Look at it. How am l supposed
to run this thing from that?

We'll need a proper office.
l want a new one.
You're going to buy it for me.

Why me?
Well, you know about caravans.
How's that?
You spent a summer in one.
Which means you know more than me.

And l don't want to have me pants
pulled down over the price.

What's wrong with this one?
Oh, nothing, Tommy.
lt's tiptop.
l'm just not sure about the colour.
lt's all arranged.
You just got to pick it up.

Here's an address.
lt's a campsite.
You've got 10 grand, and
it would be nice to see change.

-What's happening with them sausages?
-Five minutes.

lt was two minutes five minutes ago.
They ain't pikeys, are they?
l fucking hate pikeys.
You're a sensitive boy, Tommy.
Fuck me. Hold tight.
-What's that?
-lt's me belt.

No, Tommy. There's a gun
in your trousers.

-What's a gun doing in your trousers?
-lt's for protection.

Protection from what?
''Zee'' Germans?
What's to stop it blowing your
bollocks off when you sit?

-Where did you get it?
-Boris The Blade.

You mean Boris the sneaky,
fucking Russian.

Heavy, isn't it?
Heavy is good.
Heavy is reliable.
lf it doesn't work,
you can always hit him with it.

Boris The Blade,
or Boris The Bullet-Dodger.

Bent as the Soviet sickle and
hard as the hammer that crosses it.

Apparently, it'sjust impossible
to kill the bastard.

Back to my partner, Tommy.
Tommy runs the other business...
...the slot machines...
...which keeps rain off our heads
and gloves on Gorgeous' hands.

However, Tommy's a little preoccupied
with protection at present.