Snatch Page #5

Spurious.

Not genuine.

And it's worth...

...f***-all.

Bad Boy, I keep telling you,

stick to being a gangster.

Leave this game to me and Sol.

Laters.

What is that, Vince?

This is a dog, Sol.

You are not bringing

that thing in here.

It's only a f***ing dog.

-Where'd you get it?

-The gyppos.

Here.

They threw it in with the moody gold.

You know gyppos, Sol. They're always

throwing dogs in with deals.

It better not be dangerous.

What do you think you're doing now?

I want him to get used

to the shop, don't I?

Stop the dog!

Come back!

All right, Boris?

-Don't worry about the dog.

-I'm not.

What can I do for you?

I have a job for you.

I already have a job.

Fifty grand for half a day's work.

Go on.

I want you to hold up a bookies.

From Russia with love, eh?

I have stones to sell...

...fat to chew and many men

to see about many ducks...

...so if I am not rushing you....

Slow down, Franky, my son.

When in Rome.

I am not in Rome, Doug.

I am in a rush.

I got to make the bookies.

Bookies?

-What are you betting on?

-Bomber Harris.

The unlicensed boxer?

Do you know something that I don't?

Bubbe, I probably know

a lot you don't.

He's bad to the bone,

ain't you, Tyrone?

Of course I am.

Tyrone'll drive for us. He's

done a rally driving course.

Of course I have.

I don't want that dog

dribbling on my seats.

Your seats?

Tyrone, this is a stolen car, mate.

While I'm at the wheel, it's my car...

...so stop that dog dribbling

on my seats. All right?

I can't believe you found it.

Where'd it go?

It went back to the gyppos.

Shut up.

And how could it find them?

Well, I don't know.

I'm not a dog, Sol.

Ask him.

It's like he's

a f***ing homing beacon.

Steady on the brakes.

I thought you said

he could drive, Sol.

Don't worry about me. Just worry

about that dog on my seats.

All right?

What?

You said he was a getaway driver.

What the f*** can he get away from?

Don't worry about Tyrone.

He can move when he has to.

Worry about getting us a gun.

What's that?

This is a shotgun, Sol.

It's a f***ing

anti-aircraft gun, Vincent.

-I want to raise pulses, don't I?

-You'll raise hell, never mind pulses.

That does not look like a bookies.

Why'd we stop here? What's the

matter with that space over there?

It's too tight.

Too tight?

You could land a

jumbo-f***ing-jet in there.

Leave him alone.

He's a natural. Ain't you, Tyrone?

Of course I am.

A natural f***ing idiot.

Tyrone, what've you done?

Yeah, Tyrone, what have you done?

Look, you hassle me,

you see what happens.

It's all right.

No, don't move it now.

People'll see the damage.

Why'd you do that?

I didn't see it.

It's a four-ton truck. It's not like

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