed in a top hat and cloak for some reason.  He’s standing next to single burning tire in front of Ladbrokes.  Music switches to Casio keyboard Demo function.

TOM:
(Vaguely melodically) Doesn’t mean shit to us, room-mate or spouse - give us a bell and we’ll come and clean house.  (Falsetto) Through waaaaaar!

Cut back to LEROY, sat on the bench in the Beer Garden, raising his pint and winking theatrically.

LEROY:
Cheers, Mercenaries!

He moves to take a sip of his pint, but spills some on his shirt, reacting accordingly.

LEROY:
(Cont.) Ah, fu-

Static.  Zoom out to reveal the ad being exhibited to some EXECS in a situation which may be familiar to us.  This time, TOM and LEROY are joined by an eager-looking RAKE and a beret-and-shades wearing SARAH, who is smoking a ciggy.

TOM:
So!  How about that, then?

The EXECS stare in appalled disbelief.

EXEC #1:
Well… we… are you taking the piss?

EXEC #2:
This is illegal.  It’s also badly shot.

RAKE:
Come on.  Between ourselves, we’ve seen the stuff you put out at lunchtimes on Channel 4.  Looks like it was shot through an Etch-a-Sketch.  I’ve done weddings, ya know, and -

EXEC #1:
(Interrupting) You’re advertising hired killers!

LEROY:
(Smug) We ARE hired killers.

LEROY indicates to the others that the EXECS are retarded in a rather unsubtle way.

EXEC #2:
(Mouths to secretary) Security.

LEROY:
No, no – HIRED KILLERS.

TOM:
Hired killers.


14. EXT. TV STUDIO.  DAY.

TOM, LEROY and RAKE are all thrown out by TROPE, who inexplicably also works here.

TROPE:
We’re still on for tonight though?

TOM:
Yeah…

RAKE:
Where’s Sarah?

SARAH walks across the road to meet them.  She is eating a chip cob.

SARAH:
(Mouth full) A’ight.

TOM:
When did you fucking leave!?

SARAH:
Towards the end.  Hadn’t considered the legal angle.

LEROY:
Hmm… these scoundrels are playing a deep game.

SARAH:
It’s not deep, Leroy.  If you do a murder, that’s illegal.  You’re gonna have to live off the grid.  It’s OK.  I can help you.  I’ve been heading that way for a long time.

TOM:
So, you gonna join us, then?

SARAH:
Well, I’ve got no money anymore, have I?  So I might as well.

LEROY:
S’a fair cop.

They walk down the road like at the end of the OFaH episode “Time On Our Hands”.  Rake hangs back.

RAKE:
Hang on.  I want a sausage supper now.

TOM:
Yeah, I could go for something.  You going across?

RAKE:
Yeah.

The conversation becomes increasingly loud as the participants move further away from each other.

RAKE:
You want anything, Leroy?

LEROY:
Er, yeah, wouldn’t mind a gyro.

RAKE:
…Yeah, with what!?

LEROY:
Oh Christ.  Umm, chicken, salad.  No onions, yeah?

RAKE:
Alright, what size?

LEROY:
Normal.

RAKE:
Sarah?

SARAH:
Oh, no thanks, just had the cob.

RAKE:
Alright.

TOM:
And a can of Dandelion and Burdock, yeah?

RAKE:
But what food?

TOM:
Sorry?


RAKE:
You didn’t say what fucking food!

TOM:
Oh, shit.  Um, meat pie and small chips and a pickled egg.  Two pickled eggs.

SARAH:
We’ve got no MONEY!

TOM:
Ah, shit.  You’re gonna have to rob it.

RAKE:
I dunno about that.

TOM:
You wanna break people in the face for money!

RAKE:
S’alright, it’s alright, I think I’ve got a tenner.

TOM:
What?

RAKE:
What?

TOM:
Wha- I can’t, there’s a big bus, I – what!?

LEROY:
I’D ALSO LIKE A GARLICE BREAD.

TOM:
That’s not how you say it!!

Roll credits.

Fin.


INT. Cash Convertors

LEROY: How much will you give me for a near-mint condition copy of Nuts from the first week of April 2006…?

TROPE: Near-mint?

LEROY: Er, pages 22 and 23 are… inaccessible.

TROPE: …Chantelle, eh?

LEROY: Yeah.

TROPE: I’ll give you 20p.

LEROY: Get in.

~FIN~

The End

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