I smell the smell of roasting Irishmen. Oh yes, hello. I also smell the smell of tobacco. Which is forbidden in my presence for all except for one, my new wife, Edna. The Irish being rendered smoke and fat, I now own half of Boston. So, out of respect for my restored authority, put the fucking cigarette out now, Tommy.
Hello, Alfie. I heard it was a good wedding.
Ya, it was actually. Thank you. Edna's from a family circus. So, after the ketubah and the old swapping of rings, and the smashing of glass, we left aboard elephants. Yeah. It was quite a thing. They had to shut down Camden High Street, and even the gentile, what normally fucking hate me, they waved with their hankies. Justice. And housekeeping. Long overdue. Yeah, look at that little cunt ascending, he is ascending to the heavens. Right in front of us. Before our very eyes. And I can see with this eye. I'm not blind. This eye is the eye of a dead man. Dead men can through life like it was a curtain that billows with the flicker of truth upon it. And I can see with this eye, Tommy, that your nephew is ascending and he will be forgiven. Unlike you, who, on judgment day, is probably truly fucked when the other shoe drops. Hmm? You all right, Tommy? How you keeping?
You know, Alfie, so many people, so many times, going to so much trouble to kill me. I'm fucking dying anyway.
Well, we're all dying anyway.
No. Not a bullet, not a bomb, not a knife.
It is clap? Is it clap?
No. Not even that noble
What are you trying to say? I'm about to sign over half of fucking Camden Town to you, as part of the deal, and you're saying you're going to die in your bed?
I'm not going to die in bed, Alfie. Who fucking dies in bed?
Good people die in their bed, Tommy. Good people.
Good people, eh?
Mmm.
Good people. And yet here we are, Alfie. After all this time, just you and me. And I crossed the line. Michael... Polly... Ruby...
Tommy, if you are about to express profound emotion, you might be better served expressing it to someone who gives a fuck. Or perhaps to somebody who is being paid to pretend to have to. Like a fucking nurse or a priest. Someone. And, as for death, speaking as someone who has been dead for a number of years, I can only heartily recommend it.
Well, Alfie, your opera is complete. Shall we go and witness the final act?
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