The Young Americans Page #3

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It's all right.

He's with us.

Anybody call an ambulance?

Anybody call an ambulance?

It'd be quicker to take him ourselves.

Barts is just five minutes away.

Hold on.

Let's go.

- Mr. Harris...

- Open the door!

- Mr. Harris?

- What? Let him bleed to death?

Watch your head.

Bollocks.

- What's your name?

- Christian O'Neill.

Okay, Christian.

- Keep your hand on the wound.

It'll stop... - Yeah, I know.

What happened?

You're Dermott's boy, aren't you?

Whatever. You'll be spending

the night in jail.

Just a minute.

- Who is it?

- Carnegie.

Don't tell me we woke

you up, detective?

- What time is it?

- It's okay, we're early.

Ohhh! Must be jet-lagged

or something.

We thought you might like

to be on your own today.

You know, take a look around.

Do some shopping.

- Shopping?

- It's up to you, sir.

We have to speak

to Jack Doyle again.

He's the guy that owns

the nightclub, right?

Yeah. Just a few loose

ends to tie up.

I'd like to go along. Frank Pierce

was killed just around the corner.

- I'd like to check out

the murder scene. - Fine.

Sorry to rush you like this.

Well, you're early.

Computer wizard, are you, sir?

I don't understand

them personally.

- I leave all that stuff to my

six-year-old. - You have a son?

- Lewis here has four

daughters. - Really?

- You a family man?

- Mmm.

- My daughter's 12 now.

- My son's 5.

- Beautiful boy.

- Thank you.

Oh, beautiful!

I bet they love it out

there in California.

They live with their mother

in New York.

- Is this where it happened?

- Yeah, it's, uh...

That's it. Just up there

beyond the bridge.

See you later.

- Jack?

- Upstairs.

Bit early for that?

I hear you're getting

married again, Dermott?

It's none of your

f***ing business.

- I bumped into your

boy last night. - Where?

None of your f***ing business.

- Busy, Jack?

- Business meeting.

- Anyone I know?

- I doubt it.

I hear you've, uh,

been busy down there?

Just work, Jack.

Just work.

Good boy, Jack.

Come on, let's go.

Here, let me do the driving.

Huh! Give me the keys,

will you?

Come on.

- Do you think he's

onto something? - Nah.

I'll bet he earns a packet.

More than us, that's for sure.

Thank god for our friends

in lowly pl...

Oh, no.

Hey!

My god!

Are you okay?

They're not here, and

none of these faces fit.

- Can I get an artist's

impression? - You'll get it.

I have to talk to the press.

What are you gonna tell them?

I'll tell them that Carnegie and Carver

were two of the best men I had.

- Is that what you really think?

- They were good policemen.

You're two faggots!

You're ugly!

Let him go!

Calm down.

Cool. Cool.

- What did they say?

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