The scene is a seedy public house in Cripplegate, East London. The decor is shabby and the whole place is sorely in need of refurbishment…unlike Clivey & Gaz, who are seated at a corner table, resplendent in brand new romper suits and hand-knitted woolen booties. Gaz takes a swig of his pint and looks at Clivey quizzically.
GAZ – Is that a new dummy you’ve got there mate?
CLIVEY – Yeah, as a matter of fact it is son. Do you like it?
GAZ – No, not really mate. I was just being polite
CLIVEY – You flash monkey mate. I’ll shoot your legs off in a minute son
GAZ – Don’t be like that bruv. There’s no need for it. Talking of shooting; Maltese Tony wants us to take out a couple of Chinese geezers from Gerrard Street. Apparently, they were taking liberties in his club the other night. Shouting the odds, being disrespectful to the barmaids and all that old game. Fancy the job squire?
CLIVEY – How much is he paying?
GAZ – A bag of sand each and free membership to his spieler for a year.
CLIVEY – A grand eh? We could buy a lot of nappies and bottle sterilising gear with that bruv.
GAZ – You know it geezer. Lets shoot back home and get tooled up. We might as well get the job squared away lively and get our hands on the wedge asap.
CLIVEY – You know it bruv. If you don’t mind you can change me nappy while we’re there mate. It feels like somebody’s tipped a half hundredweight of nutty slack in the bastard.
GAZ – Job’s a good un my son…”job”…geddit? hehe
CLIVEY – Do you actually WANT me slice your Niagras off son?
GAZ – Don’t be like that mate. There’s no need for it bruv. That’s the trouble with you son; you act like a big kid sometimes.