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Carlos De Moraes? |
Yes. How did... |
Thank you, Jane. |
Im sorry but Mr Gluck is not answering, sir. Would you like to leave a message? |
Ill call again. |
The Hyatt. Good afternoon. May I help you? |
Can I have the reception desk, please. |
Does Mr Gluck call for his messages? |
Absolutely, sir. As a matter of fact he called this morning, sir. |
Next time he calls tell Mr Gluck he better be there to take his calls at 9 tonight or at 9 in the morning if he cares about his puppies. Got that? |
Got it. Puppies. |
You sure you passed on my message? |
I certainly did, sir... |
On the bed! |
What...? |
Where is the Austrian? |
You... Fuck you! |
Youre not playing with little boys now, scumbag. Where is the Austrian? |
Jee... Fuck... Youre fucking mad! |
Who are you? |
Where is the Austrian? Is Friedman the Austrian? |
Yes. Friedmans the fuckin Austrian! |
Where is he? |
I dont know. Hes gone! Hes gone. I dont fucking know where, I swear... Hes gone. On holiday... |
...On holiday? |
Yeah... This morning. He left this fucking bloody morning... Jesus, man, my knees... |
Whos the money man? |
Who? Martin... Hes Martin... |
Ever seen him before? |
No... No... I swear... |
Whats this place? A hotel of some kind? |
Yeah... The Diplomat. |
Where? |
What? |
Where are we? |
Finsbury Park. Were in Finsbury Park. |
Where are the kids? |
What kids? |
There were six on offer, you scumbag. Where are the other five? |
I dont know... This is just a delivery place, man! I swear I dont know where the kids are... I work for Martin, thats all. Martin knows. He works for Friedman. He knows... |
And who does Friedman work for? |
The company. We all work for the company. |
What company? |
I dont know. I dont know, man. I dont even know Friedman that well... I... Man, youve got to get me out of here... |
How many of you scumbags are here? |
Just me... Martins gone back to the Ambassador. Look... |
Whats the Ambassador? |
Another hotel. Down the road. Martin lives there. He took your money. Hes got a safe... I need a doctor... |
What about the staff? Theyre in on whats going on, arent they? How many of them? |
Ffive. The Wilsons and their three kids. They run the place. Look, man, Ive got to get to... |
What colour is your car? What colour is your car? |
BBlack... |
Where is it? |
Downstairs... At the front... Jesus... |
Im calling about the puppies. |
Have we done business before? |
I saw the ad at Georges. Im passing through town and Im in a hurry. |
May I have your phone number? |
Why? |
This is a bad line. |
What sort of puppy are you looking for? |
What sort have you got? |
Pups. Bitches. From three to twelve months. Trained and untrained ones. White and brown ones. You understand? |
Yeah. |
We also provide 24hour aftersale service. Were the puppy to fall sick or accidently die, we would unburden you, you understand? |
Yes... Good, good... |
So, what are you looking for? |
What about an untrained pup, white... |
How much of a hurry are you in? |
Tomorrow? |
Im afraid the only pups currently available at such notice are brown and trained. But they are all very cheerful and have been thoroughly checked for diseases... |
I see. How much? |
Fifteen for a straight delivery. Twenty with the provision of a safe place. Visitors tend to find the second option more convenient. |
... Fine. Ill go for the safe place. |
Have the money ready by 11am. Well call you. |
Whitney Armstrong, my deputy. What Whitneys trying to say is that you might not live to tell the tale next time you meet your Austrian... |
And losing you, wed lose him. And that would be a shame, dont you agree? |
Hi... |
If you have hard evidence about a child trafficker, we want it, Mr Lombard. And we want it before you get yourself killed... |
Most of our information comes out of the mouths of babes, Mr Lombard confused and frightened victims. Its all too easily discredited, you understand. Now, you might be just what weve been waiting for. Your information could be enough to make em sit up and listen. |
Weve still got the Italian... |
Thats right. Wheres the fucking Italian, eh, Mr French hero? |
Look at him, Whitney. Come all the way from England to clean up California. Huh! |
Emily... |
No. Youre looking at a real Musketeer here, Whitney. Brave and rash. Had to dash in there. Take a prisoner... Might as well have sent them a notice to quit... Come on, Musketeer! Got anything to say? |
Shit! Fuck! Whats fucking wrong with people! Im going to bed. And sweet dreams to you to! |
Shell be alright. Shes tough... |
May I ask where youre from, Mr Lamont? |
Europe... France. Im French but I live in London... ... England. |
Youre a long way from home... |
You wouldnt have a cigarette, would you? |
I dont smoke. If you could get to the point... |
Youre sure you wont sit down, Miss Stewart? |
Im fine standing, thank you. |
Is this some kind of sick stunt? Let me guess. You want money, right? |
A small loan would be welcome. More urgently, I need access to a telephone and an address where things can be sent to me. |
I cant believe this... Whats coming now, eh? If I dont pay all Hells gonna break loose, is that it? |
Well, Id sooner mug an old lady... |
You... Jesus Christ! |
Okay. The woman just cant walk away... I want straight answers. No hesitation or I walk for sure. Why cant you go to your Embassy? |
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