In Bruges

After I killed them, I dropped the gun in the Thames,

washed the residue off me hands in the bathroom of a Burger King,

and walked home to await instructions.

Shortly thereafter, the instructions came through.

"Get the fuck out of London, youse dumb fucks.

"Get to Bruges"

I didn't even know where Bruges fucking was.

It's in Belgium.

Bruges is a shithole.

Bruges is not a shithole.

Bruges is a shithole.

Ray, we've only just got off the fucking train.

Could we reserve judgment on Bruges until we've seen the fucking place?

I know it's gonna be a shithole.

Shithole.

I think you have a couple of rooms booked under Cranham and Blakely?

Yes. No, we have one room booked.

One twin room. Booked for two weeks.

Two weeks!

Do you have another room?

No, I'm afraid we're fully booked.

With Christmas, everywhere is fully booked.

Okay.

It's very pretty.

I'm not being funny, we can't stay here.

We've got to stay here until he rings.

Well, what if he doesn't ring for two weeks?

Then we stay here for two weeks.

For two weeks? In fucking Bruges?

In a room like this?

With you? No way!

Ray, I really don't like to say this.

You really don't like to say what?

Well. You know?

Fucking bring that up.

Do you think this is good?

Do I think what's good?

You know, going round in a boat, looking at stuff.

Yes, I do.

It's called "sightseeing."

Oh, look at that.

It's a former hospital.

From the 1100s.

Bruges is the most well-preserved medieval town

in the whole of Belgium, apparently.

Coming up?

What's up there?

The view.

The view of what?

The view of down here? I can see that from down here.

Ray, you're about the worst tourist in the whole world.

Ken, I grew up in Dublin. I love Dublin.

If I'd grown up on a farm and was retarded,

Bruges might impress me.

But I didn't, so it doesn't.

Trying to get rid of me coins.

3, 3.50, 4,

4.10, 4.20, 4.30, 4.40, 4.50, 4.60,

4.70,

4.80,

4.90.

Will you take 4.90?

Entry is 5 euro.

Come on, man, it's only 10 cents.

Entry is 5 euro.

Happy in your work?

Very happy.

I like it here.

Been to the top of the tower?

Yeah. Yeah, it's rubbish.

It is? The guidebook says it's a "must-see".

Well, you lot ain't going up there.

Pardon me? Why?

I mean, it's all windy stairs. I'm not being funny.

What exactly are you trying to say?

What exactly am I trying to say?

Youse are a bunch of fucking elephants!

Right, you.

Come on, leave it, fatty.

You know, you're just the rudest man. The rudest man!

What's all that about?

They're not going up there.

Hey, guys, I wouldn't go up there. It's really narrow.

Screw you, motherfucker!

Americans, isn't it?

Now, this is more like it. Proper holidays.

One gay beer for my gay friend,

and one normal beer for me, because I am normal.

This is the life.

We're not staying here getting pissed.

We are quietly sightseeing, like he says,

and awaiting his call to see what we do next.

This is my vote on what we should do.

We give it another day, two days, max.

Then we check the papers again, and if there's still nothing in them,

we phone him and say, "Harry, thank you for the trip to Bruges,

"it's been very nice, all the old buildings and that,

"but we're coming back to London now, and hide out in a proper country,

"where it isn't all just fucking chocolates."

My vote would be we quietly sightsee, like he says,

and await his call to see what we do next.

You don't even know we're here hiding out.

What are you talking about?

You don't even know we're not here on a job.

- What, on a job? - Yeah.

- Here in Bruges? - Yeah.

- Here in Bruges, on a job? - Yeah.

Why? What did he actually say?

He didn't actually say anything.

- Then why do you think it might be? - I don't think anything.

But it's a bit fucking over-elaborate, isn't it?

- "Go take him to hide out." - "Go take him to hide out where?"

"Go take him to hide out in fucking Bruges."

You can hide out in Croydon.

Or Coventry.

It is a bit over-elaborate.

But we haven't got any guns.

Harry can get guns anywhere.

He's not gonna ring tonight.

He's not gonna ring tonight.

Let's go out.

- Go out where? - The pub.

No!

Let's go out and have a look at some of the...

All the old medieval buildings and that.

Because I bet they look even better at night, all lit up.

Yes!

That there is called the Gruuthuse Museum.

They all have funny names, don't they?

Yes, Flemish.

In here it says, "The Belgians twice sheltered fugitive English Kings

"from being murdered, 1471 and 1651."

I used to hate history, didn't you?

It's all just a load of stuff that's already happened.

What are they doing over there?

They're filming something. They're filming midgets!

Ray!

So, on this scene, you're supposed to walk like a little, tiny mouse, yeah?

Okay? Great.

Ray, come on, let's go.

My arse, "Let's go." They're filming midgets.

Oh, my God! Look at that girl.

She's gorgeous!

Ray, we're going right now.

Fuck off, are we!

This is the best bit of Bruges so far.

You and your buildings.

Hello.

Do you speak English?

No.

Yes, you do.

Everybody does.

What are you filming midgets for?

It's a Dutch movie. It's a dream sequence.

It's a pastiche of Nicholas Roeg's Don't Look Now.

Not a pastiche, but a...

A "homage" is too strong. A "nod of the head"?

Wow, your English is very good.

A lot of midgets tend to kill themselves.

A disproportionate amount.

Hervé Villechaize, off of Fantasy Island .

I think somebody off The Time Bandits.

I suppose they must get really sad about, like,

being really little and that.

People looking at them and laughing at them.

Calling them names. You know, 'shortarse.'

There's another famous midget I'm missing, but I can't remember.

It's not the R2-D2 man.

No, he's still going.

I hope your midget doesn't kill himself. Your dream sequence will be fucked.

He doesn't like being called a midget. He prefers "dwarf."

Well, this is exactly my point!

People go around calling you a midget when you want to be called a dwarf.

Of course you're gonna blow your head off!

- My name's Ray. What's yours? - Chloe.

How did you get past the security man?

Getting past security men, it's sort of my job.

You're a shoplifter?

No, not a shoplifter.

It's a good joke, though.

No.

I'll tell you what I am at dinner tomorrow night.

Fuck.

How fucking cool.

Mr. Blakely?

Yes. No, Mr. Cranham.

No. Yes. Mr. Blakely. Yes.

You have a message.

Shit!

Number one, why aren't you in when I fucking told you to be in?

Number two, why doesn't this hotel have phones with fucking voicemail

and not I have to leave messages with the fucking receptionist?

Number three, you better fucking be in tomorrow night when I fucking call again

or there'll be fucking Hell to pay, I'm fucking telling you, Harry.

Would you turn the fucking light off!

Sorry, Ken.

Keep the fucking noise down!

Someone's in a mood.

You'll never guess what.

Will you shut your fucking mouth, please, and go to sleep?