Outlaw Page #2

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- Dunno. Not much. Might go boxing.

Hello, Intelligent Solutions.

Frank speaking.

Oi, Dekker.

I heard you just closed Bertle.

Sling me a bone. He's my pal.

It's my deal.

F***ing won't be.

I'll pull him out.

I'll think about it.

It's on you, Dekker. Watch your back.

See you later.

Elizabeth Emanuel wedding dress,

the one you liked.

Two weeks at the health spa

in the Maldives, the one you liked.

How weird's that? This is the same place

where I had that dream the other night.

It says here I should order this now.

Unless we fancy driving into town

at the weekend.

Here, mate. Is that an M3?

F***ing hell. F*** this.

- What's wrong with you?

- Sorry.

- Listen, mate. I'm so sorry.

- What's the matter with you, c*nt?

Sort your f***ing driving out, you c*nt!

- State of him...

- Baby?

OK, OK, OK...

Morning.

Just in case.

Listen. What do we really know

about Manning?

About the people around him.

Is he capable of getting to me?

- Ease up. What's the matter with you?

- Just call it professional curiosity.

I just need to know

about these people.

And if there's something you think...

What does it matter what I think?

I'm just a driver.

But if you have your suspicions,

shouldn't you tell someone?

Who? The police?!

Cedric?

You back, babe?

Put down the knife.

We just wanna talk to ya.

Tell your husband to back away

from the Manning case.

Tell him yourself, you coward!

No! No!

Get off me! Get off me!

- No! Get off me!

- Give me the f***ing knife!

Get off me!

I must point out the room has never

been used as an office by Manning.

But instead as a storage space

to house our client's extensive collection

of vintage model racing cars

numbering in excess to 1,400.

You getting in?

I've seen inside your room, sir.

Yeah? What did you see?

Would you like a cup of tea?

AK-47 s, Remingtons, Glocks, Sigs.

I'm guessing you were in the army.

You can't get that on the street

unless you're friendly with the Taliban.

I wanted to be in the army. They

wouldn't let me. Got a criminal record.

In the TA for a while.

Got kicked out of there.

Got a bit heavy with one of the NCOs.

F***ing Black thought he was Rambo.

Came unstuck with me, though.

Here, talking about Blacks, guess what's

happened to an old barrister of mine.

No?

Someone's only gone and stabbed his

pregnant missus in the stomach.

Killed their baby. How sick's that?

People like us...

We wouldn't stand for it, would we?

I'd kill them with my bare hands.

What did you do?

Didn't do nothing. He was my barrister

years ago. Something about football.

- I just heard about it.

- No, I mean, what do you do?

Here?

Head of security. Good job. I like it.

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