Following Script - Dialogue Transcript

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Following Script



            The following is my explanation--

            well, more of an account...

            of what happened.

            I'd been on my own for a while...

            and getting kind of lonely...

            and bored.

            Nothing, still, all day.

            And that's when I started shadowing.


            Shadowing. Following. I started to follow people.

            - Who? -Anyone at first.

            I mean, that was the whole point--

            somebody at random, somebody who didn't know who I was.

            And then?

            -And then nothing. - "Nothing?"

            Nothing. I'd just see where they went, what they did...

            and go home afterwards.

            Why'd you do it?

            Um, to see where they went.

            Anyone-- I mean--

            How can I explain? You ever, um,

            been to a football match just to let your eyes rise...

            and go over-- drift across a crowd of people,

            and then slowly start to fix on one person?

            And all of a sudden that person isn't part of the crowd anymore.

            - They've become an individual, just like that.

            This became irresistible.

            - So you followed women? - No, I didn't follow women.

            It wasn't a sex thing. I followed anybody.

            I just wanted to see where they went, what they did.

            You were playing secret agent?

            No, I'm a writer. Well, I want to be a writer anyway.

            I was, um, gathering material for my characters.

            Well, to begin with.

            After a while l, um, spotted the dangers. I'd become hooked.

            I had to start making up rules to, um, just try and keep it under control.

            Um, never follow people for too long.

            Don't follow women down dark alleys after dark.

            You know, stuff like that.

            It was supposed to just be completely random.

            And when it stopped being random,

            that's when it started to go wrong.

            When I started... to follow people-- specific people,

            when I selected a person to follow,

            that's when the trouble started.

            Other people are interesting to me. Have you never...

            listened to other people's conversations on the bus or on the tube?

            Seen somebody on the street that looks interesting or is behaving...

            slightly-- oddly or something like that?

            Wondered what their lives involved, what they do,

            where they come from, where they go to?

            You watch somebody's behavior, and it raises a hundred thousand questions,

            and... I wanted to ask those questions,

            and I wanted to know what the answers were,

            and so I'd follow people to try and find out.

            Most important rule was...

            that even if I found out where somebody worked or where they lived,

            then you'd never follow the same person twice.

            That was the most important rule.

            That was the one that I broke first.

            - Yes? - Uh, coffee, please.

            - Come on. It's lunch. - Toasted cheese sandwich is fine.

            Mind if I join you?


            Who am I?

             - Uh, yeah, I'll have a black coffee, please, and... - Nothing.

              another coffee, black.

              You're obviously not a policeman, so who are you, and why are you following me?

              I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.

              Don't piss me about. Who the fuck are you?

              Thank you very much.


              No, I wasn't-- I wasn't following you. l-- l--

              I saw you with your bag. I just thought you looked interesting.

              - What are you, a faggot? - No, no.

              No, l-- To tell you the truth, I thought you were this guy that I was at school with.

              I saw you walk in here, so I followed you in just to see if it was him.

              -But it wasn't. -Why didn't you ask me when you saw me?

              'Cause I'd have been embarrassed if it wasn't the person.

              - Not as embarrassed as you are now. - No, I suppose not.

              - What's your name? - Bill.

              Well, Bill, what do you do?

              - Actually, I'm kind of-- - Between jobs right now,yeah.

              - Yeah, that's right. - What would you do?

              - Don't know. - Oh, come on, Bill, don't be coy.

              There's some burning ambition inside you, isn't there?

              - Something of a starving artist in you, no? No? - No.

              - No. No. - You're a painter.

              - Photos? Writer? - No. No.

              - Writer, eh? - No.

              - But you write? - Not much.

              - But sometimes? - Sometimes. Who doesn't?


              So you're a writer.

              I didn't say that.

              What makes you think I'm a writer anyway?

              An unemployed twenty-something fancies himself a writer.

              - A real leap into the unknown. - Well, I'm not a writer.

              - But you're interested in people. - Yeah.

              - This person? - Perhaps.

              You haven't even asked me my name yet.

              - What's your name? - Or what's in my bag.

              - What bag? - My bag.

              The one you've been looking at all morning.

              What's your name, and what's in your bag?

              My name's Cobb.

              Take a look for yourself.

              What were you expecting, drugs?

              Why'd you nick their old CDs?

              Easy to grab a load, easy to sell, totally untraceable.

              The other stuff's a bit more tricky.

              You don't look like a burglar.

              Sounds like a compliment.

              Are you interested now?


              People don't really do that, do they?

              You'd be surprised.

              Does that really work?

              Wait and see.

              Beginner's luck.

              See, nobody home.

              Okay, first things first.

              - We need a bag. - "A bag?"

              To carry the stuff in. Why are you whispering?

              - Do you have one of your own? - Yeah.

              It's a big bag with "swag" written right across it.

              Ah. Bingo!

              Okay. What do you fancy?

              Nothing here of any value.

              - You don't seem that concerned. Why do you do it? - I don't do it for the money.

              For the adrenalin, and because, like you, I'm interested in people.

              Yeah, you can tell a lot about people from their stuff.

              - How old would you say these people are? - Don't know.

              You can tell a lot from the futon for a start. Young people have futons.

              These people wouldn't be anywhere near    with a futon.

              And they've got one laundry bag, which means they're probably very used to each other.

              Probably about    or over.

              They could be    and they've been living together for years.

              Nah. Look at the books. They're college educated.

              Probably graduated when they were    or   .

              Moved in together in the last year.

              You can tell more from their music.

              And here is the box.

              - What box? - Everyone has a box.

              - But mainly it's just a shoe box. - Is there valuables in it?

              No, more interesting. More personal things like snapshots,

              letters, little trinkets from Christmas.


              Envelope, photo, calling cards, notes.

              Sort of an unconscious collection, a display.

              - What do you mean, "display?" - Well, display.

              Each thing tells something very intimate about the people.

              We're very privileged to see it. It's very rare.

              Hey, hey, hey, hey! What--

              What the hell did you do that for?

              It's like a diary. They hide it.

              But actually they want someone to see it. That's what I do.

              See their display. Flip sides of the same coin.

              This way they know that someone's seen it.

              That's what it's all about-- interrupting someone's life,

              making them see all the things they took for granted.

              Like when they go back and buy all this stuff from the shelves with the insurance money,

              they'll have to think for the first time in a long time...

              why they wanted all this stuff, what it's for.

              You take it away, and you show them what they had.

              Saucy, eh? Found these in the last flat.

              I think I'lljust give them something to, uh, chat about.

              Why would you want to do that?

              She'll find them in his trousers and ask him what he's been doing.

              Yeah, but why would you want to fuck up their relationship?

              Don't you listen? You take it away...

              and show them what they had.

              - Fancy a drink? - You've gotta be joking.

              Don't be fooled by the supermarket label.

              I seem to remember I've had this before, and it was actually quite good.

              You'd have had a bit of difficulty doing this with your gloves on.

              - So are we actually gonna take anything? - Anything your heart desires.

              But that's not really the point, is it? I mean, this is work.

              I thought the whole point of burglary was taking things.

              No, this is the point-- breaking in, entering someone's life,

              finding out who they really are.

              I mean, don't you just feel it? Standing here, drinking their wine.

              People we'll never even meet.

              Would you like a drink? I've got some wine.

              - What the f-- - Shh!

              Oh, you startled us. Are you from the agency,

              - or are you viewing like us? - What are you doing in my flat?

              - Didn't the agent tell you we'd be here? - But we're not moving.

              You must be the man of the house. Congratulations. You have a very nice home.

              But we're not moving.

              Really? Then I should check with the agent, love.


              Shit. We shouldn't have come up here. We're gonna have to wait ages to get down again.

              Maybe there's a way off here.

              Jesus Christ! Do you think they believed you?

              Of course they didn't fucking believe me.

              - What do you think you were doing? - I caught them on the hop.

              - We surprised them. - How do you mean?

              That bloke wasn't her boyfriend. Why do you think he didn't say anything?

              She was up to no good, and she was pretty glad we weren't her boyfriend.

              - You reckon? - Why else would she be home in the middle of the afternoon?

              No, you just can't plan for that kind of fucking shit.

              We're unlucky. Don't worry about it. It won't happen again.

              - Well, I'm not so sure. - Oh, yeah?

              Next time you can do the fucking prep work.

              - No, I didn't mean it like that. - No, I mean it.

              Take your mark, check it out for days, months,years, whatever.

              - It'll be the next place we hit. - Yeah, all right.

              - Tell you what. - What?

              I feel bad about pulling the panty routine on that bloke.

              She's gonna give him loads of shit, and she's the one fooling around.

              Beer, please.


              - Buy you a drink? - Yeah.

              But you can't sleep with me.

              - Why's that? - 'Cause I'm with the guy over there.

              - That bald one? - He'd let you buy me a drink,

              but sex is completely out of the question.

              - Still want to buy me that drink? - No.

              - So what's a nice girl like you... - Doing in a place like this?

              - doing with a cunt like that? - It's a long story. Keep your voice down.

              - He does own this place. - I was trying to get your attention.

              My name's Daniel Lloyd. My friends call me Danny.


              So you've obviously had a bad day.

              Kind of day that makes you feel like everybody's out for their pound of flesh.


              I've been having quite a lot of days like that.

              - Say something to me. - Like what?

              See you outside in ten minutes.

              - Oh, I'm sorry. It just-- - It just came apart in your hands.

              - It did, actually. - Yeah, I know. It was broken already.

              Somebody dropped it. I've been meaning to...

              fix it, but, um,

              I'll probably never get around to it.

              It's a ticker tape mix of, um--

              - So, what about you and this bald guy? - What about him?

              - Going out with him? - Not exactly.

              You and him have got something going?

              No. We used to go out with each other, but that's been over for a long time.

              - So why'd you tell me you were with him? - To get rid of you.

              So why wouldn't you agree to have a drink with me?

              Did we have to come here?

              He still gets jealous, and I didn't feel like going back to my place.

              - Why not? - I got burgled yesterday.

              What's it feel like, being, uh, broken into?

              Most people ask, "What did they take?"

              I'm curious about the way people feel.

              I'm a writer.


              -So? - So?

              - So how'd it feel? - Great.


              - This bald guy's dangerous, is he? - You are a nosy bastard.

              - Dangerous, like how? - Dangerous, like criminal-type dangerous.

              Dangerous like "involved in bad things" type dangerous.

              - What sort of bad things? - The usual-- girls, drugs, magazines.

              - "Magazines?" - And films. Pornography.

              - And he owns a couple of clubs. - Wealthy type.

              Yes. And refined.

              Took me a long time to realize the kind of things that he was capable of.

              What sort of things are they?

              Perhaps another time.

              I really think I should be going.

              - Yeah? - It's me, Bill.

              What the fuck do you want?

              - Advice. - On what?

              - On a job. - What fucking job?

              - The job that I told you about. - Not interested.

              Yeah, I know that. I'm gonna do it myself.

              - I wanna know something about protection. - "Protection?"

              Yeah, you know, self-defense, weapons, stuff like that.

              Surprisingly enough, I thought you might be able to give me some advice.

              Steel whip. Nunchakus, they're all right.

              Tools are good. A sharpened screwdriver, a hammer, a chisel.

              - "Hammer?" - Yeah. Medium-sized, good rubber grip.

              It's very nasty. You get a claw hammer, you can pry doors with it.

              Slip it into the back of your waistband, you're set.

              You still there?

              You might want to get some of these, for Christ's sake.

              - Where did you get them? - I stole them from Middlessex Hospital.

              You can't buy them.


              Okay, you get the bag. I'll check out the stuff.

              - I got one. - Ah, that's good.

              -May not need it. There's fuck-all here. -Really?

              - What about the telly? - It's fucking useless.

              What are we, burglars or vandals?

              If you're a burglar, why don't you start burgling?

              Uh, what about the tapes?

              - Not much of a collection, but it's a bit personal. - What do you mean?

              It's not the kind of stuff you'd play to your dinner party guests to fill in gaps of conversation.

              - What sort of music's that? - Simply Red, Fleetwood Mac, that kind of shit.

              - He's got taste? - Each to his own,

              - but he's a sad fucker with no social life.

              - Ooh, nice machine. - Maybe he's a writer.

              Nah. If he's a writer, he'd have a word processor.

              This guy wants to be a writer. Those are two totally separate things.

              - You checked this out? - Uh-huh.

              - You watched him go to work, saw his routine? - Yeah.

              - What's his job? - He works in a bank.

              This guy's unemployed.

              - No, he's not. - Look at the desk. He's unemployed.

              People who have jobs don't have this kind of shit in their homes.

              He's either unemployed or he's a student.

              Which means he could be back any fucking second.

              What the fuck is that? You should recognize it, dole boy.

              His fucking U.B.    you ass. You didn't check this out. We're going now.

              - We're not gonna take anything? - No, we're not gonna take anything.

              I don't feel like scrounging off some poor dole head. Fuck it. No offense.

              None taken.

              Let's go to someplace I've checked.

              Hi. Make yourself at home. I'll be done in just a minute.

              - Nice place. - Thanks.

              Feel a bit funny about it, since someone's been going through my stuff.

              - Sort of creepy. - What'd they take?

              Books, my camera, CDs.

              They even took a bag from my cupboard to take it away in. Apparently that's standard.

              It must be terrible, losing all that stuff.

              Insurance'll cover most of it. It's personal stuff that's worse.

              - "Personal stuff?" Like what? - They, um, rifled through my underwear.

              Shit. Why would they do that?

              Come on. You know the kind of kinky, voyeuristic shit men get into.

              I'm sorry. I'm not into any of that.

              One other thing they did was they took one of my earrings.

              They didn't take the pair. They took one just to really fuck me off.

              You probably misplaced the other one.

              I know. I had them on my dresser,

              and I came back and there was just one.

              - So you just wear one now. - It gives me something to talk about.

              I'll, uh-- I'll go and get some clothes on.


              Saucy, eh?

              Haven't found a bag yet?

              - This is her flat. - Yeah, she's a fox.

              - She's got pictures of herself everywhere. - Yeah, she looks good.

              Look at this stuff.

              Mmm. Mmm, you should take some of this stuff.

              - No way. - Suit yourself. I'm gonna take something.

              Look at her. She's a babe.


              Why does she have so many pictures of herself?

              I think she's a model. She's certainly vain.

              Is that about it?

              Yeah, I guess that covers the useful stuff.

              Not much else. Stereo's too big. Piano-- definitely too big.

              I think... I'lljust misplace this for her.

              - What is this place? - Used to be offices.

              - How'd you get the keys? - Broke in, changed the locks.

              It's owned by one of those management places.

              They never come around, and if they do, they'lljust think they've mixed up their keys.

              Or eventually, they'll break in and change the locks, but I'll be long gone by then.

              London's full of these dead spaces.

              Above restaurants or shops, whole buildings.

              - Do we leave the stuff here? - No, that's your job.

              - You hang on to it until I let you know we're ready to fence it. - Okay.

     want to try to sell it yourself and give me half of what you get for it.

              I wouldn't know what to do with it.

              Look, I was hard on you at that last place,

              but you've got to understand, I won't let anybody put me at risk.

              - It's dangerous enough already. - Sure.

              - An early supper, I think. - No, I really can't afford it.

              - It's covered. - Yeah?


              Authentic? I don't know, but I like it.

              You keep on coming in here.

              - I know. I like it. - Why? I don't know.

              Well, no, I do know why.

              - Why? - Because there's no windows, and because it's dark,

              and nobody can see you in the alcoves.

              And so, perhaps the bald guy wouldn't come past.

              - Maybe. - Maybe. Maybe this is where...

              you bring all the guys you go out with,

              because you know that he's, uh,

              not just gonna be walking by, popping in.


              Maybe. Yeah.

              I thought it was over between you two.

              It is.

              So how come you still go to basement bars then...

              so that you can't be seen by him?

              - Because, as I've told you before-- - You're afraid of him,

              -because he's... dangerous. - Because he's dangerous.

              Dangerous how? How dangerous? You keep saying he's dangerous.

              You never explain to me why you're so afraid of him.


              He came around to my flat with a couple of his...

              associates, and...

              I didn't really know what all this was about until this other guy arrived...

              - Mm-hmm. - who apparently owed them some money.

              - They didn't like this very much, so they got a hammer,

              they held him down and smashed every single one of his fingers.

              And then they smashed his skull.

              Someone get me a tea towel or something.

              You're joking with me.


              - You're not joking with me. - Uh-uh.

              This is why you don't go out with him anymore.

              - Isn't it? - No. No, no.

              That's because he made a mess on my carpet.

              - That's not funny. - Yeah.

              I know.

              How on earth did you get to fall in with somebody like this?

              That's not the sort of fella...

              - Change the subject. - I would've thought you'd normally associate with.

              What were you doing? Were you, um,

              working for him at the time?

              That is none of your business.

              I think you better find someone else to start telling you little stories.

              Oh, come on. I was just joking.


              Bag, bag, bag, bag, bag, bag.


              Oh,Jesus fucking Christ.

              Think, think, think, think, think, think, think, think, think.

              You're developing a taste for it.

              The violating, the voyeurism-- it's definitely you.

              - I think not. - I think so.

              I think before long you'll have developed a taste for the things that go with the proceeds.

              -Such as? - Well, all this.

              Do you make all your money through burglary?

              No, not all of it. In fact, you're gonna pay for this.

              I told you, I can't afford to pay for this.

              It won't really be you. It'll be D. Lloyd that pays for this.

              I thought I'd give you the pleasure of pretending to pay.

              - What am I supposed to do with this? - Sign it.

              - "Sign it?" - Sign it.

              In your own handwriting. Then you can do anything you want with it.

              D. Lloyd.

              Are you ever worried about being caught?

              Why else would I do it? Besides, I'm not gonna get caught.

              - What, you've thought it all through? - I've thought it all through.

              This is only the tip of the iceberg.

              I would do things that you don't even believe.

              - Such as? - Example.

              Sometimes when I'm watching a flat I'll see that the owners are about to go on holiday.

              I'll wait till they're gone, then move in for a week or two.

              - You've gotta be joking. - No. It happens a lot more than you believe.

              How do you know when they're gonna be back?

              - It's almost always marked on the kitchen calendar. - Crafty.

              Jesus fucking Christ.

              - What's wrong? - The woman from the first flat we broke into just walked in.

              - Are you sure? - Yes, I am fucking sure!

              - Is she with the same bloke? It's all right then. - No.

              - What if she sees us? - She's with her partner. She can't do anything.

              I think that's one hell of a chance to take.

              What's she gonna say to us? That we stole half a bottle of red wine? Calm down.

              - You mind if we skip dessert? - Yes, I fucking mind!

              - She's coming this way. - She's going to the loo.

              - She saw me. She saw me. - Oh, yeah?

              - She recognizes us. I think we should leave. - Okay. We'll leave.

              Not that we've got anything to worry about...

              except for you making a fucking twat out of yourself.

              I really hate it when I don't get to finish a good meal with a cup of coffee.

              - Yeah, but-- - Don't fucking say it!

              She got a second look at me. She recognized me. That sort of thing makes me nervous.

              If you're so worried about your appearance, change it.

              A new haircut, set of clothes, your mother won't even recognize you.

              Just because you broke into people's homes doesn't mean you need to look like a burglar.

              Everybody has a box.

              - Yep? - Hello. It's Bill.

              Hello, Bill. What can I do for you?

              Not much. It's about the stuff.

              What about the stuff?

              I've, uh, met this guy, said he'd fence most of it.

              I thought I'd have a go myself, like you said.

              I don't reckon I'll get as much as you could.

              But, uh, half of whatever I get.

              - How does that sound? - Well, that sounds fine.

              - Anything else? - Yeah, I took your advice.

              - What advice? - About changing my appearance.

              - I got my haircut. I'm all dressed up. - With no place to go.

              God, Bill, I wasn't being entirely serious about that.

              Yeah. I just feel better this way.

              - Safer, huh? - Safer. I'll give you a ring when I get the money.


              What was all that about?

              You. Your stuff, anyway.

              He's gonna deal with it himself.


              Meaning he took the bait and he's hooked.

              He's gonna hang on to the stuff but pretend to sell it, give me some money.

              - You may even get most of it back if you're lucky.

              God, it's perfect. The photos worked.

              I even got him to cut his hair and change his clothes.

              So, does that mean you'll tell me where you hid my earring?

              No. And I wouldn't wait for your panties, either.

              He's too embarrassed to give those back too.

              Shit. And did you have to break my window?

              Couldn't you have found a key or something?

              No, that would've been three spare keys in a row.

              Even Bill's not gonna fall for that.

              God, it was so embarrassing when we went to his place.

              Right under the mat just like I told him. That's totally pathetic.

              It was a new mat as well. I think he bought this mat...

              just so he could put the key under it.

              Fuck it.

              Fuck off.

              How do you know it was me? Could have been your mother you just told to fuck off.

              - I meant it. - Oh, come on. Let me in. I've come to apologize.

              - So, apologize. - I haven't been entirely honest with you.

              - I'm doing a piece about burglaries. - What?

              I'm writing about burglaries-- about a friend of mine who breaks into people's houses.

              That's why I asked you so many questions about your break-in.

              I didn't tell you at the time 'cause I didn't wanna upset you too much.

              He's been breaking in and-- I haven't stolen anything.

              l-- I just go along and see what happens.

              Is that it?


              What's that got to do with anything?

              Now I've been honest with you. I want you to return the favor.

              - I have been honest with you. - You're still seeing the bald guy.

              I was early the other day. I saw him leave.

              - You said it was over. - It is.

              Then why are you still seeing him?

              - He's blackmailing me. - He's rich.

              - Why would he want money? - I didn't say anything about money.

              - What's he blackmailing you with? - Photos.

              - Of? - Of me. Don't ask me anything else.

              - I'm not feeding your seedy little fantasies. - You've got me all wrong.

              - Have I? - Yes.

              Where are these... pictures?

              - In his office. Why? - I could take them.

              - How? - I could break in. Me and this guy could do it.

              There's gotta be some valuable stuff in his office, you know.

              - Sometimes keeps money in the safe. - We can't get into his safe.

              - That's where the photos are. - What?

              They're in an envelope. There are negatives and some of the prints.

              - We can't do that. - I know the combination.

              - How? - I've seen him open it loads of times.

              I thought I might be able to lift them myself.

              Well, that's what we'll do then.

              No one in their right minds would steal from him.

              If we don't get caught, it's not gonna matter who it was we stole from.

              And we're not going to get caught.

              If you get them, you won't look at the photos and you won't even look in the envelope.

              - Of course not. - I've got your word on that?

              You have my word.

              - You're late. - Sorry.

              I thought you said you were gonna fence it yourself.

              I got rid of most of it.

              - It'll take me a couple of days to get rid of all of this. - That's what I thought.

              - Is there something else on your mind? - Yeah. I wanna hit a place.

              Well, I've been scouting out a couple of places.

              - A particular place. Some photos. - Photos?

              Yeah, for a friend.

              - What's the place? - Photos are in a safe, but I've got the combination.

              - Well, if it's for a friend, where's the money at? - Money's in the safe.


              Probably. Whose office?

              A club owner-- pornographer type.

              - Heavy? - Yeah, it looks like it.

              What the fuck's going on?

              - I'm seeing someone. - Who?

              - The owner of that bag. - What?

              The woman whose house we hit, the one with the pictures of herself.

              Now tell me you're fucking joking.


              I thought she looked interesting. I followed her.

              We had a drink, and... now we're involved.

              - Have you slept with her? - Yeah.

              We're gettin' on really well.

              I wanted to give some of her stuff back to her, but I thought that would mean--

              You thought that would mean telling her you robbed her. How prudent not to tell her that!

              That's a nice haircut though. Nice suit as well.

              - Pity to have bloodstains on it. - What blood?

              You're on your own now.

              Here. Here's a present for you...

              to get you started on your new solo career.

              - Did you have to beat him? - Did you have to sleep with him?

              - You told me to. - I said you should if you had to,

              but it's not really the same as telling you to.

              - Did you enjoy it? - Did you enjoy beating him up?

              Of course.

              Look, I'm in deep shit. This has gotta work.

              They really think you're involved?

              They've already had me in for questioning, haven't they?

              It's not gonna be long before they find the guy that saw me leave and pull me in.

              - Did he get a good look at you? - No. Which is why I think this is gonna work.

              What we need is someone of roughly the same appearance,

              roughly the same way of working, we should be fine.

              Just tell him what really happened. You found her like that.

              No, you wouldn't say that if you saw what I saw. No, I mean, this is horrible.

              There's blood everywhere.

              Her head has been beaten. She doesn't even look human anymore.

              I'd been there a while. I may have left traces, prints, forensic shit.

              I don't know. Look, the point is the body's fresh.

              It hasn't been dead long. Any witness might put me close enough to the time of death.

              - You just said that the witness didn't get a good look at you. - That's not the point, is it?

              A crime that brutal-- an old lady beaten to death--

              if they even think it's me they're gonna try and pin it on me, aren't they?

              - We've got to have someone else. I told them there's someone. - And if he's got an alibi?

              Well, he's a loner. He's perfect.

              Even strangers that have seen him before aren't gonna recognize him...

              because he's had his hair cut.

              No, he's our man.

              Got it. I took the fuckin' money first.

              Money-- bundles of fuckin' money.

              Ow! Nothing. Nothing.

              I'm okay.


              Oh, I'll be 'round soon.

              You promised me you wouldn't open the envelope.

              It wasn't sealed. They fell out.

              - They fell out? - So, are you gonna explain?

              I mean, what was it? Was it all just bullshit to get hold of the money?

              - There isn't usually any in there. - Well, what then?

              It was for a friend.

              The police think he did something and he didn't.

              So he needs a decoy-- another likely suspect.

              Someone caught robbing a place using the same way he does it-- his methods.

              His methods.

              Who was the friend?


              Broke into a place a couple of weeks ago.

              He found an old lady bashed to death.

              He ran off. Someone saw him.

              Couple of days later the police called him in for questioning. They think he killed her.

              - He probably did. - He's a thief. He's not a murderer.

              So, he told them that, uh, they've got him confused with another burglar he knew.

              - One who used the same M.O. - Why me?

              You set yourself up for it.

              Cobb noticed you following him days before he actually approached you.

              Initially, he thought you were police. And then he followed you.

              He followed me?

              He followed you and realized you were just this sad, little fucker waiting to be used.

              So you and Cobb just went for it.

              How could you do this to me?

              To anybody?

              It's not that serious.

              You've got the money, you didn't kill the old lady.

              You're just there to throw doubt into the minds of the police.

              They'll never charge you.

              You were supposed to get caught tonight breaking in.

              They'd pull you in, ask you about the old lady and you wouldn't know anything.

              They still could have charged me for breaking and entering.

              You did break and enter. And for whatever reason, you didn't get caught red-handed.

              He came in. He went down.

              I didn't hang around long enough to find out whether he could get up.

              It's his blood on my hammer.

              How could you do this to me?

              It's nothing personal.

              When I began this, I didn't even know you.

              - I'll go to the police in the morning. - You can't.

              I'm going and I'm gonna tell them everything.

              You can't, 'cause they won't believe you.

              I'm gonna tell them everything. They'll believe me because it's the truth.

              - Not if you haven't got someone to back up your story. - You could.

              I won't.

              They'll make you because your lies won't stand up to the truth.

              I wouldn't do this if I were you.

              That's it.

              I mean, if you got any, uh, questions, then--

              One or two.

              You see, we don't actually have any unsolved murders of old ladies at the present.

              - You must have. - There's no such ongoing investigation.

              And we don't know this Mr. Cobb of yours.

              I warned you he'd look in the envelope.

              He gave me his word. I believed him.

              It's nothing personal. He couldn't help it.

              I mean, he's a born peeper.

              Anyway, down to business.


              Perhaps there's...

              something else you'd like to tell me, hmm?


              - Where's the hammer? - It's in that bag.

              What are you gonna do with it?

              The old man was very specific about how I should do things.

              Wh-- What's the old man got to say about it?

              Oh, well, he is letting me keep all the money from his safe.

              Anything at all?

              Your side of things?

              He says your demands have become too unreasonable.

              You've become too greedy in your blackmail.

              He said something about you being a witness...

              to an incident that happened in this very room.

              He was very precise about exactly how and where I should take care of things.

              Something about a bloodstained carpet that you've got stashed away to back up your story,

              should it ever be told.

              - Did you talk to her? - We found her this morning.

              - What do you mean, "found her?" - Her body.

              We also found a hammer with two types of blood on it.

              One type, I assume, will match the bloke you put in hospital.

              All her fingers were smashed. You must have tortured her to get the combination.

              I didn't touch her!

              We also found some interesting items in your flat in this shoe box under your bed.

              Among various items reported missing by the deceased last week, we found...

              these pairs of ladies' underwear.

              Were they hers? I assume so since we found them stashed...

              with these passport-style photographs of the deceased.

              We also found this pearl earring...

              which exactly matched the one worn by the deceased at the time of her death.

              - A little trophy? - No!

              It was Cobb who planted it when we turned over her place.

              Go and collar him. I gave you his address.

              We checked the address you gave us. There's no Cobb there.

              The flat belongs to a Mister...

              D. Lloyd.

              He's just returned from holiday.

              And he told us that while he was away, his flat had been burgled.

              Not much was missing.

              But his new credit card hasn't yet arrived.

              Well, that was Cobb! We used it to pay for a meal in a restaurant.

              We found this at your flat.

              It was Cobb...

              who stole it.

              Is that your handwriting?



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