The Firm Page #3

- Now get that down you. That'll sort you.

- Get away from me.

'Ere. Have a word!

Go on, laugh. Really funny, eh?

Something tells me

your night didn't end so well.

But then again, who nose?

- lt's not funny.

- Oh, take no notice, Tel.

He never nose when to stop.

All right, boys, l've got to go to work.

Tel, sit down, have a cup of tea.

Who nose? lt might make you

feel a bit better.

F*** off, Bob.

- We've made a terrible ricket.

- What?

That feller in the club was Bex.

What Bex? Weetabix?

l'm serious. The Bex.

The geezer that runs the firm.

Drop me out. What, that Bex?

How do you know?

Little Simon says he's after us.

Us? l didn't do anything.

We've been named. Both of us.

Little Simon's brother works with him.

He's got an estate agent's

down at the precinct.

Reckons we've got to go to the Lord Nelson

round the big flats and say sorry.

Otherwise, it's on us.

And who stuck my name up?

l dunno. All l know is

l don't want that lot after me.

They're naughty c*nts.

Got no spit.

What's so funny?

Gotta admit it was a naughty head-butt.

He nearly knocked you spark out.

l mean, how f***ing cool was he?

We were almost ten-handed,

and he offered us all out.

What a pot house, eh?

All right, let's do it.

Listen, Bex.

We just want to say we're really sorry

for what happened in Lips.

We were both laggin',

and had no idea who you are.

l mean, if l'd have known,

l'd have properly swerved you.

Look at this bottle.

l might be facety, but l ain't a diddycoy.

l'd have left you right out.

What...what l'm trying to say is...

l'm really f***ing sorry for nausing

a night out with you and your wife.

- What's a diddycoy?

- lt's pikey tongue for div.

- What, you a pikey?

- No!

- What's your name?

- Dominic.

Who's the dry lunch?

That's Terry. He's the one you head-butted.

Oi, lunch.

Show us your face.

Go on. You can go now.

ls it still on us?

- No. Go on.

- Thanks, Bex.

Dominic.

Ain't half got some bottle,

walking in here like that.

- That the ginger c*nt you're talking about?

- That's him, yeah. Little c*nt in the back.

''You ain't half got

some bottle, coming in here like that.''

''Who's the dry lunch?

Oi, lunch, show me your face.''

C*nt. Who's he think he is,

standing there like Bjrn Borg,

in all that silly tennis get-up?

Ain't no one had the bottle

to tell him he looks...

All right, Bex?

F***ing 'ell, that was close.

You all right, baby?

Been anywhere nice?

Just out. Who's playing?

Steve Davis. lt's the semis.

Come and watch it with us.

Nah. He's a right dry lunch, that Davis.

- He's a what?

- Dry lunch, you know, a nothing boat.

l never heard you say that before.

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