The Devil's Double

1

Hey.

You haven't changed. Please, take a seat.

How is your sister?

I have three sisters.

The one with the big tits.

The one I always wanted to f***.

I hear good things, Latif.

It says here you can shoot straight.

Officer material, promoted already.

Lieutenant.

Please, help yourself.

Juice?

I won't keep you guessing, Latif.

I want you to come and work for me.

- Work for you?

- Here, in Baghdad.

Like old friends.

- We were friends, weren't we, at school?

- Classmates.

Didn't you once paint a picture

of my father?

- You still have it?

- I gave it to you.

I have an awful feeling

I told him I did it myself.

Do you know who this is?

- Of course.

- No, no, no.

It is not who you think it is.

His name is Faoaz al-Emari.

Not Saddam. I see him all of the time.

In the newspapers, in the magazines,

on television.

Even I cannot tell who is who.

It is not so unusual, Latif.

Stalin had a double. He had dozens.

So did the Shah.

The country is at war.

My father cannot be expected

to be everywhere at once.

Half the time there is no good reason,

but the people, they expect it.

Add to that there is always the chance

some f***ed-up Shi'a scum

will take a shot at him.

Look at yourself, Latif.

Look. Look, look.

Look at me.

We could be twins, no?

You are taller.

How much? This much?

Didn't they used to say

you looked like Uday Saddam Hussein?

Didn't they used to say that at school?

I want you, Latif.

I want you to be my fidai.

I want you to be my brother.

Don't say anything.

Take 10 minutes.

Think it over.

What happens if I say no?

T en minutes.

He is shitting bricks.

His grandfather was a Kurd. It's a pity.

But the family's been in Baghdad

a long time.

His father's done well.

I believe he sells domestic appliances.

He's never said a word against the party.

Latif is the best we could find.

And we looked.

Well, I have to have him.

You will have whatever you want.

Everything I own will belong to you.

Uday,

I am my father's son.

I would give my last drop of blood for Iraq.

But when this war is over,

I'm going to work in his business.

I am the eldest son.

I have brothers and sisters.

I have given them my word.

- Sleep on it.

- Uday...

You are asking me to

extinguish myself.

Thought it over?

Please be clear about this, Latif.

Uday has chosen you. You belong to him.

You have about five minutes

to think about this

before a car pulls up

outside your house in Al-Adhamiya

and your family, every one of them,

your father, your mother,

your sisters and brothers,

is thrown into Abu Ghraib.

God willing, they will die quickly.

I've said too much.

You have about two minutes left.

You'll have a cook and four maids.

These pretty girls will get you

anything you feel like.

Strawberries in winter, figs in July.

Just ask.

But lay a finger on one of them

without prior permission

and you'll never walk upright again.

And these are Uday's rooms.

He wants you to use them,

now that you are to be his brother.

Leather sofas, Italian marble,

all designed by Gianfranco Giannelli.

Handmade shoes, suits,

Brioni, Versace, Armani, of course.

Silk ties, watches. Breitling, Cartier, Rolex.

Silk pajamas.

These are very nice.

Poor child never knows what to wear.

He changes his mind every five minutes.

Depends on what car he's driving.

Honestly, habibi, that boy, he wears me out.

You should probably clean yourself up.

No calls.

Incoming, yes. Outgoing, no.

My name is Munem Hammed al-Tikriti.

We're going to be seeing

a lot of each other.

I write to my mother once a week.

She's going to think that I got killed in Iran.

Inshallah.

Inshallah?

My family are going to think that I'm dead.

Let them think you died a martyr.

I know it's difficult,

but it's what Uday wants.

He will accept nothing less.

She will be knocking on the door

of every hospital in Baghdad.

When you say your prayers tonight,

when you turn out the light

and close your eyes,

this is what

you should be saying to yourself,

"Latif Yahia is dead. He died in Iran.

"May God have mercy on him.

"Now I am Uday Saddam Hussein."

Guten Tag.

Take off your clothes, please.

Cough.

One more time.

And one more time, please.

Uday is three centimeters taller.

We can use built-up shoes.

Look at that. He is perfect.

- Uday, this is boring.

- Shut up.

How can you sit here all night

looking at yourself?

- He looks great.

- He doesn't even look like you.

What?

His cock's too big.

What do you mean, his cock is too big?

Uday's life story. Learn it.

Come on, come on, tell me.

Shape of face, hair, nose, physique,

all in the high 90s.

- Good.

- Your eyes are five millimeters bigger.

- They can use make-up.

- And the teeth? What about the teeth?

Two peas in a pod.

- I was just trying the teeth.

- Smile. Go on, smile.

No, no, no. Like this.

And do the hair. Do the hair.

You like the Rolex.

Keep it.

You look good in blue.

Yes, it definitely suits you.

Latif, hurry up.

- There's too much ice.

- Can I say blue is your color?

Shut up.

I like the way you fight.

You fight like me.

He fights like me.

I had a word with Dr. Linz.

He says your cock's too big.

We need to make a surgical reduction.

- A what?

- Chop a bit off.

- What?

- Not much.

Just a teeny-weeny.

Not much?

My cock is well-known in Baghdad.

The women, they talk.

I'm joking with you, you f***.

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