The Debt Collector 2

Calm down, calm down, calm down.

Agh!

Calm down!

I'm OK, bro. We're OK.

What can I getcha, doll?

Y'know what? I'm gonna go with a ginger ale.

Y'know what? Make it a diet.

-Yeah, I gotta check if we have that.

-OK, you do that. -A beer if we don't?

I'm gonna take it up a notch and go with a water. OK?

- How many times have I... - French!

Brother, are you gonna do somethin' about this?

Fuckin' prick. Y'all fuckin' prick!

A'right, a'right. Break it up. Break it up.

Let him go. Take it outside. Yeah?

-Get outside now! -Fuck off, Harry Stiles.

-This don't concern you. -Listen, mate.

You can kick seven shades of shite out of each other, for all I care,

but you're doin' outside. Otherwise it is my concern!

-Who the fuck do you think you are?

-Ugh! -French... don't do it.

Now listen to me.

Calm down, OK? You see him?

See that guy? His name's Irv, and that's my boss.

Now, he's given me strict instructions.

You gotta take all violence outside the premises. OK, lads?

Because I've had a few unfortunate events over the past few weeks,

and I've caused a bit of damage, and...

I promised him I'm gonna turn over a new leaf, OK?

So, please. Take it outside and let me finish my breakfast.

A'right?

What d'you reckon, lads?

Shall we match his faggy, English ass outside?

Like we did 100 years ago?

More like 250 years, I think. But that's by the by, isn't it?

Anyway... wasn't exactly fair fight back then, was it?

It was us against you,

and we kicked your sorry asses all the way back across the Atlantic!

-Nah, you didn't, mate. - Sent you home crying

to your bitch queen!

Nah, they didn't, mate.

Well, it wasn't a queen, actually, mate.

No, it was a king.

King George III to be precise.

But, well, I wouldn't expect you lot to know that.

I mean, you probably never read a book in your life, have ya?

So, allow me to educate ye geriatric Yank fucks.

See, you had help from the Spanish...

the French... oh, and the Dutch.

And yeah, all right. We might've taken a bit of a kickin',

but the odds were against our boys.

Just like they are against me now, to be honest.

But d'you know what?

I fuckin' like these odds.

'Cause like good ol' King George always used to say,

"Come and fucking get it!"

On your six, Frenchie!

Cheers, mate!

I gotta tell you somethin', pal.

You still got it. You got every move .

-The fuck? -Uhh!

I thought you were dead.

Well, so did I, Frenchie. Believe me.

A story for another time.

Outside, French! A word.

I love this fuckin' place!

Mmm!

Don't do this, OK? I need this job.

I need it, mate. Please, don't do this.

And I need a club

that doesn't have to be renovated once a week

'cause of what you do.

Listen, brother. After the cost of the busted-up furniture,

and your unpaid bar tab,

there's 80 bucks.

Good luck.

Oh, 80 bucks, yeah? Yeah?

Well, good luck findin' someone else to scrape up

the shit that comes in this place!

It's a shit hole, mate!

Was nice to see that things are workin' out for you, pal.

I'm very happy about that, I am.

Hey y'know, what it's worth, if, uh,

if you wanna finish that breakfast,

there's a place next door. Maybe we can, you know...

Why, are you buyin'?

Since you got no job no more...

why not?

Come on, Frenchie.

It's still just "French," by the way!

Mmm.

Mmm. Ahh.

-Mmmm! -I can't believe it.

I can't believe you're sat right here in front of me.

I thought for sure that you were a goner.

Mm, believe me, I was.

Flat-lined two times on that slab.

-Yeah? -Mm-mm.

-Jesus. -If it wasn't for Tommy,

I probably wouldn't be here right now.

Paid a lot of money to make me undead. Yeah.

Got shot up pretty bad, Frenchie.

Stomach, one vertebra.

One up here in the lung. Can you imagine? Yeah?

Actually, had to leave one in near my spine.

-Fuck. -Yeah.

Well, kudos to you, mate, because, uh, y'know what?

As far as zombies go...

you're lookin' all right.

Hm. Mmm.

So, where's my coupe?

Oh, I'm fine, Sue.

Don't worry about the injuries I took.

Yeah, thanks for asking.

Oh, no, no. It's not like that.

See, I just--because of the, um--

Oh, c'mon, Frenchie.

How you doin'? Really, I'm sorry.

Just--How you doin'?

-I'm all right. -Yeah?

-I'm pretty good. -Yeah?

Took two in the chest. One here, one there.

I dunno how, but I somehow managed

to crawl back to the car, all right,

and drive myself to the emergency room.

-Well. -I was surprisingly all right.

I mean, I've seen a soldier shoot himself in the foot, and he died.

Yet I take two in the chest and somehow manage to live to tell the tale.

Human body, mate, it's a fucked up thing, I'm telling you.

-I'll tell you this as well. -Mm-hmm?

Had to blag the police at the hospital, though.

Told 'em my gun went off, whilst I was cleaning it.

Bet they bought that, am I right?

They did. I dunno.

Maybe they couldn't be arsed with the paperwork.

Well...

Hmm.

So, where's my coupe?

Didn't shoot out that loving bedside manner of yours, did they?

Frenchie, where's my fuckin' car?

I fuckin' sold that car, mate.

You did what? You did what--

With who? With what? What?

I sold the car to a chop shop, didn't I?

Didn't have a fuckin' choice, did I?

It was covered in my blood, wasn't it?

Listen, that was like a bullseye

for every gangster in East LA.

So, I flogged that thing.

Lemme ask you somethin'.

By chance, how much... did you sell

this classically-designed vehicle for?

Dunno, it was about six grand.

Fuck me, Frenchie! Six grand?

Six--Just the fuckin' rims alone are worth six fuckin' grand!

-You understand me, right? -Hey.

I am sorry. Everything is under control.

My apologies.

You know, you're unbelievable.

-And I don't like this--this tone.

-What tone? -This tone.

-I haven't got a fuckin' tone. What you talkin' about? -Oh yeah, you do. You do.

I come as a friend, I catch the bus to come and see my friend.

I come all this way, and you give me this... tone.

No, you caught the bus, mate, to come and get your precious coupe.

Hey, is that the only reason you come here, then?

Actually, no. It's not the only reason.

I came for Tommy. He's got a job for us.

Two days, three vigs.

We're in, we're out. What do you say?

Are you fuckin' kidding me?

OK.

Fuck off, mate. Yeah?

D'you know what? I only did that job for three days,

we both almost fucking died!

No chance.

Get stuffed.

"Never again. Can't do it!"

Listen to you, right?

Let me tell you somethin' else.

It's a favor for Tommy. You owe him.

No, I don't think I do.

OK. Tell you what.

I'll do it for Tommy, you can do it for the money.

I ain't that desperate, mate.

Oh yeah? We both know that's not true. Right?

C'mon, French, think about it. Get to split $70K.

How much?

-Hm? -How much?

Seventy K.

One more job, and you can be gone forever.

You can go home and do whatever it is the fuck you wanna do.

You can open your gym.

Besides, Frenchie, you know I need this one.

You'd be doing me a square one, yeah?

I'm gettin' nowhere with the 'just call me French' thing, am I?

It's a term of endearment.

Yeah. Whatever, Susan.

One last job.

-Yeah. -Three last jobs.