You all right, Dad?
How is he?
Yeah, he's good. Prognosis is looking really good. You know how fit he is.
Right. Then why are you going around killing people? You think I don't know everything that's going on around here? You see, uh you've gotta fucking stop.
Why?
Because if I know, fucking Collins knows, and I need to get Collins without him fucking knowing. What did you think you was doing?ǃ Broad daylight! Bent ref, claret on the lawn outside his house, fixing a fucking BMX! Now you've finished your amuse-bouche, you move on to the starter. 240 pounds of prime, sweaty Uzbek. Drive-by, on the jog, in the park. Out the fucking window! You're on the main course, Henry Collins himself. But you can't find him, so you threaten the bookie. You don't nick one bollock, you nick twoǃ But you don't get your manǃ I'm just the money guyǃ I don't know where he is! You're not thinking with your business brainǃ You're thinking with your emotional feelings. And now Collins knows you're comingǃ
Good. I want him to know I'm coming.
He's up to something. Otherwise, why is he walking about like Billy Big Bollocks?!
A rush of blood?ǃ I don't know! Who gives a fuck? He needs to be stopped, Dad!
[calm voice] Well, that's fine. That's fine. [points] But not by you. You fucking stand down. I've got people to do this. Do you hear me? [in endearing voice] You're my angel of life, not my angel of death. This ain't for you. Now, look, look. I don't wanna lose you too.
[scoffs] Fucking hell, Dad. He's not dead.
I know.
What are you gonna do?
You leave it to your old man. You go home, have something to eat, and put your feet up. Relax.
Yeah, I will.
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