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Friday, 16 November 2012


“NO, MISTER BOND, I EXPECT YOU TO DIE!’  THE PERILS AND PITFALLS OF WRITING BOND.



So, as anyone who’s aware of my sister’s film review blog I was not that enamoured with the latest installment of James Bond’s adventures.  “SKYFALL” was a big let down for me and the universal five star rating was a major bone of contention.  Of course I’ve been here before with disagreeing with the critics, with “JURASSIC PARK” and “THE DARK KNIGHT” being memorable bug-bears, but after the dust had settled from the explosions, the blood dried from the fights and the dry martinis sipped hungrily from the glass I wondered “Just how hard is it to write a decent Bond script?”

When we look back it’s not that hard to see that the last, best by a country mile Bond in recent years was the awesome “CASINO ROYALE” which re-invented Bond as a brash new 00, far too keen to prove himself, the younger man in a hurry for success who makes too many mistakes, that an older wiser 00 would not.  It still had a beginning bit, but much more low-key (Parallels with “LIVE AND LET DIE” but not an exact rip-off.), it had supposedly gorgeous Bond girls, stunts, action, intrigue, a mad villain and Bond’s life in jeopardy on several occasions.  It was everything you could want from Bond (Except it did miss a henchman) and was a timely reminder how good Bond can be.  However the last two adventures have felt more like, “THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN”, rather than “GOLDFINGER” (Or even “GOLDENEYE”) and one wonders just why the writers are struggling to find Bond.

One may look at their desire to have practically zero humour for the character as a source of issue, yes no-one wants it so that every line is a throw-away one-liner, but very often it’s the dry wit that works best (“James, why are you late?” “I fell out of an aeroplane without a parachute”, absolute honesty, and a class line in a poor film) again in the latest installment Bond’s scenes with Dame Judi and their exchanges are what makes the film work so well, so firstly, slightly (and I mean slightly) more humour would not go amiss.

Note to writers ...James Bond is not Jason Bourne (One might even go as far as to say that Jason Bourne was Robert Ludlum’s version of Bond, same initials and everything?)

Also the lack of henchman is proving a big concern now, but here, when I attempted to craft a henchman myself, is where even I struggled.  You start running through the things to avoid and it gets very tricky, a list of things not to have includes metal arms/metal hands, metal teeth, scars, blade rimmed bowler hats, shoes with knives, turbans, killer thighs, east-german-blond-slicked-back-hair, etc.  You wind up struggling for ways to be inventive or different but try you must.

So ...How did I do?  Well, in truth it’s still in progress but I will leave the ultimate judgement to you, the fans, as I showcase so far, my own Bond script "TOMORROW IS NEVER GOLDEN TILL IT DIES WITH DIAMONDS ON YOUR MAJESTY’S SECRET LASER".  Just kidding, here is the provisional title and the first half of the story thus far, if you enjoy it re-post on Facebook and Twitter and if you don't ...Then re-post it anyway.  Enjoy my take on Ian Fleming's James Bond 007 in...



EVE OF DESTRUCTION

The music starts the circle moves across a black screen while Monty Norman’s iconic James Bond theme rolls on.  The circle expands and the gun barrel image waits for Bond to move onto the screen, as he fails to appear the barrel moves from the right only to be met on the left hand side of the screen by a smiling Bond, silenced Walther already ready, who shoots before the barrel has made it all the way across.  He removes the silencer, emotionless, as the blood dribbles down and the barrel wobbles.  Circle image changes to an orchestra, playing in an immense theatre the opening movement of Beethoven’s ninth.  As the camera pans out to the boxes we see various members of an organisation known to us as operating within the shadows, its purpose unclear.  In the boxes dotted around the huge auditorium they slide earpieces into place and begin to talk.




Member 1
The Russian project failed.  Do we know why?

Member 2
The authorities got a sniff of it.  They closed us down like we were petty criminals.

Member 1
What about Puchev?

Member 2
Dead!  They took him outside and killed him.  Removed him from their history like he had never existed.

Mr White
It appears we are not so much in the shadows as once we thought, are we?

(A third man speaks, an older looking man, balding but with a commanding voice, the kind of men people would follow into battle.)

Member 3
Do you have a suggestion, Mister White?

Victor Ernst

He doesn’t but I do.  NNNGGH!

(All the members take note when the new member speaks.  He is a man whose heavily-lined features bear the scars of a life of struggle and turmoil, a shock of white hair on his head and goatee beard makes him look older, but the sparkling eyes still hold within them the promise of youth.  But as he closes his sentence a seizure takes hold of him, the veins in his neck and temple suddenly pumping with a fury, his eyes terrified, for a moment it looks like his entrance into the scene may also be his exit.  A kind hand appears on Ernst’s shoulder and the calming face of Ernst’s main lieutenant, Nixon Albrecht, an accountant looking type appears by Ernst’s side.)

Nixon
Are you all right, Mister Ernst?

Victor Ernst
I’m fine, I’m fine.  Thank you, Nixon.

Member 3
You were saying?

(All the members take note when the new member speaks.  He is a younger man, in his thirties, but the shock of white hair on his head and goatee beard without moustache makes him look much older.)

Victor Ernst
Maybe it’s time we emerged from the shadows, taking charge in a more direct way.

Member 3
World domination?  Please.  We may be many things but cliche villains we are not.

Victor Ernst
Then don’t think of it as world domination, think of it as a decisive, corporate takeover of government.

Member 3
We already control so much of government that...

Victor Ernst
But clearly not all of it or Puchev would still be alive.  You’re right we’re not cliche villains, we’re just industrialists, venture capitalists, philanthropists, bankers, intellectuals, businessmen, all  of whom are sure we’d do a better job of running things but are held back by the democratic process ...And the fact that seven billion people would probably act if we did attempt to take over, unless...

Member 3
...Unless?

Victor Ernst
  Unless we get rid of that numerical disadvantage, tip the balance in our favour ...Decisively!

(There is silence among the other members as they consider going from being the people who are behind the throne to being sat on it.  Member 3 brings everyone back to reality.) 

Member 3
We will need to put this to the rest of the executive, but I take it from your enthusiastic tone you already have a plan.

Victor Ernst
I do.  All we have to do first is dispose of any annoying opposition.

Lettering:  TWO YEARS LATER.

Cut to:  INT:  Hotel.  Night.  We see a tuxedo’s man struggling to get his breath as a wire around his neck is restricting him.  Bond’s eyes strain and struggle as if in pain, he clutches at his neck some more to try and claw away the wire.  Meanwhile in the background Bill Tanner can be heard on speakerphone trying to break into Bond’s concentration while his eyes hint at the pain and struggle that he’s going through.

Tanner
Bond?  Tanner here, orders in.  We need you back at GCHQ, soon as.

(Cut to:  Pull-back shot.  Bond is in relaxed garb throttling a man in a dinner jacket who’s struggling for breath.)

Bond
One second.  (Drags man over to the table)  BE! ...(Smacks his head against the table) ...QUIET!  (Smacks it again sending him out like a light.  Bond carries on throttling him for a few moments before letting the body fall to the floor.)  Say again, Bill.

Tanner
We’re recalling all the 00’s.  How soon can you be heading back?

Bond
I’ll be at the airport in about thirty minutes (Hears footfalls outside his door) ...Ish!

(The door explodes in a hail of bullets from heavy weaponry.  Bond shoots out the window grabs the dead man’s gun from the floor and jumps through the remaining glass, just as two men burst through the shattered door and start shooting after him, glass, wood and cement forming a cloud in the air as Bond falls two stories, rolls of the hotel canopy onto his feet and disappears into a crowd celebrating Chinese new year.  Bond looks back to the assassins who are looking down at the street but cannot see him, they dart back into the hotel with the aim seemingly of pursuing him at street level.  Bond continues to move through the crowds but as he looks back he notices four more men following only ten metres behind, looking for a way out Bond sees a Chinese dragon in the street.  As the dragon gets propelled into the air Bond makes his way underneath, as it drops down on Bond the men following him emerge from the crowd seeking him out but seeing nothing.   




(Cut to:  INT.  Dragon.  The dragon operators look round at Bond who makes certain that both guns are ready.

Bond
Good evening.

(Cut to:  EXT.  Street celebrations.  The black-suited men walk either side of the dragon and scan the crowd.  Bond observes their walking next to his position and gestures the men to hoist the dragon into the air.  They do so and Bond makes four shots and four kills in just over a second, his pursuers not managing to get even a shot off.)

Bond
(To the stunned looking dragon operators)  Xin Nian Kuai le!

(The dragon operators give a timid cheer before they lower the dragon and carry on.  Behind Bond a honking horn and harsh headlights burst through the throng indicating the remaining pursuers are far from done.  Bond runs through the celebrations and emerges onto Broadway, the celebrations being in New York rather than China.  Bond hails a cab and gets in.)

Bond
JFK, please.  There’s five Benjamin's with you your name on it if you get me there in less than twenty minutes.

Taxi Driver
(In an Indian accent) You got it, man.

(The cab speeds off through a myriad of other cabs and assorted traffic.  The black sedan following emerges and then brakes as it realises it cannot compete in New York traffic in such a big clunky vehicle.  It’s then that they see an ambulance approaching and hijack the vehicle, removing their previous occupants at gunpoint.  The lights and sirens whistle on as the ambulance lurches erratically forward.  Bond looks back and sees the vehicle parting the traffic behind, its sirens and lights feeling like a shark heading towards him.  The cab slows.)

Bond
What are you doing?

Taxi Driver
There’s an ambulance coming through.

Bond
That’s not an ambulance.

Taxi Driver
What?

(While the taxi slows Bond gets into the front passenger seat hanging on to the side of the vehicle while it moves.)

Bond
I said it’s not an ambulance, keep going!

(The ambulance door opens as the taxi-driver floors it through increasingly stationery traffic, a man with a sub-machine gun hangs out of the ambulance and begins shooting, catching the back of the taxi with a couple of shots.  The taxi driver takes evasive action through the traffic and darts down one of the side streets, the ambulance slams on and follows them, the cab then darts back along another street while the hanging on Marksman  can only get a short burst out on the gun, as the ambulance makes the next turning they only get another short burst out that misses the taxi entirely as it heads back towards Broadway and on the main road to the Brooklyn bridge, swerving through traffic as the ambulance also makes the sharp turn sending the man who was hanging out of the ambulance out of it completely.  As the taxi driver looks back though his sense of victory is short-lived as his eyes go wide in fear.)

Taxi Driver
You've got to be kidding!




(Behind them another man is hanging out of the ambulance this time with an RPG launcher as they now start to weave through traffic on the bridge.  Bond looks back and as just as the ambulance steadies yanks the steering wheel to the left, the grenade passing by the car and blowing a hole in the famous bridge’s brick work.  While the taxi driver yells at Bond he yanks the wheel back hard to the right, the taxi-driver hits the brakes and the taxi spins as the ambulance starts to gain momentum Bond aims at the passenger side tyre and makes the shot as the rubber explodes causing the driver to lose control, drive over the sloping back of a passing Porsche and go through the gap the RPG created, which has turned into a plume of smoke and masonry, crashing into the street below.

Cut to:  EXT: JFK.  The taxi pulls up.  Bond gets out and walks round to the driver’s side as the driver runs his fingers through his sweaty hair and brow.)

Bond
(Splitting a wad of notes)  This is for the ride (looks at the vehicle) this is for any damage (Goes through rest of notes and then decides not to split them) and this is for you.

Taxi Driver
Thank you, (holding up a card) this is my card which I give to everyone (Bond moves to take the card and the cabby brings it back in) ...Except to you.  Next time get another bloody cab!  (Driver sets off and honks indignantly.)

Bond
Bye then.

(Bond dumps his guns in the bin before entering the airport.

Cut to:  INT: JFK.  The camera is at leg level.  Bond strides through with purpose, a man with a trench-coat approaches and passes him an envelope.  Bond proceeds to the check in desk and presents his newly acquired papers.  The woman looks at the distinguished man in the photo and regards the disheveled man in front of her, drenched in sweat, dirt on his outfit and blood on his face, with disdain.)

Check-in assistant
(Disinterested) Any hand-luggage?

(Bond looks at her as if to say “You’ve got to be kidding?”)

Cut to:  TITLES

Cut to:  Ext.  Early morning.  Mongolia.  City of Ulan Bator.  Relatively quiet streets are disturbed by shouts and the noise of boots, doors being rattled, windows shoved and short tempers rounding on anyone who gets in their way as they look for someone who would appear to have an ever-decreasing life-span.  They scour the streets and doorways, peering through windows and making their presence felt.  The catatonic whine of motorbikes bouncing off the low-level housing.  One motorcycle rides up to a group of armed men and points down an alley-way.  They nod and head off into the darkness.  The rider lifts his visor up and smiles.  His western features in marked contrast to the Mongolians chasing him.  




He rides off, away from the men looking for him, seemingly in the clear, but spied by a small black-haired woman who picks up a mobile phone.  The visored man rides through streets and while reading punches in a text with an attachment on his mobile phone.  Up ahead he does not notice a middle-aged man with a stick crossing the street.  As he approaches him he puts the phone in a pocket and slows to about twenty and gives him a polite wave as he rides past, the man nods back ...Then rams his walking stick in between the spokes of the rear wheel sending the rider sprawling across the road, his mobile leaving the pocket and landing on the floor.  The rider gets up, shaken but in tact, and removes his helmet to reveal a handsome man with black hair and a greying beard.  The old man stands by the downed motorbike and cricks his neck from side to side, before retrieving his walking stick with a smile.

002
Fine.

(The middle-aged man nods.  002 reaches back and removes his silenced Walther and fires. The middle-aged man moves and whacks the first bullet away with his cane.  002 stops for a moment and lowers his gun in amazement.

002
What the ...?

(002 raises his gun again and begins to fire, however, with a deceptive amount of speed, a combination of running and jumping off localised obstacles and surfaces he manages to avoid getting hit as 002 pours shots out almost non-stop.)

002
Will (shot) ...You (shot) ...Just (shot) ...Stand (shot) ...Still!

(The gun clicks out as empty, 002 throws it at the middle-aged man who knocks it out of the way with his walking stick and grins.) 

002
So that’s how you want it then?

(002 hurls his helmet at the man, who, due to the size of the projectile, this time decides to move to the side rather than smash it with his stick.  002 moves to punch but instead swings and misses with his opponent getting three blows of his own successfully landed on the agent, 002 then aims to connect with an elbow, receives another blow for his troubles and is swept off his feet.  Being no slouch the agent flicks his feet back and jerks himself off the ground and charges at the man, catching him in the mid-riff and getting him onto the ground, reigning blows upon his smaller, nimbler opponent, until a blow to the neck sends 002 reeling.  The middle-aged man returns to his feet and 002 fights on, but every time he tries with a move his opponent counters with three blows of his own, all sharp, fierce and all to vital areas, eventually knocking 002 to the ground.  Coughing up blood and clearly more then dazed 002 reaches for his phone, presses a button and throws it at the middle-aged man, who instinctively, hits it with his stick, causing it to explode on impact sending the middle-aged man to the ground, face-down in the dirt and in severe pain.  002 staggers up, gets back on the motorbike and begins to make good his escape.

Cut to:  EXT:  Wilderness road.  The motorbike carries on through the rough terrain then wobbles and 002 falls to the ground.  He knows he isn’t going to make it and inserts an earpiece.)

002
Control.  It’s 2.

(Cut to:  INT:  MI6 main communications office, Tanner walks over.)

Tanner
We hear you 2.  Where are you?

Back to:  EXT:  Mongolia.

002
Out of time.  The list I sent earlier ...They’re the loose end ...QUANTUM plan to get rid of them, soon as.  They may even have started already.

Back to:  INT:  MI6.

Tanner
Can you get to a secure location.

Back to:  EXT:  Mongolia.  002 unzips his leathers, opens his shirt to reveal a skin that shows rapidly increasing red patches, telling 002 that he's bleeding profusely beneath the skin.)

002
No.  Ha ha!  The fabled five-punch technique.  What a stupid way to die.

(He laughs some more then coughs up some blood and dies.)

Tanner
2?  002?  002?

Cut to:  INT:  M’s ante office.  Bond enters with a smirk having washed and changed, he is looking his usual elegant self in a gloriously cut three-piece black suit.  He glances at Moneypenny who gives him a guarded smile.)

Moneypenny
You’re late ...As usual.

Bond
Yes, it was harder than I thought to catch a cab in New York.  Everyone here?

(Moneypenny shakes her head)

Moneypenny
2 didn’t make it.

(Bond’s cheeks flinch but that is all the emotion he shows, after that his demeanour goes slightly colder but otherwise he is largely unaffected.)

Bond
I see.

Moneypenny
Did you know him?

Bond
Not well.  Just socially ...But it’s the principal isn’t it?  Straight in? (smirks)

Money penny
(wearing a smirk she’s trying to stop) Straight in.

(Bond walks in and sees eight other 00 agents stood or sat around.  It is easy to see what Vesper meant about them being little more than cold-hearted bastards, all of them wear a dispassionate look the same way they would a fine pair of italian shoes or a finely spun silk tie.  They all seem similar but different and vary in age, three look around the same age as Bond, one is markedly older and the rest look slightly younger.  M is sat with a variety of files on his desk.  He looks sombre but like Bond there is only the merest trace of emotion on his face.)

Bond
Apologies for my lateness, Moneypenny told me about 2.

(The other faces in the room show little emotion as the downside of their job is laid bare in front of them.  The reality that the only retirement for them will probably be in a box being an unspoken truth that hangs heavy in the air like second-hand smoke.  M looks around the room and sensing the gloom descending decides a quick briefing is necessary to dispel the misery.)

M
We can mourn 2 once this is over.  He was in Mongolia following up a lead on our old friends at QUANTUM.  Before he was killed he was able to scan over a list of nine names and two figures, it’s your job to protect the names.

(Bond is just about to speak when a sombre voice echoes from the corner.)

001
I don’t suppose you’d tell us what the numbers are?

(Bond turns and shrouded in the shadows sits the oldest of the 00’s, almost invisible in the corner.)

M
The numbers are five billion and one hundred and twelve million.

(All of the 00’s chirp into life with questions and suggestions.)

00’s
Cost of a new weapon? Blackmail demands? Money laundering?
Loss of life?   Robbery/embezzlement? I think blackmail covered that
Some kind of extortion plot?

M
That’s enough.  Our job isn’t to worry about the numbers.  Analysis teams are already working on that, your job is protection only.  

Bond
Are there any noticeable connections between the names?

M
Two of them work in biotech, the others are plumbers, engineers, geologists and a vulcanologist.  So, yes, and no.

(Bond considers the answer while M continues.)

M
You’re all on the first flights out, eyes only, of course.  1, you’re in Sierra Fuego (hands folder out, 1 gets up and starts flicking through while exiting the office.) 9, Lisbon, (Hands out folder and continues to do so all the agents who receive their orders and then leave the office immediately.) 4, Hong Kong, 6, Quebec, 8, Panama City, 3, Marrakech, 5, Rio and 7 ...Mogadishu (Hands folder to Bond.)

Bond
Somalia?

M
Do you know of any other Mogadishu?

Bond
No, sir.

M
Good.  The assignments got handed out in order of arrival, next time get here on time.

Bond
Yes, sir.  Of course, sir.  

(As Bond leaves M smiles.)

Cut to:  INT:  Bond’s flat.  Bond showers and prepares some food and checks the terrain from the address M gave him and makes some notes while drinking an Earl Grey tea.  His doorbell buzzes in its short monotone manner and breaks his concentration.  Remaining ice-cold he grabs his mobile and his gun and heads to the door.  He stands to the side of the door, presses his phone button which chirps out Bond’s voice with a “YES” while he stands, gun ready, to the left of the door.

Giselle
James?

(Bond re-holsters his weapon and opens the door.)

Bond
Giselle.  What a pleasant surprise, long time no see.

Giselle
I was in the area and thought I would pop in for a night-cap.

Bond
An excellent idea but I am only here for a few hours.  I have to be on an early flight tomorrow.  Come in.

(Bond walks back into his kitchen and begins preparing a drink.  It’s a military-style operation as he assembles the components for two drinks in a line in front of him and starts assembling the mix while he talks.  As he does so in the background the silhouetted figure in the foreground starts to unfasten her dress, letting it fall to the floor.)

Giselle
Where are you going this time?

Bond
Central Africa.  We’ve got a bit of an emergency there.

Giselle
An emergency?  How does an accountant have an emergency?

Bond
My team have lost their calculators and they can’t do manual long division.

Giselle
It’s hard to believe you have such a boring job.  You’re so much more interesting.

Bond
It’s usually the way.  The interesting people have all the boring jobs and the boring people have all the interesting jobs.  It’s probably the reason why talk shows are so insufferably...

(Bond turns with the drinks and sees her naked apart from a white winter-bobble-hat.)

Bond
...Divine.

Giselle
Do you like my night-cap?

(Bond lays the glasses down, leans against the doorway and starts to unfasten his tie.)

Bond
I think I prefer your version of a night-cap to mine.



Cut to:  INT:  Zoo.  What looks like a cross between the great exhibition hall and five or six aircraft hangers all combined together is filled with a variety of habitats with various wildcats, zebras, gazelles and ibis’ frolic freely within each area.  Somewhere in the distance an elephant trumpets its presence.  The man we were introduced to earlier Victor Ernst is feeding a giraffe that feeds willingly from his hand.  His second-in-command, Nixon Albrecht, stands near him watching the scene intently but also nervously.  It is then while Nixon is enjoying feeding the giraffe that two men appear to ruin his good mood..

Second Lieutenant
Sir, 002 is dead.  But the others got away.

Victor Ernst
Did anything become known?

(The junior within the QUANTUM organisation becomes quiet.)

Victor Ernst
I said DID ANYTHING BECOME KNOWN?

Second Lieutenant
Yes sir.  002 got the list of loose ends.

(Victor considers this for a second before speaking again.)

Victor Ernst
How many men did we lose?

Second Lieutenant
(Pause) Thirty, sir.

Third Lieutenant
Eight of them with Bond.

(Victor strides up to the man with the bad news and punches him in the face.  He gets up and wipes his lips which has blood running down.  Victor and Nixon both look away in disgust.)

Victor Ernst
Blood?  Eurgh!  Get away, GET AWAY!  (Victor removes a hanky and covers his mouth)  Dammit, you know how I feel about Blood!  The list is inconsequential.  They are loose ends because they played a part in our plans, unknowingly.  Their disposal is merely a precautionary measure.  If history has taught us anything it’s that even when great plans become known very often they are still successful, D-day landings, October revolution, It will have no bearing on our success, but Bond ...That man!  Do we know where he’s going.

Second Lieutenant
Mogadishu, sir.

Victor Ernst
Get a party to meet him down there, a large one.  I want that man in pieces by the end of the day.

(Cut to:  INT:  Airplane.  Bond sits in first class, drink in hand, looking out of the window running the file through his head.)  

M (Voice-over)
Name:  Domingo Seles.  Occupation:  Engineer, company CEO, pilot.  Nationality:  Somalian.  No picture on file.  Extremely secretive and little known about him.  Fled back to Somalia a few days ago ...Reason unknown.

Cut to:  EXT:  Day.  Mogadishu International Airport.  A man in a suit awaits Bond on the open area off the runway.  Three men appear behind him and nod over.  One of them leaves in one direction and the other go in the opposite.  Seconds later the personal address system pings into life.

PA
Would Mister Kolowa report to the supervisor’s office, Mister Kolowa to the supervisor’s office.  Thank you.

(Bond’s contact looks annoyed and walks into a small office at the ramshackle airport.)

Cut to:  INT:  Day.  Supervisor’s office.

Kolowa
I am Kolowa

Assassin
I know.

(The assassin takes two silenced shots.  Kolowa falls backwards and, as he does, the man’s associates catch him in a body bag and zip him up.  The three of them take him out of the office and the supervisor arrives back seconds later.

Cut to:  EXT.  Day.  Mogadishu International Airport.  The private jet lands on the runway and Bond emerges in a white shirt, sunglasses and khaki pants.) 




Bond walks through the airport and as he leaves on the other side is met by the two men who caught Kolowa in the body bag.  They shadow Bond either side with a gun pointed in his mid-riff, shepherding him into a jeep containing a driver and the assassin who killed Kolowa.  The jeep speeds off.)

Bond 
I take it I’m right in thinking that you’re not my designated contact?

(All the men remain silent.)

Bond
Where are we going?

(The men do not reply, staring at Bond in silent contempt before the driver responds)

Driver
We are taking you to your death.

Bond 
I see.

Driver
You’d be wise to...

(Bond nods and slams both arms back trapping his captors guns while moving his body forward.  Both men shoot at the same time, killing each other almost instantly as they fall out of the jeep.  As the man in front brings his gun up Bond launches a kick at it and instead the assassin shoots the driver.  Bond jumps from the jeep onto a passing truck.  The last armed guard brings his gun up as the truck slows to a stop making Bond an easy target.  Bond points in front of the jeep, smiles and nods.  The guard looks round to see why?  The truck stopped due to the lights changing and a bus ploughs into the jeep and flips it over.  Bond jumps off the truck and hails a cab.

Cut to:  INT:  Cab.  Bond is being bounced about on uneven roads while the driver talks non-stop.

Cut to: EXT:  Quiet street in a rough looking neighbourhood.  Bond pays the cabby who smiles far more enthusiastically than Bond’s last driver.  Bond turns to a bar that’s pock-marked with bullet-holes like a teenage boy pock-marked with acne.  The windows have bars and little light comes from inside.  Bond takes a look up and down the street and heads in.

Cut to:  INT:  Bar.  The noise and conversation stop as soon as Bond enters.  He does not let this bother him and merely walks to the bat confidently.

Bond
Good afternoon.

(Several eyes glare angrily at him and the barman is ignoring him, disregarding this Bond continues anyway.)

Bond
I think I’ll have a rum, please.  On second thoughts make it a double.

Barman
We don’t like westerners here!
  
(Bond looks around and immediately spots a number of revolvers in view, hanging from hips or resting leisurely on laps.)

Bond
Unless their surname is Smith or Wesson?

(At that the barman reaches beneath the counter and brings up a cloudy bottle of rum and pours two disgusting shots into a glass and pushes it over to Bond.)

Barman
On the house.

(Bond takes the glass, holds it in the air to look at the cloudy liquid, knowing he has little choice but to drinks and knocks it back, as quick as possible, with the merest of grimaces.)

Barman
Impressive.

Bond
Thank you.  Now I’m looking for ...Someone ...By the name ...Of ...Domingo...

(The world fades to black as the bar bursts into laughter and Bond lurches into unconsciousness.  From a back room a big man emerges, at least seven feet tall, with two rows of gold teeth and a cold temperament in such a hot climate, even the men in the bar seem to retreat inside themselves when he appears.)

Domingo
Bring him.

(Cut to:  INT:  A windowless room.  Bond comes to on a leather sofa.  He forces himself up and notices that his wrists are unbound which he finds unusual.  In the shadows Bond can make out a desk, a variety of boxes and a set of filing cabinets, the office is relatively large about seven metres by seven.  From in the shadows a deep male voice echoes out.)

Voice
If you have come to kill me, Mister Bond, you will not be successful.

Bond
If I’d wanted to come and kill you, you’d be dead already.

(The man steps forward wearing an open shirt, a vest and camouflage pants, from his waste hangs a machete.  A woman brings some documents and the man scrawls a signature across them.  Bond chuckles.)

Voice.
I am Domingo, Mister Bond.

(Bond assesses the man for a moment before speaking.)

Bond
No.  No you’re not.  You’re lying.  Admittedly you lie with purpose and it’s a good lie, but a lie nonetheless.

Voice 
I can assure you I...

Bond 
I read the report on Domingo.  You’ve got the fingernails and the build to be an engineer, yes, but you don’t have the savvy to a CEO.  Being the head of a company requires tactical skill and, without being rude, you don’t look like you have the tactical knowledge to tie your own shoelaces.  Now where is Domingo?

(Something flashes across the man’s face, but not fear, concern maybe and he marches forward moving his machete and lashes down with it.  Bond darts to the side and lands an elbow to the big man’s gut that has little effect.  The man’s retaliatory blow has far more impact and sends Bond sprawling.  The big man comes forward as Bond, dazed, gets to his feet and leans against the cabinets, the man kicks out at Bond who feints to the side and the man’s foot smashes through the one of the door’s drawers.  Bond tries a punch to the man’s kidneys but he might as well try and punch concrete, the man swings the machete and misses, then removes his foot from the cabinets, he lashes down again this time Bond ducks down and opens the top drawer, the man’s arm smacks against it and breaks the drawer from its hinges while the knife clatters to the floor.  As Bond moves to collect it the man kicks it away and launches a knee at Bond, who rolls with the blow and scrambles back.  The man now calmly picks up the fallen knife, but, as he turns he meets the side of the broken cabinet which bond uses to smash him across the face.  Somehow the big man is still standing and punches at Bond.  Bond catches the blow with the drawer, and punches the man in the face with the drawer but still he does not fall, he swings at Bond with the machete, Bond tries to counter but the force of the blow, even though caught by the metal container, sends Bond to the ground.  The big man walks over with purpose, his left foot stepping into the drawer as he walks into the shadows.  Bond pulls at it with everything he’s got and the man slips to the ground, Bond gets up quicker, grabs the knife and rests his foot on the big man’s chest.)

Bond
Now, where is Domingo?

(The shot echoes off the room’s walls, the bullet knocking the knife out of Bond’s hand.  The man’s secretary emerges from the shadows.)

Domingo
I am Domingo.  Step away from my little brother or the next bullet will be through your heart.

Bond
Your little brother?  (Bond offers a hand down and pulls the man up.) Sorry about that.  (Picks up the knife and hands it back to him.)  Domingo Seles?

Domingo
I am Domingo.

Bond
It’s a pleasure to meet you.  My name is Bond, James Bond, I work for British Intelligence...

Domingo
Now there’s an oxymoron if ever I’ve heard it!

Bond
Nice, but seriously, we believe...

(Three suited men appear in the doorway and look at Domingo’s brother while reaching into their jackets.) 

Suited man
Domingo?

Domingo’s Brother
Yes?

(They remove their weapons and are about to shoot when one of them notices Bond with Domingo and switch their attention to them.  Bond drags domingo over the desk and forces her down behind it, getting off one shot and taking the middle-man down.  The other two start firing, as they do, Domingo’s brother throws his machete through the air and it lodges itself in another man’s side, as he falls the final hit-man decides to change target and as he takes aim at Domingo’s brother Bond gets his next shot off and fells the man before he can kill the big man.)

Bond
Come on, we need to get you out of here.

Domingo
I’m not going anywhere without my brother!

Bond
What’s your brother’s name?

Domingo
Ozul.

Bond
OZUL!  WE’RE GOING NOW!  (Bond moves to the door where the dead men lay.)

Ozul
NO!  This way!

(Ozul opens a secret door and the three of them leave via a back route.  They run through a corridor lined with alcohol bottles and various other produce.  They run through a number of corridors and through to the bar and all three of them jump over the counter, but as they near the door they hear an automated thrum too regular to be anything that occurs in nature.  Bond yanks both Ozul and Domingo to the ground as machine gun fire peppers the front the the bar.  The pirates and former fighters who make up the bar’s clientele refuse to take this lying down and start to open fire on the helicopter that has attacked their bar.  Bond, Ozul and Domingo dive into a nearby mini-van while the helicopter is distracted and head off at speed down the main street.  Ozul gets in the drivers seat and Bond leans out of the window to take a shot at the pursuing helicopter when five motorcyclists join in the pursuit and open fire on the van.)




Ozul
Where are we heading?!

Domingo
The docks!  We’ll bring out the big-guns!

(Ozul smiles at his sister’s comment but his smile leaves when shots strafe through the back of the vehicle.)

Domingo
Why are they trying to kill me?

Bond
It’s probably best we discuss that later.

(At a break in shooting, Bond get’s off three shots and gets two of the riders off their vehicles.)

Domingo
George?  It’s Domingo, we’re heading your way now and need a welcoming committee ...Yeah, a big-one.  Be ready for us!

(One of the other two motorcyclists stands on his bike, accelerates and jumps on the vans roof.)

Bond
BRAKE!

(Ozul slams on and the rider slides off the roof and into the van’s path.  The two other motorcyclists slide then clatter in the back of the van.  Ozul then starts the van again and drives over the hapless rider in front of the van.  The other two remaining riders flank the vehicle, one jumps on one side and Bond pulls the man’s gun arm into the vehicle, on the other side the remaining rider leans against the vehicle to take aim at Bond.  Domingo snatches Bond’s gun, squeezes the trigger and hits him square in the centre of his helmet and he slumps out of the vehicle.  Bond looks at the road in front while Ozul drives and sees a wall ahead.)

Bond
OZUL!  RIGHT!

(Ozul looks back, looks forward, figures what Bond wants a swerves to the side at speed.  Bond lets go of the man’s arm as he smashes into the wall killing him instantly.)

Domingo
There’s the ship.

(Straight ahead of them the haulage ship that is clearly home to pirates sits in the harbour, however, their view of it is suddenly obscured by the helicopter that hovers in front of them.  Ozul hits the brake and the machine gunner takes aim.

Cut to:  Close up.  EXT:  Twin machine gun barrels burst into life the noise almost deafening.  Bond, Ozul and Domingo watch from the shot-out van in surprise and fear as the pirate ships heavy machine-guns rip through the helicopters shell like it’s made of tin-foil.  The helicopter lurches before nose-driving into the ground.  Everyone nearby backs up, with Ozul reversing as the helicopter falls onto its back, the rear rotor spinning ever closer towards the van, before meeting the front of the vehicle, slicing through the middle of the bonnet, burying itself in the engine and pinning Ozul's van to the ground.)

Bond
Well ...That wasn’t very funny.  Stay here.

(Bond leaves the vehicle and heads to the upside down chopper, hunting any survivors but really hoping to scavenge information from the dead.  The machine gunner was on the roof, Bond checked his neck for a pulse and, upon finding nothing begins to ransack the body, retrieving his mobile, and letter-headed paper with an address in Mogadishu, the same one Bond was given but written on Seles Engineering stationary.  Bond pockets the information and, after two similar inspections gets ready to rejoin Ozul and Domingo until he hears a ship horn going.  He leaves the wreckage and sees the ship leaving the harbour with Ozul and Domingo.  Bond runs after the ship but there’s no way he can catch it now.

Cut to:  EXT:  Pirate ship.  Night.  Ozul and Domingo look out at the still ocean as blackness cuts visibility to nothing.  Ozul is armed with a rifle and is staring vigilantly into the impenetrable blackness.)

Domingo
Why are they trying to kill us?

Ozul
I wish I knew.  You should get some rest.  I’ll stand guard.

(She reaches up and Ozul bends down so she can kiss him on the cheek.  She wanders through the dirty ship through to her quarters.  She opens the door to a room that’s the best it can be on a vessel like this, equipped with a double bed, a bedside dresser a stool in the corner and a chair ...With Bond sat in it, wearing his British Naval officer’s uniform.

Bond
Permission to come aboard, Ma’am?

Domingo
How the hell did you get on board?!

Bond
I hitched a lift.

Cut to:  INT:  Royal Navy Submarine.  The Comms officer turns to the submarine Commander.

Comms
Bond’s aboard, sir!

Commander
Very good.  Helm, resume previous course.

Helm
Aye, sir!

(Back to:  INT:  Domingo’s cabin.)

Domingo
You impudent swine!  I’ve got a good mind to summon the captain and have you flogged!

Bond
Then why don’t you ...Captain!

(Cut to:  INT:  Office.  Victor Ernst is feeding a mouse to a snake that swallows the poor creature whole.  He smiles at the mouse’s muffled screams.)

Victor Ernst
I do like snakes.  When they eat there’s no blood, no waste, no gore.  I hate mess.  I take it you have some more news for me.

(Two of Victor’s men enter the room.)

Victor’s Lieutenant
Two of the targets have been taken care of, sir.

Victor Ernst
A good day gets better.  What about the agents protecting them.

Victor’s Lieutenant
They ...They got away, sir.

Victor Ernst
I see.  What about Bond?

Victor’s Lieutenant
Well ...Somalia is still very much a warzone, sir, it’s ...We lost him ...And our men.

Victor Ernst
That man, that man, still thinks that one man can make a difference against a huge organisation.  He will pay for his distorted sense of altruism.  We do need to cut Gillam loose, get some men out there.

Cho
I’ll go.

(The man whose blows killed 002 appears wearing an eye-patch, still using his walking stick.)

Victor Ernst
Cho.  Are you sure you’re ready.

Cho
I am ready.

Victor Ernst
You deal with Gillam, oh, and Simmons?

Lieutenant
Yes sir.

Victor Ernst
Get Bond!

(Cut to: INT:  Domingo’s cabin.  Bond is still sat in the chair leaning forward while Domingo is on the bed, hostilities on hold, for now, as they are deep in conversation.)

Domingo
My father was a pirate captain.  That was his job ...You’re not saying anything.

Bond
I kill people for a living.  It’s not really my place to judge.

Domingo
Fair enough.  He’d bring us on board when the ship was on and show us the engines, how they worked, what they did, how you could strip them down and put then back together again.  Me and Ozul loved that.  Then the war came.  With the money earned he sent me overseas to get an education and Ozul with me for protection.  It was only a few weeks later that the fighting moved to the capital.  My father returned to shore to try and get my mother out.  She was killed and so was he, his crew were lucky to escape with their lives.  As my father’s eldest child they still treat me like I should be the Captain, hence the quarters, even though these days they make their living a lot more honestly.

Bond
Fishing?

Domingo
A little, haulage as well as general transportation.

Bond
Okay, all that I understand, but how is it that your brother became the recognised CEO of your company?

Domingo
My father wanted my brother to look after me while I was overseas.  When we started our engineering business and people came to see the boss they naturally assumed it was him.  However when they found out I was in charge they didn’t take us as seriously.  One time we let the charade continue when we were talking to a client we wound up getting the contract and so although it was my name on the company stationary and me making the decisions he was the fictional figurehead.  I guess because most men are engineers they only want to deal with a man.

Bond
Well, not in everything.

(Domingo smiles, she seems almost impressed by him until the door opens and her brother sees the two of them.)

Domingo
It’s okay, Ozul.  Mister Bond was just leaving, isn’t that right?

Bond
(Taking her lead) Yes, that’s right.

(Cut to:  EXT:  Heads with Diving masks and harpoon guns appear out of the water.)

Domingo (Voice-Over)
I’m sure the two of you can sort out my protection among yourselves, agreed?

Ozul (V-O)
(Sounding nothing like he wants to agree)  Agreed.

(Back to:  INT:  Domingo’s cabin.)

Bond
Good.  (Getting up)  I suggest I stand guard outside the cabin while you patrol the decks.

Ozul 
I’LL stand guard outside the cabin!

Bond
(To Domingo) He’s very protective of you isn’t he?  (She nods)  Oh before I go, I found this on one of the dead men in the chopper.  I take it that Seles Engineering is your company?

Domingo
It is, let me see.  

(She walks over to Bond who shows her the letter-headed paper with her address typed on.)

Back to:  EXT:  The invaders clamber up the ship and make it to the decks.

Bond (Voice-Over)
With your permission I’d like to get one of my colleagues to run through your computer files see if they can find out who printed the letter off.  Obviously that would be just Ozul and myself I wouldn’t want to put you in harms way.

Domingo (V-O)
I’m more than capable of taking...


Back to:  INT:  Cabin.

Ozul
Mister Bond is right.  There’s no sense you being in harms way, if there was it would be you guarding us.

(Bond smiles, starting to enjoy the company of the bickering siblings.)

(Cut to:  EXT:  Ship’s deck.  One of the invaders fires a shot at one of the men on the starboard side of the vessel who falls in the water.  On the port side one of the pirate’s hears this and when the harpoon enters his belly he fires a shot that alerts everyone, including...

Back to:  INT:  Cabin.  All three of them turn at the noise.)

Ozul
I’ll guard the decks.

Bond
I’ll come with you.

(As they look to the different ends of the corridors they see shadows moving, Ozul heads one way and Bond the other.  A man with a harpoon gun appears at the Ozul end and Ozul is able to gun him down before he has chance to move.  At Bond’s end a man appears and moves to fire.  As he does Bond darts to the side and ducks down.  The man makes the shot and the harpoon spins through the air, bouncing off the rotating door handle and just missing Bond’s head.  Bond responds in kind and kills the man with one shot.  Bond walks to the end of the corridor gun raised and every-time one of the harpoon wielding assassins appear he is despatched quicker than the last one.  Bond looks round the corner and seeing no more men coming down the stairs takes the opportunity to reload, as he does he hears what sounds like an animal  growl from on the decks.

Cut to:  EXT:  Ship’s deck.  Bond reaches the deck to se an extraordinary sight as Ozul is using one of the invaders’s like a hammer spinning them around, knocking away the man’s fellow mercenary’s, growling as he does creating a terrifying vision.  Bond runs over to help and from the upper deck sees a shadow appear as if someone is standing there with a harpoon gun.  Bond takes no chances and shoots through the floorboards behind Ozul.  Ozul looks back at Bond as the man falls from the upper deck, dead.)

Bond
You’re welcome.

(From behind Bond another shot is heard.  Bond turns quickly with his gun raised and another mercenary falls down dead.  Behind him Domingo stands with another rifle.)

Domingo
Likewise.

(From behind them the mercenaries appear with the remaining three crew members being held hostage.)

Mercenary Leader
THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!

(All three of them reluctantly do so.)

(Cut to:  INT:  Engine room.  The mercenary’s lead Bond, Domingo and Ozul down the steps with the remaining crew members.  Lining up them down there to be killed.)

Mercenary Leader
Kill them, then scuttle the ship.  It’ll look like they were the victims of a pirate attack.  Then come back to the ship.

(The other mercenary nods.  Bond surreptitiously removes his pen from his pocket.  Domingo notices.)

Domingo
(Whispers)  What are you doing?

Bond
(Whispers) Showing there’s no school like the old school.  (aloud) Excuse me, Is there time to jot down a last request? (Clicks pen three times.)

(Mecenary leader walks over, snatches the pen and throw it behind his men and punches Bond in the stomach.  Bond buckles over, an unseen smile on his features.)

Mercenary Leader
You don’t get time for a last request.

Bond
I meant for YOU to write a last request.

(The pen explodes behind the mercenaries blasting a hole in the side of the ship, as it wobbles and the mercenary loses his balance, Bond grabs the mercenary’s pistol and shoots him.  As the water pours in behind the mercenary’s there is a scamble for the door to get out of the rapidly sinking ship.  As the mercenaries try to escape their path is blocked by Ozul who manages to hold them back while Bond gets Domingo and the crew out of the engine room.  Ozul keeps fighting, lost in the moment and the anger.)

Bond
OZUL, NOW!

(Ozul breaks out of his mood and starts to head for the door.  One of the last mercenary’s standing pops out of the water and aims their harpoon at the giant of a man but Bond doesn’t let him get the opportunity to make the shot and promptly downs him. 

Bond
COME ON!

(Ozul makes the stairs as the boat starts to list to port.

Cut to:  EXT:  Ship’s deck.  The crew, Bond, Domingo and Ozul all make their way towards a lifeboat, as they do, they hear the noise of an approaching boat opening fire on them.  Bond looks round and sees the crane.)

Bond
You get in the boat and get it lowered.  (Moves to go then remembers something.)  Here.  If I don’t make it, use this, dial zero zero seven and ask for tanner, he’ll know what to do.

Domingo
Where are you going?

Bond
To see what I can catch. 

Domingo
James.

(Bond looks back.)

Domingo
Be careful.

Bond
I’ll see what I can do.

(Bond crawls over to the crane, drawing the boat’s fire with the remaining bullets from the Walther, eventually getting in the crane.  Activating the crane on the heavily listing ship he starts to unreel the cable a little, so it swings out to the left, then hooks it back across to the right running it out to the maximum, the weight at the end of the crane almost yanking it from its decidedly unsecured moorings.  The weighted hook swings through the air and smashes through the glass of the attackers ship and hooks the wheel.  As the pirates ship lurches Bond pulls at the controls so it drags the attackers ship, jamming the controls so they just continue to tug the ship through the water and eventually down into the depths.  As the ship starts to fill with water on the starboard side and eventually the stern, the ship’s bow starts to rise out of the water and Bond runs up to the ship’s bow, grabbing at the rail before his feet slip from under him.  He look back and sees that his pirate allies have managed to get their life boat down as the pursuing tug is dragged into the waters beneath.  The bow gets propelled into the air and Bond pulls himself onto the rail and, as it begins to sink, takes three steps and dives the thirty metres into the cold black water, getting as close to the lifeboat as possible, swimming over and making his way into the tiny raft.)

Domingo
Are you all right?

Bond
Fine.  I’m sorry about your boat.

Domingo
(Looking at where the vessel disappeared)  It was part of my father, it was the last part of him.

Bond
(Pause) You must hate me right now.

Domingo
I don’t hate you ...I hate them.  You want to go back to Seles Engineering, fine, but I’m coming with you.  (She hands Bond the phone.)

Cut to:   INT:  Office.  Night time.  Q is on his laptop staring intently at the screen.  The phone goes but Q doesn’t move.

Q
International export, secure the line.

(There is a high pitched whine on the line, then a click.)

Phone (female voice)
Line is secure.

Q
Q here.

Bond (Voice-over)
Q, Bond.  I need a lift from the Indian ocean, three passports and the fastest transport possible to Seattle.

Q
I should be able to get the passports to you but why are you ringing me for a lift and air-tickets, that’s surely Tanner’s department.

Bond (V-O)
Usually yes, but I will need your skills with me in Seattle.

Q
I don’t suppose I have any say in this do I?

Bond (V-O)
No. 

Q
Balls.  I’ll see you in Seattle then.  Doesn’t it rain even worse in Seattle than it does in England?

Bond (V-O)
No.  I’m sure that’s just a myth.

(Cut to:  EXT:  Night.  Seattle-Tacoma International Airport.  Bond, Q, Domingo and Ozul are all stood outside the airport, suited and booted with black umbrella’s as the rain sheets down.  Q looks accusingly at Bond.)

Bond
Of course I could be wrong.

(Q shakes his head as all four of them get in a a cab and head off.)

(Cut to:  INT:  Hotel 1000.  Penthouse suite.  Bond is sat in a chair, suit jacket off while Q sleeps on the sofa.  Bond checks his Walther again and stares at the door.  In the other room Domingo and Ozul lie on their beds.  Ozul sleeps but Domingo is still awake.  Domingo wraps a dressing gown around her and goes back into the main room.)

Domingo
Are you all right?

Bond
Fine.  You?

(She shakes her head.)

Bond
Would you like a drink?

(She nods)

Bond
Allow me.

(Bond re-holsters his weapon and heads to the drinks cabinet to put together a concoction, whilst so doing, she walks over to the mini-bar to watch him work.)

Bond
So, Seles Engineering is your company but I still don’t know what exactly it is that your company does?

Domingo
We make air-conditioning units, usually for aircraft but we also produce them for business and residences also.

Bond
Air conditioning units?

Domingo
Yes.

Bond
For aircraft?

Domingo
Yes.  Nothing glamorous.

Bond
(Under-breath) serves me right for being late for meetings.  (Normal voice) The reason I ask is that someone wants you dead and while I have no doubt your Dad’s choice of career has made you many enemies, the fact that the paper came from your company tells me that this is what’s put you in harms way.

Domingo
Most of our clients are big international companies we don’t tend to deal with small parties or gangsters, the dodgiest person we’ve even produced product for was a hotel and casino in Las Vegas.

Bond
(Pause)  If you don’t know then you might have helped someone involuntarily.  Has anything happened over the last six to twelve months that was suspicious, anything at all?

Domingo
Nothing ...Not in the last six months at least.

Bond
...But before then?

Domingo
Our chief designer was killed in a car accident six months ago.

Bond
In my line of work nothing happens by accident.  Who was the man who replaced him?

Domingo
Jeremy Gillam, but surely he can’t be involved in this, he’s been working with us for two years.

Bond
I think he’s been working with someone else for a lot longer.  We’ll find out more tomorrow.  For now you’d better get some rest.  Here try this.

(Bond gives her the drink.  She takes a sip.)

Domingo
Nice.  What is it?

Bond
It's a secret.  It's something that’ll help you get some rest.

Domingo
What about you?

Bond
I’ll sleep when I know you’re safe.

Domingo
You’re a singular-minded man, Mister Bond.

Bond
When I want to be ...You can call me, James. 
  
Domingo
Okay.  Good night, James.

(She gets up to walk to back to her bedroom.)

Bond
Goodnight, Miss Seles.

Domingo
Oh, you can call me Domingo

Bond
Good night, Domingo.

(She closes the door with a smile.  As soon as the door closes his smile fades and is replaced by a vigilant stare at the main entrance to their hotel room, his eyes fixed and his senses honed on nothing else, even Q’s snoring not swerving his attention.

Cut to:  EXT:  Seles Engineering.  An Aston Martin pulls up, the four-door Rapide and Bond, Ozul, Domingo and Q all emerge in front of Seles Engineering’s dedicated office building, behind which a large factory area sits, acting as the engine to the entire operation.




Cut to:  INT:  Seles Engineering Company lobby.  The four of them walk into the building and head straight through reception.  Ozul has changed his golden teeth for white porcelain caps.  The receptionist smiles politely as she sees him.)

Receptionist 
Good morning, Mister Seles.

Ozul
Good Morning.

(The pattern is repeated throughout the building with Ozul being focussed but polite as he walks through to the main office, the other three remaining silent and impassive.  The pattern however changes dramatically when a balding, black-haired, bespectacled man sees them, drops his papers and gulps noticeably when he sees Ozul and Domingo.)

Gillam
Sir?  Sir ...You’re back?  This ...This is ...This is great news, sir.  Very good news, sir!

Bond
(Under-breath to Domingo)  Gillam?

Domingo
(Under-breath to Bond)  Uh-huh.

(All four of them walk into Domingo’s office, knowing who the weak link is.  While Bond stares out through the glass at the increasingly nervous Gillam, Ozul, Domingo and Q all set themselves up into their respective roles without any orders from Bond, who does not notice this while staring intently at Seles Engineering’s insidious Mole.)

Bond
Q can you hack into his...

Q
(Already having two laptops opened and connected to Domingo’s main computer.) ...Computer.  I’m already doing it ...And I’m already in.

Bond
Good, and Ozul can you...

Ozul
Lara?  It’s Mister Domingo.  Can you send Mister Gillam to my office, please.

(Bond watches as Gillam smartens himself down and heads over to the office.  He enters and sweat is visible on his brow.  The three others in the office are, like Bond, all stony-faced.)

Ozul
Mister Gillam, please sit.

(Gillam does so in an elegant Marcel Breuer Wassily model B3 tubular chair.)

Gillam
So, you’re ...You’re both, you’re both back.  This is good, this is ...This is all good.  Where did you go by the way?

Bond
You know where they went, Gillam.  You tipped off your organisation to their whereabouts so they could be killed, why?

Gillam
I think, NO!  I don’t know where you’re getting this info from but clearly it’s ...It’s clearly wrong.

Q
It’s actually from your computer.  I’m looking at the letter right now.

(Q spins the laptop around to reveal the word document that Gillam wrote)

Gillam
Look, it’s not what you think.  They’ve kidnapped my daughter.  I didn’t know that they would...

Q
You don’t have a daughter ...According to your Facebook page you're single, unmarried, interested in women, wrestling and cycling.

Bond
We don’t have time for this. We know you’re working for QUANTUM now you can either tell us here or in a far more persuasive location; it’s your choice.

Gillam
(Stops looking nervous and starts to look smug.)  You got me.  Yes I do work for Quantum and yes, I do so willingly.  But it doesn’t matter, look I'm not being rude when I say this but ...You’re all dead, well, unless you’re in the twenty-eight point five seven percent but if not then you’re finished!  Now I’m smart, I’m probably the smartest one in this room because unlike you guys I picked the winning side.  You should have done to.

(Gillam’s phone buzzes and he removes it, unlocks the screen to be greeted with the message “DUCK!”  Behind him Bond also sees the message.)

Bond
EVERYBODY DOWN!

(The roof explodes and a rope ladder appears.  Cho slides down one of the ropes swinging like a monkey, he brings up his stick and and slides it apart to reveal two 18 inch blades, Cho immediately recognises the threat of Bond and goes at him with the blades.  Bond gets out his Walther which gets knocked to the corner of the room.  Bond rolls and picks up another Marcel Breuer chair, using its tubing and straps to counter the blows.  Ozul brings his machete out from his suit and hurls it at the small, but fiendishly quick assassin who parries the knife away with one of his blades.  Bond sees an opportunity and thrusts the chair at the man and succeeds in delivering a blow to Cho's face, Bond tries again but this time the attempt is parried.  Cho looks annoyed that Bond has the audacity to land a blow and, as Ozul rounds the table, his machete back in his hand, Cho starts to launch a number of blows at Bond that bounce off the chairs tubing sending sparks flying through the air, Ozul aims a blow at Cho who parries and has a swing back at the giant man, switching his attention between the two.  As Bond and Ozul’s attention is taken by Cho, three men repel down from the helicopter, dressed in black wearing pilot helmets sub-machine guns draped over their shoulders, as they attempt to speedily unhook their wires three shots ring out, the bullets shattering their visors and killing them instantly.  Q looks over and sees Domingo stood in perfect shooting posture.)

Domingo
I learnt a lot from my Dad.

(Cho manages to get both Bond and Ozul on the defensive as he launches another wave of blow at both men, the speed of the attacks and changing of positioning meaning Domingo cannot get a shot off.   Meanwhile Gillam is trying to climb up the rope ladder to escape, Cho sees this and allows his knife to get lodged within the straps and force Bond over, as Ozul moves to try to make a killing stroke Cho throws his other knife towards him but he easily has time to side-step the spinning blade, it’s only when Ozul draws his attention back to where Cho was he realises that Cho has ran around him and is already climbing up Ozul to get further up the rapidly departing rope ladder.)

Bond
GUN!

(Domingo throws his pistol over and Bond catches it, the ladder is now being pulled out of the room.)

Bond
Ozul, can you throw me?

(Ozul doesn’t even reply, he just grabs Bond and hurls him through the air.  Bond grabs hold of the second to last rung as the ladder rises even further.  Cho is now above Gillam and Bond watches as the smaller man flicks a pair of handcuffs on Gillam and smiles.  Bond realises what the plan is ...To drop Gillam to his death once they reach an appropriate height.  Cho continues to climb and Bond has to make a judgement ...Kill the man and hopefully make the climb up the ladder or halt the copter.  Bond aims and fires, puncturing the fuel tank as Cho climbs inside, Bond lets go as the helicopter increases its ascent and manages to land on his feet on a section of roof remaining.  He roles and watches as Cho makes it into the copter and starts to unhook the rope ladder.  Bond doesn’t wait to see how Gillam’s short sky-ride will end and jumps back down into the office and heads to the door.)

Domingo
Where are you going?

Bond
To catch a ride.

(Bond runs out of the building into the awaiting Rapide slots the key inside and burns away from Seles Engineering, one eye on the road swerving round traffic at break-neck speed while keeping one eye on the ever-stalling helicopter that struggled in an increasingly ominous sky.  Bond dives through traffic and picks up two motorcycle cops, he darts through the traffic and sees they’re still on his tail, he shakes his head knowing he cannot worry about them now and looks back at the helicopter which is approximately three miles away, smoke now starting to appear from its engines as it seems to be running now on fumes only as it starts to descend.  Bond increases his speed and whips through traffic as he senses there is a chance he can catch the evasive assassin.

Cut to:  EXT/INT:  Helicopter.  In the copter Cho watches developments as the control panel flashes and beeps disapprovingly.  As it moves ever nearer the ground Cho looks for a way out.  As they fly over a field where electricity pylons are blighting the landscape, Cho  decides to make a break and jumps from the ever-lowering chopper and onto a pylon, swinging like a chimp down the metal structure until he reaches terra-firma.  Cho watches as the helicopter sinks ever-lower towards the power cables, the blades lashing through the cables pulling the pylons over as the blades whirr, the current fizzes through the metal helicopter creating what looks like a little ball of lightning before it dramatically explodes.  Cho hobbles for cover, looking decidedly annoyed at the inconvenience as he limps away with his life.

Cut to:  INT:  Aston-Martin Rapide.  Bond sees the plume of smoke after what looked like a lightning strike in a nearby field.  Bond floors it through some minor roads and arrives to see the pylons totally ripped apart and the burning wreckage of Cho’s escape vehicle smoldering vehemently in between what was left of the metal structures.  Bond gets out of the vehicle and stares at the wreckage knowing that any leads or info would be lost.  The camera closes-in on Bond’s face as he puts his hands behind his head, a studious look on his face as the two cops who were following him move his arms to arrest him, his face remains unconcerned as one reads him his Miranda rights and the the other comments on how they were able to keep up.

Cut to:  INT:  Police station.  Q signs Bond out and they leave safe in the knowledge that here at least they are free to talk.)

Q
So I copied the hard drive and went through the emails, although that was made harder by the power-cut you caused.

Bond
I hardly think that was anything I could control.  Did you find anything of interest?

Q
There was a glut of traffic from an unnamed IP address but nothing with any detail on, it was all rather unspecific.

Bond
Was that it?

Q
Oh no there was one other thing.

Cut to:  EXT:  Outside police station.  Q and Bond walk over to the waiting Aston-Martin Rapide.

Q
Gillam had been invited to a charity theatre performance with a before and after-show party.  I decided to cross-reference the party’s guest list and looking at the other guests he doesn’t seem to belong there.  There’s a lot of politicians, police big-wigs as well as some very, VERY high-flying businessmen.  Hard to see how an engineering designer would get a ticket unless...

Bond
...Unless it’s a front.  Could you get me...

...An invite?  I already thought of that and manipulated the guest list to get three, one for you, Domingo and Ozul. 

Bond
When is the party?

Q
Tomorrow night.  Time enough for you to pick yourself a nice outfit.

(Cut to:  INT:  Theatre Augustus.  Adjacent to the theatre is a grand dining room and banquet hall that houses the honoured guests for the charity performance.  Within the halls the familiar faces from the opening scene are milling around with established political figures, business heads and movie stars.  In the background talking things over with Bill Gates is Victor Ernst, however, as soon as he sees Bond with Domingo and Ozul he excuses himself and comes over.)

Victor Ernst
Good evening although to be honest I’m not exactly sure I’ve met any of you before.

Ozul
I am Domingo Seles of Seles Engineering, this is my personal assistant, Miss Ozul and this is my accountant, Mister James.

(Bond stands at the side his glasses disguise an almost sarcastic attempt at subterfuge.)

Bond
It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Victor Ernst
Likewise but I thought that your Mister Gillam was supposed to be attending? (said with a faint smile like he knows he’s already dead.)

Bond
Yes, sadly he had to drop out.  Excuse me. (Bond summons a waiter and passes out four glasses.)

Victor Ernst
His loss, our gain, cheers.

Bond, Domingo and Ozul
Cheers.




(They all take a drink)

Bond
This is a good turnout and for such a worthy cause.

Victor Ernst
You know of the work of the HPCO, Mister James?

Bond
Yes.  The Habitat Protection and Conservation Organisation is dedicated to the preserving and even reclaiming land for endangered species.  It’s been going for approximately twelve years and has seen numerous successes over that time, particularly in the promotion of renewable forest programs.

Victor Ernst
How well informed you are ...For an accountant.  I always thought they were unimaginative fops afraid of spending money unless it was on them of course.

Bond
Oh we are, but even we watch the news.

Victor Ernst
Then you’ll know how hard we all work to make sure that our wildlife treasures become anything but buried.  With the right help we will make sure that there is a natural world to enjoy for years to come, long after you, or I, am gone,

Bond
Obviously that won’t be for many years yet, for some of us.

Victor Ernst
Will it?  The dinosaurs demise is STILL largely unknown.  Is it not possible that their own eventual failure was actually because of their own success in decimating the food supply?  Are we not doing anything different?  History is a wonderful teacher if you can work out the lessons she is providing.

Domingo
I thought the dinosaurs was pre-history?

Victor Ernst
(Laughs) Touche, Miss Ozul.  Allow me to rephrase that, the past is a wonderful teacher ...Better?

(Domingo nods approvingly.)

Ozul
Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Ernst.

Victor Ernst
Thank you for coming, Mister Seles, Miss Ozul ...Mister James (said knowingly.)

(Victor Ernst leaves the three of them to ponder their conversation.)

Ozul
He knows something.

Bond
No doubt.

Domingo
We should get him alone and chop pieces off until whatever’s left talks.

(Bond and Ozul look at Domingo in surprise.)

Domingo
I’m a pirate’s daughter what did you expect?

Bond
There are easier ways to find information from someone.  I want you two to stay in plain sight at all times, no quiet corridors or small rooms and no matter who tries to summon you anywhere else in the building ignore them.

Ozul
What about you?

Bond
If I’m not out in five minutes get in the surveillance vehicle outside as soon as possible as it won’t be safe.

Domingo
Good luck, James.

Bond
You to.

(Bond follows Victor Ernst through the crowd and watches him disappear down a corridor, as soon as he walks a few feet down to follow him a number of shadows fall behind him.  Bond turns to look and three armed, hired-goons block his path along with Ernst's main lieutenant.  Bond smiles at them and points down the corridor.  They nod humorlessly and Bond heads down to the room Ernst entered only moments before.  Inside the room there are various gaming tables.  Victor Ernst is sat at the backgammon table.  Four more gun-for-hire types are in the room already and they are joined by the three who trapped Bond.)

Victor Ernst
Mister Bond, I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but, I’m sure you feel the same way about me.

Bond
You noticed.

Victor Ernst
You think your emotions are guarded but you wear your contempt for others like lesser men wear their old school ties.

Bond
I suppose you’d know all about lesser men.

Victor Ernst
Oh that’s a low blow, Mister Bond.  Are you still smarting from yesterday morning?  You know I did not have you pegged as being such a bad loser.

Bond
That’s because usually I’m such a superb victor.

Victor Ernst
Well that’s something we have in common.  What’s your game, Mister Bond; roulette, poker, backgammon, baccarat?

Bond
I’m not really in a playful mood.

Victor Ernst
(Mood changes) That makes two of us.  You know I’m offended you and your friends had the gaul to show up tonight.

(Cut to:  INT:  Back of van.  Q is listening intently.)

Victor Ernst (Voice-Over)
...Including you MI6 friends in the back of the van.

(Cut to:  EXT:  Van in street.  It’s an overly large van with an overly large cheery cleaning logo on the side.)

Victor Ernst (V-O)
Don’t you intelligence types use anything except cleaning and flower companies?

(Back to:  INT:  Gaming room.)

Bond
I think you’re the first person to complain about that.

Victor Ernst
Shame you won’t be the one to report it.  You won’t be leaving this building alive, Mister Bond.  Sure you won’t have one game before then.  I figured the odds in this room are stacked enough in my favour for me to be able to play fair.

(Bond studies all the hired-guns for a moment.)

Bond
I’d give you about evens on that.  (Bond takes pleasure in Ernst’s annoyed look.) Backgammon you say? (Bond sits at the board.)




(Cut to:  INT:  Banquet Hall.  Ozul and Domingo look nervous.  Domingo looks at her watch and shakes her head.)

Ozul
He’s not back.  We should leave.

Domingo
(Pause.)  Agreed.  Sticking around is for suckers.  Let’s go.

(Domingo and Ozul start to walk towards the exit but they are observed and one of Ernst’s goons starts to text Victor.

Back to:  INT:  Gaming room.  Ernst checks his phone and smiles while he talks to Bond.)

Victor Ernst
Do you know why I like Backgammon, Mister Bond?

Bond
No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me anyway.

(Back to:  INT:  Banquet Hall.  Ozul and Domingo are moving through the crowd trying to get to an exit.  Behind them more of Ernst’s hired-goons follow at a discreet distance.)

Victor Ernst (Voice-Over)
It’s because it’s all about numbers and balance.  There is the smallest element of chance involved but usually those who use the numbers wisely will always see the board tip to their advantage.

(Cut to:  EXT:  Ozul and Domingo leave the building and dart behind the surveillance van across the street out-of-sight.  Ernst’s men follow them and when they get to the van, count to three and then pull the door.  Inside they see nobody in the van except a box full of explosives and taped behind the door a hand-grenade, swinging from a string on the door is the grenade’s pin.  

Too late they realise they’ve been had as the van explodes dramatically, while, in an alleyway off the main road, Ozul and Domingo enter a much smaller van with the standard flower company logo on the side.

Back to:  INT:  Gaming room.  The explosion catches everyone off guard.  Bond launches an elbow to the man’s ribs to his right and then twists to deliver a crunching blow to the man on the left, breaking his nose, the other men start to remove their guns when...)

Victor Ernst
NO!  NO BLOOD!

(Bond smiles as they all try to take him down and he is able to use their numbers and against then as he uses his knees, elbows, fists and fingers to inflict all manner of painful injuries.  He has dispensed with four of the guns for hire and is in the zone where inflicting the most pain while suffering the least damage is almost a game to him until the thick end a croupier’s chip stick cracks him across the back of the skull, splitting the stick in two and sending Bond to slumber.  As he falls we see Victor behind him with what is left of the stick.)

Victor Ernst
(Trying hard not to gag at the sight of blood.)  Eurgh!  Take that man to the outskirts and just ...Just put a bullet in his head, just kill him!

Lieutenant
What about his friends, sir?

Victor Ernst
Find them ...Same treatment.

Lieutenant
Yes sir.

(Cut to:  INT:  Van.  Q is in the passenger seat while another member of MI6 drives.  Ozul and Domingo are behind the seats trying to find out what is happening.)

Ozul
If Mister Bond has been captured shouldn’t we try and assist him?

Q
No.  If a 00 agent is captured it’s up to them to use their wits and invention or one of my inventions to get out of a situation.  If they can’t do that then they’re probably shouldn’t be 00’s any more.

Domingo
We’re just going to leave him?

Q
Yes.  The assignment for Bond was all about keeping you safe, if we go back then we won’t really be doing that will we?

(As Q says this four black cars surround the flower van, two dart in front of the vehicle and slam on the brakes and two dart behind and jam the vehicle in.  As men wearing dark suits and even darker moods emerge from the vehicles it appears that time has finally caught up with Ozul and Domingo.

Cut to:  INT:  Back of a black van.  There are 3 hired goons sitting either side of Bond who is handcuffed and on the floor with a sack-cloth bag on his head, his hands are hand-cuffed but he’s rolling something intently between his fingers.  In the front passenger seat Ernst’s main lieutenant sits wearing a determined look on his face.)

Lieutenant
Here will suffice.

(The van pulls up.)

(Cut to:  EXT:  Van.  Tree lined road in middle of nowhere.  They pull Bond out of the vehicle and drag him on his knees in front of the lieutenant who places a supressor on a smith and wesson and aims it on the left side of Bond’s head.)

Lieutenant
Mister Ernst says you may like to know that this will also be the fate of your friends.

Bond
Tell him I said he can go to hell.

Lieutenant
Goodbye, Mister Bond.

(The lieutenant shoots, the bag bursts and blood dribbles down the side of the bag as Bond slips down to the floor dead.  The lieutenant and the goons get back in the van and drive off leaving Bond’s corpse by the side of the road.  After a few seconds another car drives up and a man emerges, walking up to the corpse, gun in hand.  The camera pans up and the black beard and distinctive scowl tells us instantly who it is.)

Man
You know I’m getting real tired of saving your ass.

(Bond springs the cuffs and removes the bag from his head)

Bond
What the (Recognises who it is.) ...Felix.  You? ...Saving my ass? I could easily have escaped from there if your man hadn’t left his CIA ring in my hands to let me know there was a mole in Ernst’s organisation.

Felix
Well, seemed like the least we could do.  Last thing we need is any more friendly fire incidents.

Bond
What about Ozul and Domingo?

Felix
Already got them with us, Q’s looking over your man Gillam’s designs trying to figure why they were so keen to have him work for Seles Engineering.

End of part one.

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Tuesday, 13 November 2012


DISCLAIMER:  As well you know it is unusual I start with a disclaimer as I do feel it’s pretty obvious in all cases that the characters in my stories are not based on anyone I actually know but in this case I thought I’d better make it abundantly clear due to the reptilian nature of the main character.  So, in short, not based on anyone I know.  Therefore please enjoy, if that is the right term for such a vile figure...



“So, to skip to the end...

  “The wife did it,” said Derek, dryly.  “Very predictable really.”
  “Why did you do that?” asked Barry, who was sat on the same section as Derek.
  “Do what?” said Derek.  His hands seeming tiny as he rested them on his huge gut.  
  “Reveal the ending!” interjected Kim, a middle-aged frump on the same team.  “I sky-plussed that,  I was going to watch it tonight!”
  “Well, you didn’t miss much,” chuckled Derek.  “Now get back to work.”
  Kim turned back round and flipped herself back into available with a begrudging punch of the 
keys and took another call.  Derek smiled.  His chubby features almost burying the joy in fat.  He’d 
learnt early in life the joy of being nasty.  He’d spent his school and summer holidays mercilessly
torturing his younger siblings and cousins, intimidating them with his physical mass, taking delight 
from spoiling their fun, from breaking their toys to denying Father Christmas.  For Derek his life
was a wicked game.  He lived to annoy, and as he’d got older, he’d got so much better at it.
  As he monitored his staff to make sure he was going to get HIS bonus this year he chortled to
himself at just how simple it was to ruin the joy of others.  It really was as delightful as taking
candy from a baby, and just as easy - stupid kids!  Not like they can brush their their teeth at that 
age.  As his podgy fingers roamed over the keyboard he smiled at the thing that had given him so 
much joy over the years, four little words that ruined other people’s good day by not sugaring any 
blow ...”Skip to the end!”
  Derek however never saw anybody spit in his tea, he was never aware of people rubbing his 
biscuits against their groin before placing them on his saucer, and he was certainly oblivious to 
people rubbing their fingers down their sweaty cleft before handling his many sandwiches.  No.  
Derek instead went about his day in blissful ignorance, thinking delightfully to himself that no-one 
could ever get back at him.  The cup of tea with two hobnobs (feeling strangely warm?) landed on
Derek’s desk and he dunked them in the tea with a lustful abandon, the crumbs finding a sweaty 
home on his chin.
  Derek’s phone rang sounding like a shrill, angry, robot bird.  There were only two reasons it ever 
sprang to life, one was a complaint from a customer over a holiday quote that had gone sour, the
other was because a staff member had finally screwed up one too many times.  Derek picked up the
phone feeling gluttonous desire inside that it was the latter.
  “Derek Coombs” he spat out, slovenly.
  “Yep ...yep ...yep.  Okay, just send me an e-mail with the details ...No, I can’t come and get 
them.” 
  Sometimes Derek would scoot around the office on his little chair if he had to see 
anyone, but personnel were on the whole other side of the building and there was no way that was 
going to happen.  As he flicked open the new electronic envelope a smile crept slowly over his
massive features.  It was good news.  It was his least favourite team member, Simon Chadwick’s  
final probation report.  He had failed to make the grade, not by much, but enough so that, under the 
Conservatives new employment laws (Thank you David Cameron, thank you.) he could be 
dismissed.  Admittedly if Derek wanted he could keep him on and extend his probation but why do 
that, it would just prolong his bad stats.  Although it was Derek’s choice realistically there was no 
choice.
  Derek placed his stubby little fingers on his chair rests and heaved his way out of the chair.  He
couldn’t scoot round to Simon’s desk due to it’s positioning near the wall.  He longed for the day 
when he could trounce around everywhere in one of those mobility scooters, he would then have an 
excuse to summon everyone to his desk and not move to see anyone.  He wheezed over to where
Simon was sat and placed his hand gentle on Simon’s shoulder.
  “Simon,” began Derek with a smile.  Simon looked back nervously at the man known
unaffectionately by the rest of his team as “Jabba”.
  “Yes’” Simon replied, anxiously.
  “I’ve got your probation details in,” Derek said, blankly.  “So, to skip to the end...you’re fired.”
  Simon’s face dropped.  Derek could feel the eyes of everyone on his team turn and glare at him.  
Derek offered a fake half-hearted pat on the shoulder.
  “Don’t shoot me.  I’m just the messenger,” said Derek, as if he had no choice in the matter.  He 
eased himself back into his seat and just glanced over at Simon.  He was sat just looking at the 
screen, not knowing what to do with himself.  Slowly he began to pack his things away; the “Best 
Dad in the world” mug, the pictures of his children and the good luck card he’d taken with him to 
bring him luck after being made redundant from his previous job.    No-one wanted to see anyone 
lose their job during any time, and his colleagues didn’t know where to look or how to feel, that is, 
everyone but Derek, of course, who chuckled quietly inside as he removed the last of his personal 
memento’s from his desk.  Derek just sat there, his huge frame dwarfing his computer as his podgy 
fingers typed merrily away, pretending to be busy, a quiet glee sparkling through his system as this 
gem of a highlight helped to twinkle an otherwise dull day.  
  For Derek the rest of the day involved the most depressing of things ...Actually doing some work.  
Complaints came in and he had endless stats to compile and graphs to complete to show how well 
he was doing in managing his team to make sure his own bonus got paid.  He waddled through the 
call centre of CJD holidays like a titan; a gladiator of a call-handler who had finally achieved 
something more after doing his time speaking to the general scum that rang in.  When Derek left 
work that night he did so with the knowledge he was one day nearer retirement with his pension 
getting ever fatter with the contribution his monthly bonuses were addingt.  He got to his 
Volkswagen Polo (Some prize cunt had prized off the L from the back of it.  Derek looked forward 
to the day he found the bastard who had done that,) and opened the door when a call startled him.
  “YOU FAT FUCK!  I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” came an angry yell. Staggering towards him 
was a furious Simon Chadwick; his eyes glazed over as an afternoon of alcohol had rendered them 
only partly functional.  Simon stumbled forward, swearing as he came.  Derek held his ground and 
as soon as he got within reach rammed the car door straight at him.  Simon bounced off the door, 
spun through the air and hit the ground with a whimper and a panicked sob, like some pathetic over-
grown newborn.  As far as Derek was concerned he could fucking stay there.  Wimp!  The real 
world wasn’t there to help losers like him, it was to help go-getting winners ...like him.  He 
squeezed into the Volkswagen Po o (...Son of a bitch that did that...) turned the key, and left Simon in a heap on the ground.  Derek needed to go home and have a shower, wipe underneath his folds and put on something smart so he could seem semi-respectable for his team leaders lunch.  Every 
month all the supervisors got together for a meal and tonight they were heading for Foo Yung’s
Chinese buffet.  Derek was delighted with that.  An all you can eat buffet for him was less of a 
bargain and more of a challenge.  It also meant he got to avoid his stupid wife for yet another night.  
They had got together when they were both in their heady twenties and overcome with heavenly 
desire.  Now he could barely stand to look at her, and was pretty sure that was how she felt about 
him.  Now any excuse to avoid here was greeted like the arrival of a long-lost friend.  Derek said 
goodbye to his wife with a barely concealed fake smile and squeezed through a doorframe that was 
designed to let two people pass through comfortably.
  Derek arrived at the restaurant only to find that his colleagues were already sat at the table, talking among themselves, enjoying a drink and laughing without him.  Bastards!  Derek shuffled forward and pulled the last seat out and squeezed onto the wooden chair that groaned as his ample weight strained every sinew of wood but, somehow, managed to remain upright.  Derek swiped a menu off the table and perused the details while his colleagues carried on like he wasn’t there.  He had to admit the people he worked with were merely a distraction to the buffet menu that he was about to devour.  For most people fifteen pound a head may be seen as a risk if you didn’t know if there’d be enough you would like on that menu ...for Derek, it was a bargain.  
  “Can I take your order, please?” asked the waitress, as she wandered over with a smile and pleasant demeanour at the ready.
  “Well I don’t know about everyone else but I’ll take one of each starter,” said Derek with a slavering wheeze.  The rest of the table went quiet at the announcement.  The waitress could not disguise her worried look of concern, however.
“Erm, sir?” she began, fearfully.  “Whilst it is a buffet, whatever you leave in the starters you will be charged f-”
  “I said I want ONE of EACH of the starters!” repeated Derek, coldly.
  “One of each of the eighteen starters?” the waitress queried one more time.
  “YES!” said Derek, antagonistically.  “I’ll have that with a pint of Carling, and then I’ll take the chicken curry, beef in black bean sauce and the king prawn chop suey, please.”
  Derek handed the menu back as he threw out a contemptuous “Please,” that managed to sound like an order.  The rest of the team leaders stared at him with disparaging eyes.  As far as Derek was concerned they could do.  He knew that they only invited him because they couldn’t deliberately ignore him, but it didn’t matter.  He was there for the food.  That was how he was going to enjoy himself.  If hell was other people then heaven was an all-you-can-eat buffet where you can ignore you’re scummy colleagues in a deluge of food and drink.
  As his order arrived and the other team leaders tried with increasing difficulty to avoid looking at him with disgust, Derek switched his focus to his eighteen starters and began to devour them like he was a condemned man, chomping on the ribs and nuggets and seaweed and vegetables, savouring the different textures as the food made a brief stay in the hotel known as “Derek’s Mouth” before taking the journey to their new home in Derek’s stomach.  While everyone else talked and ate or ate and talked Derek simply feasted, decimating his starters in the same length of time his smarmy colleagues finished their one or two.
  “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m gonna go and make some room for the main courses,” said Derek rubbing his stomach and groaning, bringing a similar response from everyone else at the table.  Derek gingerly waddled off to the toilet, evacuated, whilst moaning profusely (so much so that the rest of the restaurant could hear him!) and returned cheerfully.  Conversation stopped as it always did when he returned, a few people made attempts to talk to him as they always did, but he shrugged off their pitiable efforts and settled down to the next set of courses. The food was delicious and he ate with a gusto and a passion that had left much of the rest of his life.  Most of the food managed to make its way inside him, but somehow bits of chicken and beef still managed to lodge themselves in his jowels.  The rest of the evening for Derek was utterly forgettable as chat turned to shit like “The X-Factor” and “I’m a celebrity get me into there”.  Jesus they were a boring bunch.  When the bill was eventually placed down there was the usual battle over how to pay.  “Shall we all chip in a little?”, “Let’s just pay our own bill, “ etc.  Derek had had enough of them at this stage and was just looking forward to getting out the door.
  “Let’s ask for separate bills and just have done with it,” he said, decisively.  The other team leaders looked round at each other.  They didn’t really want to do that but none of them had the balls to really say anything against him, so they meekly agreed and called the waitress back over to split the bill.  She took the bill back with a smile and took details of everyone’s order including the drinks and brought back each person’s individual tally with a hospitable smile noticed by everyone except Derek who just sat there in a stuffed stupor.  As money was placed down and people attempted to work out what ten per cent of nineteen pounds fifty was Derek swiftly merely removed the exact amount for the bill and put it on the table.  One of his fellow supervisors sat next to him noticed this and after furrowing her brow decided out of politeness that she had better mention it to him.  She knew that Derek had a fearsome reputation but surely his not leaving a tip was a simple error, bearing in mind the feast he had just gorged on.
  “Ooh, Derek,” she began, meekly.  “You’ve not left a tip.”
  “Well, Sue,” replied Derek, sarcastically, “To skip to the end, I didn’t think there was anything there that was exceptional, so I’m not leaving a tip.”
  Sue looked down at Derek’s plates that were devoid of even the tiniest scrap of food and sauce.
  “But ...You ate it all,” she countered.
  “IT WAS FOOD, OF COURSE I ATE IT!” shouted Derek.  The whole restaurant now stopping to stare at this ogre of a man.  “If I’m to give a tip then the service I receive had better be frigging exceptional, I mean they’d better suck my dick or something!”
  Derek’s colleagues had turned away in disgust from his drunken rant.  The blood from Sue’s face had drained as she finally understood why no-one ever stood up to Derek.  The rest of the restaurant who had overheard Derek where looking equally appalled as the creature that resembled an obese, shaved yeti seemed intent on ruining everyone’s dining experience.  The waitress who had smiled serenely came back to the table and picked up all the plates with the different amounts of money and, still smiling, asked if anyone would like a mint.  All the supervisors declined as their stomachs had been well and truly turned by Derek’s abysmal attitude, that is all but one of the supervisors.
  “I will and bring more than one mint!” ordered Derek, slovenly.
  The waitress headed back into the kitchen with the cash and picked up five mint imperials and smiled broadly as she watched the five white balls roll comedically in her hand.
  “MAX!” she shouted.  From the back of the restaurant’s kitchen the family dog, a butch German shepherd bounded through like it owned the place, even though it clearly lacked the financial clout to obtain a business loan.
  “Here you go, Max.  Have a taste,” said the waitress as she lowered her hand.  The dogs eyes seem to grow wide as it proceeded to slurp and slaver over the small white balls, savouring the taste and going crazy with desire for the tasty white treats.
  “Okay, Max, stop now.  Max, stop now!  MAX, STOP!” she ordered.  The dog did so and slunk back away.  It my have enjoyed the feeling like it owned the place but it still recognised who its master was.  The waitress brushed a tissue over the mints and placed them gently on a saucer, the innocent mints tinkling merrily as they jostled over the miniature plate, oblivious of their previous patron and just sat there glistening away, waiting for Derek to shovel them into his eager gob.
  The waitress scamped cheerily through the restaurant up to Derek’s table and placed the mints down happily next to him.
  “Cheers, love,” said Derek as he scooped the mints up in his chunky fingers and started popping them in his mouth, avoiding any sort of sucking and just chewing on them straight away.  The rest of the guests grabbed their coats and spoke in hushed tones, planning to meet somewhere else straight after the meal to avoid spending any more time with Derek than necessary.  While everyone else made tracks out of the door in a suspiciously swift manner Derek faced his usual struggle to get out of his seat, the chair groaning as he pushed himself off, fortunately, somehow, the glue and joints managed to hold together in spite of the strain placed against them.  By the time Derek had wrapped his coat around himself everyone else had disappeared, leaving him to make the relatively short drive home alone.
  He headed back to his Volkswagen Po o (“Oh, when he found out who did that!”) and squeezed himself inside.  The drive home only took about fifteen minutes and was easily worth the risk of being stopped.  He turned the key and set off for home, like every other person who drink drives Derek thought he was doing just fine but the truth was he was pretty fucking far from fine, the alcohol coursing through his system was merely acting like the world’s worst best friend, assuring that everything was okay while the truth was masked in a drunken haze.  Derek of course was vile and unlikeable most of the time but the drink in him was now making him unbearable, not that he knew this, as far as he was concerned he was just feeling confident and happy with his lot in life.  That is until the flashing blue light became noticeable in his rear view mirror.
  “Bollocks!” spat Derek as he pulled over.  As the copper got out of his vehicle in Derek’s wing mirror Derek breathed into his hand and sniffed.  In spite of the mints and the huge amount of Chinese food he had wolfed down his gullet the rank stink of alcohol still clung fiercely to his breath.  He wasn’t looking forward to this.  Three sharp raps hit his driver’s side window and as Derek looked up to see the officer performing a patronising twirl with his finger to indicate he wanted him to role the window down.  Derek pressed the button and felt an icy blast slither into the car, which felt like the perfect combination of weather mixed with the cop’s icy demeanour.
  “Good evening, sir,” said the cop in that way they do to make “Sir” sound less like a compliment and merely supplicant.  “Have you enjoyed a nice evening out?”
  “Yes.  You?” replied Derek, curtly.  If the cop wanted him to provide a noose to hang himself he would have to do a better job than that.
  “Not particularly.  Have you enjoyed a drink or two tonight. sir?” asked the cop.  Derek considered lying but the stench on him would be floating through the air and hitting the cop’s nose any second, if it hadn’t done already.
  “A couple,” responded Derek with a shrug.  “Why did I do that shrug?  That was so fucking pantomime!” thought Derek, cursing himself for such a giveaway gesture.
  “Sir, would you mind...” began the cop before Derek cut in.
  “Look, let’s just skip to the end where you give me a fixed penalty,” interrupted Derek.
  “I’m sorry, sir, but I hadn’t finished,” continued the cop.
  “I know but you might as well skip to the end and give me an on-the-spot penalty,” interjected Derek again.  “For my sake, for your sake, for the countries sake ...It’s for the best.”
  “Why would it be best for you not to blow into this tube, sir?” asked the cop.  Derek let go an involuntary sigh.  This pissed him off.  If he said “Skip to the end” then that meant “Skip to the end” not elaborate as to why we should skip to the end.  Derek knew if he’d get out of this now he’d have to use every single one of his call handling skills.  Derek switched his brain over to work mode before speaking.
  “Fine,” began Derek.  “Look the reality is that I’m not gonna give you a breath sample and yes, I know that that’s a criminal offence, but I’m not gonna give it.  Like I’ve said I’ve had a couple.  Now this means that by the time you’ve squeezed me out of the car, got me into your car, driven me to the station, booked me in and got the authority to take either a urine or blood sample then a fair share of that alcohol in my system will have dissipated so you’ll just be wasting your time AND taxpayers money, both yours and mine, in prosecuting and processing me when there are a HELL of a lot more dangerous people on these roads.  If you pick up one of those bad boys you get the glory, you get the headlines and maybe a way out of doing this shitty traffic job in the middle of winter, no offence.”
  “None taken,” replied the cop, anything but unoffended.
  “If you take me in tonight then yes, you get warm on this frigid evening, but to be honest I’m a waste of of money and a waste of your valuable time that we can scarcely afford in this economic climate.  If I were you I’d just give me a fixed penalty for fifty quid and then we can both be on our way.”
  Derek looked up at the cop who gazed out at the grim winter weather and back to his car.  The night seemed to close in around him as the weight of Derek’s words pressed against his soul.  Derek was suited to working in a contact centre, he had the gift of the gab and when he wanted and could still pull a salesman’s trick out of the bag.  The drink, unpleasant as it made him at the restaurant. also gave him a modicum of charm when he wanted it to.  These days it just so happened that he never wanted to.  The cop seemed to be chewing hard on Derek’s words as he stared into the middle distance for answers that only he knew at this stage.
  “Tell you what I’ll do,” said the cop, opening his jacket.  “Result!” thought Derek, trying hard to keep the emotion from his face.  “I’ll give you your fixed penalty, but you can have the maximum, which these days is three hundred quid.  Have a good evening, sir.”
  “You to,” said Derek.  The cop handed over the fine and it was as much as Derek could do not to tear it up and throw it in the back of his Volkswagen Po o (“Oh!  Painfully and slowly!) but then he wouldn’t be able to appeal against it.  Any parking or speeding fine he usually appealed against (and won due to the lazy justice system in this country when it came to enforcing said laws!) in spite of his eloquent speech about accepting any punishment doled out.  He had no intention of doing that.  Derek waited for the cop’s lights to dim and disappear before he started back to home.  For Derek this had been a disappointing night and he wanted it to end with some sort of highlight.  The drink had taken the edge off his usual bad mood at having to hang out with those losers, especially that silly bitch who insulted him over his lack of desire to tip.  Fucks sake!  You can guarantee that there’d be one asshole who seemed to make it their personal mission to ruin his nights out.
  As he pulled into his drive he couldn’t help but notice that the light in the upstairs window was still on.  There was a chance the night could be salvaged if he could get some.  Derek opened the door, and squeezed himself out of the vehicle and headed inside.  Leaving his shoes in the foyer, his pants on the stairs and his shirt and undies on the landing he headed into the bedroom wearing only his socks (he might have been aroused at this stage but couldn’t tell over his huge gut.)  He went over to the bed where his wife, Sandra, lay sleeping, remembering better days when she was young and knew the joy of being alive.  Derek moved over to her, the bed lurching like it was being buffeted by tidal wives.  She couldn’t help be woken as the mattress tipped her to him like she was being pulled toward a black hole.  Derek felt her warm body next to his and although he had no way of seeing it, he knew his body was reacting to hers.  He slid his hand round her back and pulled her to him.  She was warm beneath her nightgown, her outfit was anything but sexy but the combination of her body-heat and the alcohol was having a powerful effect on him.
  “Derek, no, not now,” Sandra said as she tried to force his booze-sweating body away from her, instead he merely chuckled and pressed her against him, his tenuous hardness rubbing against his own tummy as his laugh became a disturbingly throaty gurgle.
  “Let’s just skip to the end,” Derek mumbled into her ear.
  “Derek, please no!” Sandra responded more firmly.  In his youth his extra weight was appealing as it was tempered with a layer of firm muscle beneath, but these days the muscle had been replaced with an extra four layers of fat that made sex less appealing and more like a feat of engineering, right now his feet of flesh were trying to move her legs apart, the muscles so used to powering his fat about his daily work were at full use trying to force his affection onto his much beleaguered wife.  She attempted to fight but her eight stone sopping wet weight was little match for his eighteen stone as he forced his way onward and in.

  The pounding of his temple was more effective than an alarm clock for waking him up as the beers and Chinese food combined to twirl his senses so that the nerve endings in his brain seemed to feel everything.  He knew that the paracetamol and Ibuprofen were downstairs but he also knew that every step would feel like a knife in his brain every time his feet met the all-too-thin stairway carpet.  There had to be a closer option that could do the job and allow him time to lie in bed a bit longer and recover before heading downstairs to deal with her.
  The bathroom?  ...Too far, he wasn’t in the mood to walk anywhere.
  His wife’s bedside cabinet? ...That might work.  She was known to occasionally keep some headache pills in there.  She’d used it as an excuse often enough.  Derek rolled over and opened the drawer, his sausage mitts moving matter around in search for any sort of pain-relief, not looking but letting his fingers scramble about for anything tablet-shaped, coming across foam ...earplugs, paper ...Don’t know what that is ...A seven ...A seven?  Derek removed the seven and spun it in his fingers.  A seven?  His pained expression changed as he spun the seven anti-clockwise to reveal what it really was ...An L!  The bitch had his L.  It had been her that had turned his Volkswagen Polo into a Volkswagen Po o!  Oh she was gonna pay for that!  The headache seemed to drift into insignificance as he got up and marched downstairs.  He had so longed to meet the scum-bucket who had turned his car into an object of ridicule (anyone seeing Derek get in and out of his car would’ve argued that he did that himself!)  He could hear her in the kitchen pottering about.  His rage mounted as he heard her timid, mouse-like movements.  He couldn’t believe she would do this to him after everything he’d done for her.  He marched up to the kitchen, the offending L clutched tight within his porky fingers.  As he made the kitchen doorway she was stood there with her back to him.  Derek merely stood there breathing hard through his mouth (the fat had long since blocked his sinuses) and waited till, eventually, she turned to face him.
  “Morning, love,” she said without a hint of any emotion in her voice.  “Do you want a brew?”
  Derek put the L on the work surface and watched as her eyes froze in terror.  His hand moved through the air with alarming speed, the back of it connecting with her cheek and sent her sprawling over to the cooker, her head banging against the knobs at the front.  Derek wiped the blood from his knuckles and started to walk over.  Had his attention not been so held by the sight of the blood on his hands he might have noticed his wife grabbing at the frying pan and her turn with a look that was anything but mouse-like as she brought the pan down, edgeways, onto his head.  The hard metal edge split Derek’s scalp sending a trail of blood down his forehead, the line starting hot but ending cool as it made its way down to his eyes.  His legs crumpled from the shock of the blow and he he grabbed the sink for support, stunned.
  “You, bitch.  I’ll ...Kill you,” Derek said, unconvincingly.  Sandra however was not gonna take any chances with that comment and started screaming as she pounded his head with the frying pan until Derek had been turned from human consciousness into a huge pile of decaying flesh.  It was only when the kitchen tiles were almost covered in blood that she decided to stop hitting him, pocket the L and call for an ambulance.


 Detective Kevin Abernathy wandered through the police station with a cup of coffee in one hand and a vegetarian sausage sandwich in the other.  His fellow officers teased him mercilessly about it but his improved health and sense of well-being when he stopped eating meat all outweighed any comments by his carnivorous colleagues.  As he headed down the corridor he saw one of his colleagues smirk slightly while exiting an interview room.
  “All right, Claude.  How’s it going?” Kevin asked.
  “Same as always,” Claude replied in hushed tones after he closed the door.  The mirrors in this place may have prevented people seeing outside the corridor but the doors were far from sound-proof.  Kevin looked through the glass at the heavily-bruised face of Sandra Clampton and instantly knew her story (or so he thought) as he’d seen it in her dozens of times before.
  “Usual story then?” Kevin asked before sipping on his coffee.
  “Yep, husband killed in the kitchen with a frying pan, wife beaten and raped before, assault kit confirms that.  No jury in the world would ever convict her but we still have to go through this rigmarole all the same,” Claude replied, dismayed that this had to even eat into his valuable time.
  “The wife did it,” chuckled Kevin.  “So predictable,” he continued before making his way to his own desk to investigate some real crimes.”

FIN   

Now, you may well wonder “What the hell was the point to any of this?”  Well I’ll tell you.  While most humour is derived from the unexpected, some gags are telegraphed.  They have a big sign on them saying “Get ready for this!” and in spite of the fact that they should feel obvious, they are sometimes funnier for us knowing they are about to happen and so I wanted it to be with this story.  I wanted to write a story where, in spite of the predictability of the opening line, you still felt like you wanted to get to the end and find out what happened to the utter scumbag in the story.  I hope it worked.

I’ve been Mister Chatable ...Still.

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Saturday, 10 November 2012


So a new story for all my loyal peeps who have been waiting so patiently for something new from me for so long.  I present to you...

THE DEADLIEST PREY




  “Man ...Is the deadliest prey,” began Colonel Clearly Von Turnbull.  Of corse he’d only been a Colonel in a mercenary army, sustaining the measly rank of Corporal in his enlisted duties.  Also his name wasn’t Clearly Von Turnbull, his real name was Oswald Swayles but no-one wanted to hunt their fellow man with someone called Corporal Oswald Swayles, whereas Colonel Von Turnbull was a fearless warrior who people would willingly traipse through the jungles of the world with.  “Today you will be hunting down someone who is armed only with wits and cunning.  In many ways these are the things that we should fear the most.”
  The gathered throng he was addressing were six billionaires who had each paid two million dollars in cold, hard, untraceable cash and had communicated with Oswald only via an untraceable mobile address that bounced off passing blue-tooth signals and gave no indication of Oswald’s origins.  They had been instructed to destroy all and any communications they had made with the Colonel and to come to the agreed location in a roundabout route.  Along with the billionaires stood Oswald’s personal guard of four highly trained marksmen to make sure that things didn’t get too far out of hand.  They stood there resolute, knowing in only thirty minutes to handle an environment whose shadows and light could trick the sharpest of minds.  The billionaires listened to Oswald’s rhetoric with an assortment of hero worships or arrogant indifference, some looked at him with puppy-dog eyes others with disdain while they picked their nose and looked on their discoveries with yet more disdain.  It did not put Oswald off.
  “It is important we stick together and we follow the rules.  One ...We don’t wander off.  Two ...We don’t point weaponry at each other and we will walk in formation to prevent that from happening and the last rule and for yourselves the most important ...Whichever one of you makes the winning shot gets their stake back,” Oswald said.  Behind Oswald a diesel engine chugged away and a forklift truck carrying a large wooden box flattened the undergrowth and trampled down the foliage making an industrial path through the jungle.  The billionaires attention now piqued; some with ambition others in fear.
  “There’s your prey, gentleman.  A homeless man from the outskirts of Paris, we don’t know his name but his temperament seems suitably animalistic,” said Oswald.  The forklift lowered the box to the ground and two of Oswald’s team opened the front and then stood back with the group, weapons raised.  A dirty, lean man, stubbly but otherwise seeming in good shape, emerged from the box.  For a minute they could see from his eyes that he considered charging the guards for a weapon but as they cocked their rifles he thought better of it.
  “You’ve got thirty minutes head-start!” Oswald said to the man.  “I suggest you use it!”
  At that the man was gone, darting into the deep Amazonian forests and disappearing like a ghost.
  “There is your prey, gentlemen.  In thirty minutes he will be your deadliest enemy.  Any questions?” Oswald asked.  One man raised his hand.  “Yes?”
  “Can I go for a wee, Colonel?” said the billionaire.  Oswald’s men shook their heads.
  “Billionaires!” spat Oswald under his breath.


  Light streamed through the canopy of leaves and strained through the trees, the animals in the tree added a symphony of sound that was exotic in the movies but an unwanted distraction when hunting a deadly enemy.  The hunting party was armed, had water, food was travelling through the undergrowth by Jeep.  Their advantage was substantial.  Oswald watched the trees looking for any sense of movement.  The forest was a deceptive beast and beneath its shades and undergrowth were unseen dangers, but in this heat the biggest danger was panic.  Running at full speed through this uneven landscape took energy and that sapped the body of liquid and strength.  To some degree adrenalin compensated but nowhere near enough and after half an hour most people would be close to exhaustion in this weather.  
  “That’s the thing about the half-hour start,” Oswald told his clients.  “This isn’t for our prey’s advantage ...It’s actually for ours!”
  Oswald sat in the front jeep, the Cartwright semi-automatic rifle slung, care-free on his lap, his hand pressing the beauty firmly against his leg.  He wasn’t worried about the target and although some might see his laid-back stance in the front vehicle as being foolhardy he  knew exactly what he was doing.  Oswald’s jeep moved ever forward making light-work of the ground beneath, Oswald wondered just how long it would take before they found...
  BANG, BANG, PSHHH!
 “CLATTER, CLATTER, CLATTER, CLATTER!” the guns spat out from behind him as his jeep came to a stop.
  “CEASE FIRE!  CEASE FIRE!” Oswald shouted as he left his jeep.  The two front tyres were flat, a row of hidden spikes had pierced the protective sheath and drained them of air.  It was clever, it was VERY clever.  Oswald’s second in command, Jerry Spratchett came over, all the while staring out at the trees that seemed to stand in silent conspiracy against the hunters.
  “What happened, Boss?” Jerry asked.
  “Tyres spiked,” said Oswald, deep in thought.
  “Bad luck?” asked Jerry, fearing the more likely answer.
  “Sabotage,” Oswald replied, grimly.
  “Damn!” said Jerry as he scanned the defiant trees, the birdsong and animal calls feeling more like mocking laughter now.  “How long will it take to change the...”
  PFFT!
  “URGH!” said Jerry holding his neck.  Oswald looked around.  Jerry removed his hand and in his palm was a blow dart.  Jerry looked in fear as he felt at his throat.  The side of his neck was red and swelling up more every second.  Jerry fell to the floor a hoarse fading rasping sound coming from him as he sat back against the jeep.
  “Jerry?  JERRY!” said Oswald as his friend closed his eyes and slid to the floor.
  “Well he wasn’t very useful was he?” asked one of the more arrogant billionaires.  No sooner had the words left his lips than a whoosh through the air was replaced by a stifled gurgle as the billionaire looked down to see an arrow sticking out of his throat.  Oswald got up, grabbed his rifle and turned in the direction of the arrow traversed from.  A shadow moved across the trees and Oswald opened fire, more bullets quickly being spat from other rifles behind him before Oswald raised his hand to get his fellow hunters to cease fire.  Leaving the jeeps behind and their fellow dead hunters they marched forward, in only a matter of minutes they found the mysterious vagabond’s perch and saw the tiniest sliver of blood against the tree trunk.
  “If you can bleed then we can kill you, you son of a bitch!” said Oswald as he gripped the rifle, tight, all pretence at calm gone.  Behind him he could hear the five remaining billionaires chatting and whimpering in fear as their party of eleven hunters had been all too quickly whittled down to nine.
  “Now listen up.  Fear will get you dead so I don’t want any more of this lily-livered nonsense or I will shoot you myself!  Now due to this unforeseen turn of events I have decided to increase the stakes to four million for whoever makes the winning shot!  Clive and Steve, you’re at the rear, myself and Reece here will be at the front with yourselves well protected in the middle.  Now, let’s move out!
  They all headed forward into the forest, all a little bit slower now, as the distance and time got drawn out to breaking point.  For ten minutes all that could be heard was the crunching of foliage under boot and the heavy, nervous breathing of the wealthy patrons, until a SWISH and a WHOOSH broke the silence as Reece found himself hauled thirty foot into the air in a trap, then suffering the indignity of an arrow to the chest turning him into what looked like a leaky, human shaped fruit-juice dispenser.  Oswald and his team got off several shots but hit nothing.  
  It was to be the tragic pattern of the rest of the day.
  One-by-one they fell and one-by-one Oswald got increasingly frazzled by their enemy’s apparent ease of finding them wanting both tactically and physically.  Oswald’s men and the billionaires found their numbers diminishing and their odds quickly reducing, eventually only one billionaire was left standing with the usually unflappable Oswald at his back.
  “As long as there are two of us there’s a chance,” said Oswald.  “Just remember...” 
  “Just remember what, Colonel?” asked the billionaire as his eyes darted all over the trees, every movement sending him sick with worry and fear.  “Colonel?”
  The billionaire turned slowly, there, a spear in his gut keeping him upright was the man the Billionaire viewed as his best hope of survival.  The dead eyes told the man all he needed to know about his chances of escape.  Tears began to stream down his face and as he did so he began to unload the automatic into the dense woodland, the remaining bullets in his gun being chewed up by thick bark to be buried alive in the wood forever as the trees would slowly seal themselves around the metal fragments.  As his gun clicked empty the billionaire let it drop and started to half-run, half-tumble over the ground, his forty pounds of extra weight from living the good life, feeling anything but good now as it slowed his movements to a virtual crawl.  Eventually he fell into the dirt and, reaching for a branch, grabbed something softer, somehow less woody and more cotton-covered fleshy.  The billionaire looked up and there, in front of him, was the prey, the unarmed man they wanted to hunt down with rifles, the man whose head they wanted to turn into a private wall ornament, standing before him with a spear in hand.  The businessman clutched at his chest as his heart creaked to the point of fearful exhaustion and somewhere inside a ventricle burst, spewing its precious cargo exactly where it did not want to go.
  “Please,” he begged as his face went from plush to pale as the blood emptied inside his body and drained from his veins.  “Please...” he managed to beg one more time till his heart stopped beating and his froze, forever in fear.  The victim who had so easily turned the tables on those hunting him let the spear fall to the ground as he wallowed in his triumph.
  “Jesus!  What a bunch of arseholes!” he said.
  “I know.  It’s amazing how stupid they are,” interjected Oswald before raising his walky-talky.  “Jerry, you there?  Over.”
  “Loud and clear, boss.  You want us to pick you up?  Over,” Jerry replied. 
  “Yeah do.  Usual point.  How’s your neck?  Over,” Oswald asked.
  “The usual.  A smear of peanut and the outside enflames like crazy, other than that as good as new.  Over,” said Jerry followed by a small smattering of static.  Oswald and Patrice looked down at the latest billionaire to fall foul of their ruse far away from prying eyes deep within the Amazon rainforest.
  “Do you think they’ll ever catch on?” Patrice asked.  Oswald looked at the fear-frozen face of the former baby-food magnate in front of him.
  “No.  Stupidity knows no boundaries.  Thankfully the wealthy, separated from reality, are probably more susceptible than most,” Oswald replied as he let his mind wander to what he would spend his share of the money on this time.  “Come on.  Let’s get rd of the corpses.” he said as they disposed of the evidence and already started to look forward to the next hunt six months from now.

FIN

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Sunday, 4 November 2012


FORGOTTEN FILMS THAT SHOULD BE REMEMBERED ...I’VE FORGOTTEN THE NUMBER BUT ENOUGH TO NOT BE OCCASIONAL ANY MORE!



After reading about the film this piece of amazing Pencils by the legendary Jack Kirby seemed like a great place to start for this one.

So after the whole Jeff Bridges train of thought I was inclined to perform the same exercise again recently with Bruce Willis after seeking the immensely enjoyable “LOOPER” and it was this train of thought that got my train of thought to this station which is one of Bruce’s less well remembered films.  I was going through the list that included “DIE HARD”, “PULP FICTION”, “12 MONKEYS” (Gilliam’s master-piece) and “THE SIXTH SENSE” but I then forgot about this underrated and understated drama of a man who is not what he seems featuring Willis’ second on-screen pairing with Samuel L Jackson (Ignoring LOADED WEAPON 1 and PULP FICTION as they share virtually no screen time).  This film has split fans and critics alike but to my mind it is one of Willis’ best film.  Its almost mundane pace masks the incredibleness of the premise and the films homage to its artistic origins is present throughout the film but only visible to those who know the genre.  Ladies and gentlemen I present the case for...

UNBREAKABLE (2000)



Willis plays David Dunn, a security guard going through the death throes of a loveless marriage, whose taking a train journey to an interview he will never make.  The train crashes killing everyone on board except for the unremarkable Mister Dunn himself leaving him (and us) with many questions but darn few answers until he meets the comic-book afficionado, Elijah Price, a man who believes that David Dunn may be the man he has searched for his entire life after undertaking the bizarre undertaking to find a man who is his exact and equal opposite.

To the unknowing ye this to many people is the inferior follow-up to the nerve-jangling “THE SIXTH SENSE”, but to my mind this is by far its superior.  The film has a number of wonderful nods to the world of comic-book art that aren’t even noticeable on first viewing, for one, the use of black as a colour with an unusual amount of shots showing characters in silhouette.  The villains before the films showcase ending all stand out from the backgrounds in primary colours while everything else fades to grey.  The stationary camera while characters approach turning it into a long drawn out close-up is employed to great use with this being a technique taken from film into comic-book and then back to film again (great example of the technique from Frank Miller’s Daredevil masterpiece “BORN AGAIN”) 


And in its final nod to the genre in “UNBREAKABLE” the main character’s name is an illiteration (“Reed Richards” “Peter Parker” “Bruce Banner”).  The film itself always manages to have a constant sense of menace in spite of the stillness, something that the best comic-book artists have been doing for the last fifty years.

The performances are all grounded in reality to make the decidedly fantastical premise feel anything but that.  The music from the composer of “THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION” is a real treat also adding to a sense of menace and foreboding and the direction throughout has a feeling of seeing the truth as if peering round curtains, seeing only part of the picture until the eventual big reveal.

Divisive and ...Not controversial but unusual this is probably Bruce Willis’ most under-rated film that puts us truly in the shoes of extraordinary and asks the question ...In the same circumstances what would you do?

Understated excellence.



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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_f1uCWKZQs

YET ANOTHER OF THE FORGOTTEN FILMS THAT DESERVE TO BE REMEMBERED 



So we haven’t had one of these for ages then two come along at once, this first film was one that I had long forgotten about myself till I ran through a list in my head of Jeff Bridges best films (And best roles) and quite a lot of obvious ones came up “TRUE GRIT”, “IRON MAN”, “SEABISCUIT” etc, but then I remembered a couple of films that seem to have been scattered to the out-take bin of time, which included the excellent “JAGGED EDGE” (Which could well make the list in future) as well as today’s choice.  NOW the Jeff Bridges film we have today features of stellar performance, one of which was deemed Oscar-worthy.  The film is about second chances and parallels can be drawn with the film’s director who was also in major need of a second chance after his previous film was a critical and commercial disaster but like the Bridges film “SEABISCUIT” it’s ultimately one of those Oscar films that people watch, enjoy, garner critical praise, and a few awards then disappears so lets make it reappear right now.  Ladies and gentlemen I present the case for...

THE FISHER KING (1991)



The Fisher King is the story of shock-jock, Jack Lucas, radio DJ on the verge of TV big time until the night his rant against yuppies sends one of his listeners on a killing spree which is the kind of publicity few people can recover from.  Jack spirals downward clutching for any sort of normality he can hold onto and falls into the arms of Anne (Mercedes Rheul) a video store owner, he seeks to lick his wounds and stay out of sight like a slug under a rock until he encounters Parry a homeless man who believes he is on a quest to find the holy grail and, as part of that quest battle against the machinations of the red knight.

Now by the time you’ve got to the last few lines of that paragraph you’re probably thinking “What the fish?” and you’d be right as this is one of those films that, to put it simply, is what it is.  It defies pigeon-holing, it’s dramatic, dark, comedic, tragic and romantic.  It’s not really a drama or a tragedy or a romantic-comedy and I think that this lack of “Definition” is possibly one of the reasons it has gotten pushed out of people’s consciousness because conceivably there is no other reason for it to be so forgotten.

Jeff Bridges is amazing as both the brash idiotic celeb and the crushed defeated shell in his place.  Mercedes Rheul is solid as the ...er ...solid and dependable Anne who takes in Jack, Amanda Plummer is excellent as the object of Parry’s new-found romantic interest but stealing all the plaudits in his quest for the grail and his battle with demons, real and imagined, is Robin Williams in perhaps his greatest ever role, straddling Pathos and madness with a combination of wonderful comic brilliance and skillful deft acting and this Oscar nod here is perhaps his most deserved ever.  The script is one where almost every line feels poured over and precise and with this film Gilliam, much in need of a hit, showed that he could do so much more than Python-esque surreality making fantasy fantastic rather than silly.  

For those people who don’t mind if their films don’t have people who were former pop-stars or models  then this is a worthwhile film to add to your must-see list.  Terry Gilliam’s forgotten masterpiece, and arguably his modern-day retelling of Don Quixote ...Judge for yourself.  

And to add food for thought I've added not the trailer but possibly the most stunning visual from the film, ENJOY!



http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Lifeandhealth/Pix/pictures/2010/6/15/1276613842049/Jeff-Bridges-006.jpg
http://celluloidzombie.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/fisherking.jpg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lASPrnWf6cA