5.11.20
NORMAN
A middle-aged/elderly man sits on a park bench. He is wearing a tracksuit and trainers and a baseball cap, pulled down. A scarf almost covers the lower-half of his face. He seems a little furtive/nervous and the audience may draw the conclusion that he does not wish to be identified. He looks at his watch, checks his surroundings. A shabbily dressed old man wanders by, muttering. He has a can of lager in his hand. He stops in front of the man on the bench. Looks at him. The man on the bench looks away. The old man shrugs and wanders off. The man on the bench follows him with his eyes. More nervous/jumpy than ever. After a while he takes a newspaper out of a plastic bag and settles down to read it. The old man returns. He looks at the younger man. Who notices him and flinches.
Norman: I'm sorry, may I help you?
Bopper: (Chuckles) I know you.
Norman: No, I don't think so.
Bopper: I do. I know you.
Norman: Look, I'm sorry, I don't think we've met.
Bopper: We were at school together.
Norman: What?
Bopper: You and me. We were at school together.
Norman: No, I don't think so.
Bopper: Oh, yes. I never forget a face. And you've been on the telly. I've been watching you.
Norman: Watching me? What do you mean?
Bopper: On the telly. Following your career.
Norman: Look, I'm sorry, I have to go.
Bopper: No you don't. You've got all the time in the world. This your dinner hour. And your meeting somebody, aren't you?
Norman: What? Look I don't know you. You've made a mistake. (He puts his paper in a bag and makes to leave. The stranger gently eases him back onto the bench and sits down beside him) What are you doing?
Bopper: We used to call you Nutty. Nutty Norman. Nutty Norman Braithwaite. (He chuckles) High up in His Majesty's Civil Service now. I always thought you'd do well. (The younger man is stunned and does not respond) Call yourself Jeremy now. Sir Jeremy. You changed your name, didn't you? Crafty that. You always were a crafty lad, weren't you? You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost (chuckles).
Norman: Who are you?
Bopper: Oh, I know I look a bit different now. Hard life, you see. Interesting, but, you know, a bit tricky here and there. But you, I'd've known you anywhere. You've still got that sneaky, horrible way about you that you used to have. Snooty and sneaky and crafty all rolled into one. You were a proper arsehole back then. (Chuckles)
Norman: Look, I have to go. (Makes to rise, the old man puts his hand on his shoulder and eases him back) What are you doing? I have an appointment!
Bopper: Oh, I know you do. You're here to meet your friend, aren't you?
Norman: What?
Bopper: Your brown-eyed boy. What is he? African? He's not Ukrainian, is he? Like them male models that set fire to Starmer's bins?
Norman: Pardon? I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean.
Bopper: Yes, you do. Only Sir Two-Tier's best pals were a bit more mature than your little lad, I'm thinking.
Norman: Look, I don't know what game you think you're playing but I'm warning you, one phone call from me and you'll be sorry.
Bopper: You think I'm playing a game? Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I am. You've got to admit, it is quite funny, isn't it?
Norman: What is?
Bopper: You and me. After all this time. And bum boy makes three. (Chuckles) How old is he by the way? Doesn't look a day over thirteen. (Old man reaches into his pocket - takes out a sheaf of what appears to be photographs) This him? Him and you? You know, together? On this same park bench? (He passes a photo across) That look on his face. Poor lad. Turned on, were you? You look it, don't you? (Chuckles)
Bopper: Who are you? What do you want?
Bopper: He turning up in short trousers? School uniform? Bet he is, you dirty dog! (Chuckles) Get away wi' owt, you lot. Unbelievable. Quiet spot this, isn't it? Just right for nobbing a schoolboy in the bushes.
Norman: Tell me who you are. How do you know me?
Bopper: You still don't know who I am? You know how to hurt me, don't you? Hurt my feelings. Have a good look. Close up. Go on. Who am I? Come on, you're supposed to be brainly. Who am I?
Bopper: We were at school together?
Bopper: Well, not exactly together. Not the same year but you know, a few years apart. Two or three years apart. You were in 3A, I was in 5C. You know, when I got kicked out?
Norman: You were expelled?
Bopper:Yep. They got the wrong bloke. It wasn't me who bummed you. I was just listening in.
Norman: Richardson?
Bopper: Got it in one! I knew you'd get it in the end! (He slaps him on the back, chuckling) Giles Richardson. Big Bopper! That's me. Like the pop star! (He sings) "Chantilly Lace and a pretty face and a pony tail, hangin' down...) Anyway, how've you been all these years?
Norman: Look, tell me what you want. I really do have to go. What is it that you want? Why are you doing this?
Bopper: What do I want? Don't worry about me, sweetheart, I've got what I want. I'm champion, me. Rolling in clover.
Norman: Yes, but what do you want from me?
Bopper: Oh, nothing much, really. Just thought we'd pass the time of day. Two old friends. Catching up. You know. I mean, were you that way inclined before you got bummed? We all thought you were, but maybe you weren't. Maybe that experience clicked a switch or whatever. I don't know. What do you think?
Norman: Look, my sexuality really has nothing to do with you. It's a private matter.
Bopper: Well, it's not that private, is it? If it was private, you wouldn't be out here waiting for a little lad in short trousers, would you? And I wouldn't have these! (Waves the photos under his nose)
Norman: He doesn't wear short trousers.
Bopper: Oh, are you sure?
Norman: Yes! Of course, I'm sure.
Bopper: What, not even in private?
Norman: No!
Bopper: Oh. Only I had this picture in my mind. You know, after seeing these. (He rifles through the photographs)
Norman: Can I have those, please?
Bopper: What?
Norman: The photographs.
Bopper: Why? Fancy a wank, or something? (Chuckles) That'd be a bit of giveaway that, you know. Top Civil servant caught playing with himself in park, looking at dirty pictures of a little lad being bummed! Yeah. They'd do you for that alone. You know, even without seeing who it was who was doing the bumming. And look, it's you, plain as day. Couldn't be anybody else, could it? Nope, that's definitely you. You are definitely the pervert in the pictures. No question about it. You're the dirty paedo all right. (Norman makes a grab for them) Oy, oy! Oy, oy! You a thief as well? You a thief as well as a bottom robber? Behave yourself! You'll get yourself arrested, you will. I mean, look at that lady over there. She's staring at us. Ayup, ducky. Alright? All right, are you? Don't worry about it. Just a bit of a lover's tiff, you know. Haven't seen him in donkey's years and he's a bit overcome by it all. He always was an emotional type. Weren't you? A bit of an emotional type...
Norman: It's all right. (To the same lady) Thank you. I'm all right. We're good. There's no problem. He's a friend!
Bopper: Oy, oy! Hang on, you'll have her thinking I'm a fairy as well. I'm not a fairy, darling! Don't get that idea. Proper chap, me. He's a fairy but not me, ducky. All right? (He watches her retreat) Nosy fucking parker! If there's owt I can't stand it's nosy fucking parkers. I don't hate 'em like I hate paedos and tell-tale-tits and politicians but I never been keen on them as sticks their noses in. Look at her. She's still looking. I know, I'll flash my nob at her. That'll give her something to talk about at the Bingo!
Norman: Please don't
Bopper: What?
Norman: Please don't expose yourself.
Bopper: What do think I am? I'm not a flasher. You're the fucking pervert, not me. Jesus. It was a joke. I was having a bit of fun, that's all. Can't a bloke have a laugh these days? Truth be told, you'd probably like to see my nob again, wouldn't you? Dirty dog. (Chuckles) I remember one time, your eyes nearly popped out of your head when I waggled it in front of your face. Made you sniff it. Do you remember? I bet you do. Dirty dog. (Chuckles) Mind you, I suppose a pervert like you would be more interested in tight little arseholes than a huge, great one eyed trouser snake like mine, wouldn't you?
Norman: Please, what do you want? Tell me what you want. Why are you here? What's happening? Tell me! tell me, please.
Bopper: All right, all right. Calm down, calm down! (Chuckles) Harry Enfield. Scousers. I was always good at impersonating, wasn't I. 'Ere. Who's this? "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!"
Norman: I'm sorry...
Bopper: "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!" Who's that then? "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!"
Norman: I don't know. Please stop...
Bopper: Come on! Have a guess. It's obvious. "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!" Come on! "My dad was a toolmaker!" "I have prosecuted very serious criminals!" But not Jimmy Savile, you didn't prosecute him did, you twat! Hey, did you ever meet Jimmy Savile, you know, on your travels?
Norman: Please, I can't stand this, I have to go.
Bopper: No, you don't. Sit down. We've got things to discuss.
Norman: Well, please, tell me what they are. What do you want from me?
Bopper: I want you to tell me who I was impersonating. We'll start with that.
Norman: God, this can't be happening.
Bopper: It is though, Norman. Funny how weird stuff just materialises out of thin air. You know, when you least expect it. (Chuckles)
Norman: The Prime Minister. You were impersonating the Prime Minister
Bopper: Correct! You see, I've still got it. Still got the talent. God given, you see. God gave me that talent. Some of us have got it and some of us haven't. Hey, what about this one. "I ate his liver with some Fava beans a nice Chianti!" Who's that then? (Laughs) Oh, yes, I can do posh voices as well! And yet I never to be a big success, did I. You know, like you. Don't you think that's funny? Me a golden lad, best at everything. Sports, Victor Ludorum. shagging for England when everybody else was still a virgin. Answer to every maiden's prayer. "Golden lads and girls, all must, like chimney sweepers, come to dust!" Know what I mean? I've still got it, haven't I? It's just that nobody's ever seen it. Because it's only arseholes like you who get the breaks, isn't. Golden lads like me. We always seem to end up getting the shitty end of the stick. Why is that? Why is the world run by arseholes? And the golden lads and lovely girls always end up knee deep in dog shit? It's a fix from moment one to the mortuary. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you. You're a fixer, you. Top of the shit pile. Fuck me, who'dve thought it, eh? Nutty Norman, top turd in toilet. Eh, do you remember the school play. 'Zoo Story!' Brilliant. I played the nutcase, me. Bit of a stretch at the time. But I'd be really good in that part now.
Norman: I don't remember that.
Bopper: You must remember. The whole school saw it.
Norman: I don't think that's right.
Bopper: What do you mean?
Norman: You're misremembering, I think. It was a Nottingham Playhouse production. At the school. We used to go to the playhouse every year to watch Shakespeare. But that one time they brought a touring production of Albee's play to the school. The girls from the High School came to see as well.
Bopper: That's what I'm saying, I was in that. I played the nutcase. (Silence) Or maybe I was down the air raid shelters having a fag. No, I don't think so. I don't think I skived off. Cos I enjoyed that play. I watched it all the way though. Only play, I ever watched from beginning to end. I could've been off with some likely lass. Bit of fish finger, know what I mean. Lovely. (Chuckles) But no, I sat through it, from beginning to end. Didn't get bored once. Funny that, I could've sworn I played that part. Anyway, I saw it. That Zoo Story play. Only play I ever sat through. Brilliant. Funny, isn't it?
Norman: What is?
Bopper: How we ended up here. Like this. Just like Zoo Story.
Norman: Will you tell me now?
Bopper: Tell you what?
Norman: What you're doing here. It's not a coincidence.
Bopper: No. It's not.
Norman: How much?
Bopper: How much what?
Norman: For the photographs. To keep quiet.
Bopper: You think I want your money?
Norman: Well, don't you?
Bopper: I don't want your money. I've got all the money I'll ever need.
Norman: Well, tell me, please. Tell me what it is that you do want? I can't stand this.
Bopper: Well, for a start I'd like to you to tell me why you were so horrible at school. I know you had a horrible dad, with his Hitler moustache. What did he teach, Latin was it? Anyway, like father like son, so that couldn't have helped, but, I mean, you were extra horrible, weren't you? A tell-tale tit, snooty, always sneering at people, a squealer. You were the first squealer in the whole 400 year history of that school. Nobody had ever squealed on a fellow pupil until you did.
Norman: I'm sorry, but that can't be true. I can't have been the first to point out who the bullies were.
Bopper: Yeah, but YOU did it time and time again, didn't you? Never learned your lesson. Couldn't keep you mouth shut. You just had to go crying to daddy. Has he still got that Hitler moustache?
Norman: My father has been dead for more than 40 years.
Bopper: Oh. You do surprise me. I thought blokes like him lived forever. I remember when he gave the whole school a detention. Just because his baby boy got his head stuffed down the bog. The other masters were sniggering behind him behind his back. Remember that?
Norman: I wasn't there.
Bopper: Right. Well, they were. They thought he was a twat as well. Probably. Right little Hitler he was. Gesticulating with his arms and frothing at the mouth. What a fucking weirdo. And then you got bummed. And that was the end of me. Why did you do it?
Norman: Do what?
Bopper: Say it was me?
Norman: Is that what this is all about? Revenge, 50 years later.
Bopper: 56 years later, as it happens.
Norman: Tell me what you want.
Bopper: I've got what I want. Don't worry about me, Norman.
Norman: And what is it that you imagine you've got?
Bopper: Well, I'm getting paid for this, you know. Cash in the bank. Don't worry about me, I'm well in. And I get to see you pay for doing what you've done. I get to see a bad man punished. First hand. For all the crimes he's committed since he first popped out of his mam's hairy hole.
Norman: Look, I never knew for certain who did it until later. But when they'd gone, I heard you say what you said. You have a very distinctive voice.
Bopper: What did I say?
Norman: You said, 'enjoy that, did you?' And then you said, 'Does it sting? I bet it stings. Serves you right, for being a squealer!' And then you giggled. I remember it like it was yesterday.
Bopper: But it wasn't me that did it.
Norman: Yes, but you were there. Watching. Sniggering, no doubt.
Bopper: You got that right. Except I wasn't watching. But I could see what was happening in my mind's eye. I had to put my fist in my mouth to stop whoever it was from hearing me. I was in the end stall, having a crap as it happens. You must've known it wasn't me.
Norman: I knew it wasn't you.
Bopper: So, why did you say it was?
Norman: I didn't. I just told my father what I'd heard you say. So he went after you.
Bopper: And you didn't bother to put him straight?
Norman: I told him it wasn't you. But he didn't care. To be honest, neither did I. You were a vicious and unpleasant bully. And you thought what happened to me was funny.
Bopper: It was. It was hilarious.
Norman: Not to me, it wasn't.
Bopper: It opened your eyes to the fact that you're a bum bandit, Norman. A paedo. Set you off on the road to Epstein heaven! That's why you're here now, isn't it? Get away with murder you lot. Hey, did you ever meet Jeffrey Epstein? I bet you did. Dirty little tart. Did you see Donald Trump or Peter Mandleson, or Bill Clinton? You know, big shots? I bet you did. Have you ever eaten a child?
Norman: What?
Bopper: A kid. A little boy. Have you eaten one? They were at it all the time, apparently. I wouldn't eat a baby or a child ever. Not even if I was starving hungry. I'd eat you. (Laughs) Not in that way, you dirty dog! I know what you were thinking, you cheeky monkey. Same old Norman, dirty dog and a half, you!
Norman: I never met Jeffrey Epstein, I didn't know him.
Bopper: Bollocks. Everybody knew him. You must have met him.
Norman: I never met him. Different social circles.
Bopper: I know who did it, you know. Prefects. Prefects. Not lower sixth lads or 5C like me. Even the prefects hated you.
Norman: I know.
Bopper: What do you know?
Norman: I know who did it.
Bopper: Was it you who did them? Did you bump 'em off? There all gone now. In suspicious circumstances. It was you, wasn't it, you sneaky sod.
Norman: I couldn't possibly comment.
Bopper: It WAS you, wasn't it? Unbelievable. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the elite paedo. Bloody hell, Norman, you grew a pair, didn't you? That means we've got things in common, you and me. Have you ever done anybody face to face? You know, killed anybody?
Norman: No.
Bopper: When did you start?
Norman: None of your business. Look, what do you want from me? I have to get back.
Norman: Don't you worry about me, Norman, I've got what I want. It's what THEY want that matters.
Norman: THEY, who are THEY?
Norman: Your lot. MI5, Special Branch. Whatever. Your best mates. THEM!
Norman: What are you talking about?
Norman: They want you gone, Norman. You've been a bad lad, haven't you?
Norman: I'm sorry, I don't follow.
Bopper: You've been passing secrets to the Russkis, apparently. And Iran. And Hamas. Chinese for all I know.
Norman: What?
Bopper: Don't deny it, Norman. They've got you bang to rights. You're a dead man walking.
Norman: What are you talking about? You're insane.
Bopper: (Chuckles) It has been said. You look worried, Norman.
Norman: Of course, I'm worried, I'm being held against my will by a madman. You have to let me go. Now.
Bopper: Take it easy, Norman. No point in getting all agitated.
Norman: No point in... (He tries to escape. He is easily restrained by Bopper)
Bopper: Calm down, calm down! I'm only saying there's no point in you trying to pretend you haven't done what you've done. They know, Norman. You're a busted flush. Kaput. Totally fucked. They want you gone. Ironic, really.
Norman: Ironic? What do you mean?
Bopper: Well, right at the end of you life, after a lifetime of behaving like an absolute twat, you go and do something half-decent, and that's what you're going down for. All the bad things you've done - OK by them. This one good thing and it's 'Goodbye, Mr Chips. You've had your chips, Norman. Decision's been made. Too late to do anything about it now.
Norman: A decision's been made? By whom? Explain yourself, please!
Bopper: THEY, capital T, capital H, capital E, capital Y, THEY, the big lads, have made a decision. And, as you well know, you being one of them, what THEY say goes.
Norman: And that's why you're here? To kill me?
Bopper: Oh, no, I'm not going to kill you. THEY are. You know, some lad from the SAS or MI5 like I said. Sniper, I should think. SWAT team, you know. That's how you get yours. I agree with you about Iran and Gaza. And Ukraine, as it happens. America and Israel and our top lot and Frog 1...
Norman: Frog 1?
Bopper: Macron, you know, Frog 1. Another fucking bum boy. Tell us about Starmer and the lads that set fire to his bins. You know, Ukrainian male models. Is he a paedo, too? I bet he is. Soft little nancy fucker. You'd know, wouldn't you? (Silence) Ah, well, as I was saying, we've been fucking about with everybody. Screwing up the world on behalf of the Chosen Few. Haven't we? You a Jew, Norman? You don't look Jewish.
Norman: I'm not.
Bopper: So, just a plain, old-fashioned traitor then. They think you're a traitor, Norman. For what it's worth, I don't. At least, not for telling Israel's enemies what Israel and the bought-and-paid-for were up to. That's brilliant that. You should get a medal for that. But, you know, all the other shit you've done. Climate change, spraying everything with poison chemicals, blotting out the sun, killing off the bees and the cow farts and cutting down the trees for huge great, fucking Chinese windmills and solar panel bollocks. COVID and the vaccine scams, fucking about with Brexit, the post office scandal, cover ups. Making out we were nastier than foreigners, that we were the criminals, when the exact opposite was always true. Getting foreigners in far-off places to answer the phone, when we had a complaint, so we wouldn't know what they were on about. Our girls and boys could've done those jobs. Polish builders, African nurses and doctors, instead of training up our own. Council houses and 5-star hotels for boat people while ex-army lads are rotting in the streets. You were in the middle of all of that, weren't you? Epstein. I bet you've been to a good few parties, haven't you? Eating little lads, after you've nobbed 'em. Iraq and Afghanistan, getting our little lads slaughtered, getting them to kill the foreigner minding his own business in his own land. When did you change your mind about that?
Norman: We had our instructions.
Bopper: From the Dear Leader?
Norman: Who?
Bopper: Tony Blair.
Norman: I was a very junior clerk back then. I did as I was told.
Bopper: You're not now though, are you? You've been a top twat for quite some time. All through the Covid and climate scam fuckery. And the invaders. Small boat posse. And the hotels and council houses. As our lads are dying in doorways. Freezing to death on the streets. Everything for the invader, fuck all for the soldier who got put through hell by Blair and Brown and Jack Straw and Harriet fucking Harman. And did you ever speak out about our little girls? Being gang-raped and prostituted by Pakiland? Did you fuck! Anyway, it doesn't matter what we might agree on now. You're a traitor as far as they're concerned. You ditched the habits of a lifetime and put the people first for once and it's done for you, Norman! What a laugh! It's goodbye yellow Brick Road, my son! They want you gone.
Norman: How do you know all of this?
Bopper: I've got my sources, Norman.
Norman: Humour me. What are you doing inn the middle of all this. I can't make sense of it.
Bopper: You're not supposed to. They've got you in the crosshairs, Norman, that's all you need to know. Need to know, know what I mean?
Norman: If you're not going to do it, how is it going to happen, at least tell me that.
Bopper: I'm not supposed to tell you anything, you do realise that? They could stop the second half of my fee, if I tell you anything. 200,000 down the drain, for what? Just so you know what the score is? Is that what you want? You'd nick two hundred grand off me at this late stage? That's just like you, that is. You always were a selfish fucker. Anyway, I've already said. Some SWAT team sniper will be doing it, be my guess.
Norman: So, you've already been paid 200,000.
Bopper: I have. You can't rob that off me, Norman. That's in the bank, earning interest. Or rather, it's in my daughter's bank. I checked. Spoke to her. She, now, officially, thinks I'm the most wonderful dad who ever lived. PC she is. Totally effing woke. Up her own arse. Still, I wasn't there, was I? Karma. Left her mad mother when she was 3. Had to fend for herself since then. She's my Karma. You get what you deserve in this life. Just like you're gonna get what you deserve.
Norman: So, who gave you the 200,000?
Bopper: That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?
Norman: You've already mentioned MI5.
Bopper: Nah, your making it up. I never mentioned them.
Norman: What does it matter now? If I'm to be targeted, I won't be telling anyone, will I? (SILENCE)
Bopper: I was supposed to be wired up. They gave me a recorder and a microphone. You know, teeny-weeny. State of the art, so nobody would know it was there. They put it on back at the hotel. But it was itchy, giving me electric shocks. So I ditched it. Too bad. They shouldn't have given me some cheap, rubbishy thing. Probably thought they'd get away with it. He won't know cheap rubbish from state of the art, he's just some poor, old drunken loony. Fucking arseholes! Giving me electric shocks, it was. So I put it in that bin over there. See that bin? Right over there. If they want it back they'll have to root around in chicken nuggets and dog turds won't they? (Chuckles) Too bad. I didn't expect them to give me the other two hundred grand anyway. You can't trust the government. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that. You can't trust the shit at the top of the tree. They'll always let you down. Fucking up the nice guy is what they're all about. Besides, I don't like my daughter. She's an arsehole too. What would she do with another two hundred grand? Just blow it on a holiday to the Bahamas or Benidorm. North Korea, maybe. She's been to Vietnam. Did you know that? Whatever.
Bopper: So, what's in it for you? If your daughter's already got the money, why not just let me go?
Bopper: Because I'm an honourable man! My word is my bond. I don't lie! I'm not a politician! I give my word, I keep it. I'm not like you people, I make a promise, I keep it.
Norman: Even if you know that those you give your word to, don't intend to keep their half of the bargain?
Bopper: Even if. Stop trying to squirm out of it. You're a dead man walking. Tough. You get what you deserve in this life.
Norman: Look, I could give you 200,000. I could put it in your hand, right now.
Bopper: I'm sure. Yeah. (Chuckles)
Norman: No, I mean it. I've got cash in my safe at home. and gold bars, gold coins. I could give you whatever you want.
Bopper: Got a gun in there, have you? As well? Gonna shoot me in the crown jewels as soon as we get back there? You always were a tricky sod, weren't you, Norman? Nutty fucking Norman, still slithering after all these years.
Norman: What have you got to lose? Come on, let's go. You're stronger than me. You could tie me up and open the safe yourself, I'll give you the combination.
Bopper: You after one last shag, Norman? With the man of your dreams? You dirty dog. I'd rather do Angela fucking Rayner's mile-wide manhole than your skinny old arse! Besides they're here now. Look. (He waves) All right, lads? He's here. Laughing boy! (Norman tries to escape again - Bopper subdues him) I'm not supposed to do that. Not supposed to let on that know them. Know what I mean? Fuck 'em. I don't care.
Norman: If what you say is true, they'll shoot you as well.
Bopper: You reckon?
Norman: Of course. They can't possibly leave you alive. Knowing what you know.
Bopper: They know I won't talk. They know a deal's a deal with me.
Norman: You don't believe that. You can't be that naive. Why should they trust you when they don't have to?
Bopper: It's not about trust, Norman. I'm useful aren't I? An asset! I'm an asset. Like an old James Bond. They could slot me in anywhere. Hundred grand, another enemy of the state goes pop. Who'd suspect an old fart like me?
Norman: So all this virtue-signalling about Covid and the climate and immigration, it all goes out the window, if they pay you enough. Have I got that right?
Bopper: I've been battling for the common man most of life. Can't say he ever did much for me. 'Bout time I got my share, I reckon. My little bit. Besides, I wouldn't top a nice guy. Or a kid. I've got my standards. They can get somebody else for that.
Norman: You're living in dreamland, Giles. They're setting us both up.
Bopper: Don't call me that?
Norman: Pardon me?
Bopper: Don't call me Giles, it's a namby-pamby name is that. Call me Bopper, everybody else does. Giles Richarson, you see. That was his real name. Big Bopper. It was his real name. "Chantilly Lace, and a pretty face, and a pony tail, hanging down, and a wiggle in her walk and a giggle... See, I've still got it, I've always had it! Know what I mean? He got killed with Buddy Holly, you know, Big Bopper. And Richie Valens, Lalallala Bamba, la la la, la Bamba la la la. In an aircrash. Terrible. He was only young, you know, Buddy Holly. 22 years old and he wrote all them great songs. And then he got killed with Big Bopper, who had the same name as me. What were you saying? I've forgotten.
Norman: We should get up and walk off, arm-in-arm. Like lovers. Pretty difficult to explain why they assassinated two old friends from school. Come on, Michael. We can get out of this if we act like we care for each other.
Bopper: You'd like that, wouldn't you? Did you fancy me back then? I bet you did, you dirty old dog. Everybody fancied me. Belle of the ball I was. Top dog. Golden lad. Arm-in-arm, eh? You trying to ruin my reputation, or what?
Norman: Gile... Bopper, please. Let's wave at them, like we're happy. Like this. (He waves) "He's my friend, an old friend. There's no problem. It's OK! We're good"
Bopper: You're a dead man walking, Norman. They'll just wait till there's no one around. Look! Look! They're clearing the area. Ha-ha, so no one can see. You're fucked, my son.
Norman: If I'm fucked so are you! Why don't you see that? What's wrong with you?
Bopper: What's wrong with me? I'm a fucking nutcase, Normy, baby! I don't do what other people do. I'm out there with the fairies! Well, not the fairies. That'd be more your cup of tea. But, you know, axe murderers, Hannibal Lechters, people like them. I do what I want to do, Norman. And, right now, I'm here to see you die. And, trust me, that's OK by me.
Norman: And what if they shoot you first. You don't get to see me die then, do you?
Bopper: Norman, you're full of it. They won't shoot me. I'm too valuable. I'm an asset, me. They said that. Exactly that. Their words, not mine. A valuable asset.
Norman: And you believe them? You stupid idiot! I know the way they work, for crying out loud, I'm one of them!
Bopper: What did you call me? An idiot? An idiot. Well, this idiot just set you right up, Mr Christ-all-bleeding-mighty-know-it-all! How's that for a fucking idiot? What kind of an idiot can do that? And don't you call me names either. You don't want to piss me off.
Norman: Piss you off? Piss you off? Who cares if I piss you off? I'm going to be dead soon, according to you!
Bopper: You never denied it, did you?
Norman: What?
Bopper: You didn't deny being a traitor. Selling secrets to Russia.
Norman: No, I didn't deny it. Only I didn't sell anything. I did it to try and prevent a nuclear holocaust.
Bopper: Ah, right. You did it because, all of a sudden, you're a good guy and want to save the world. That sounds really plasible, that does.
Norman: Look, if it makes you feel any better, just say I did it to save my own skin. If everything goes nuclear, we're all gone, aren't we?
Bopper: True enough. You sure you don't want some of this? (Offers him some of his liquor - He shakes his head) What's the matter, you don't want to drink from the same bottle as a mad, old tramp? Ha-ha. In case you get germs. Ha-ha. You were always a big girl's blouse, Norman. (Norman snatches the bottle and takes a hefty swig) Better now? (Norman takes another swig) Oy, oy! Easy, there'll be none left.
Norman: What do you care? You can always buy some more with your blood money!
Bopper: Ooh, temper, temper. There's no need to go all girlie on me! Come on, let's have it. Share and share alike, that's what my dear old mam used to say. Bloody hell, there's hardly any left. Typical politician, Good Samaritan offers you a final drink and what do you do? You scoff the fucking lot. That'll teach me to be so generous.
Norman: Look, just tell me how you came to be here. Why are you involved in this? It doesn't make sense. Why did the authorities involve you?
Bopper: Why should I tell you anything?
Norman: What difference, at this point, does it make?
Bopper: Hillary said that.
Norman: What?
Bopper: Hillary Clinton said that. After that Ambassador and his crew got done in Benghazi. Her fault. Hers and Obama's. She had a fit when they started asking the right questions.
Norman: Are you going to tell me?
Bopper: Get me a another bottle of this and I'll tell you.
Norman: Oh, right. I'll get another bottle. Happy to. (He tries to stand)
Bopper: Not so fast, sneaky fucker. Haven't you got something in your bag? You know, for if your schoolboy changes his mind.
Norman: Shuttup! Shuttup Shuttup! Shuttup! I hate you! I hate you!
Bopper: Calm down, calm down! Bloody hell, you'll have the lads thinking I'm the bad guy if you not careful! (He chuckles) So, you want to know what went on?
Norman: Yes!
Bopper: And you'll calm down if I tell you?
Norman: Yes! Yes!
Bopper: OK. I'll tell you. No skin off my nose. So, you definitely haven't got any pills in your bag?
Norman: No, no, please, tell me...
Bopper: Well, I was minding me own business, as I always do, unless there's a bit of a kerfuffle, you know, they love me in Rampton, been in there 3 times, better than Broadmoor. Anyway, they know that, if there's a bit of trouble, you know, some axe murderer or whatever, starts acting up, they know they can rely on me to sort it out. I've no fear you see. Ever since I got that bang on the head when I was a lad. I was always bold, you know, even as a little boy, I'd always do what others wouldn't. Jumping off houses into sand and mud and whatnot, that's how I got my gammy ankles. Jumping on big lads and strangling them until they submitted. Things like that. And then I got that bang on the head. A big lad hit me over the head with a brick. I was giving his brother the Boston crab at the time. Year above me, his brother. In the tope class. Called me a rude word. I didn't know what it meant but it sounded nasty. And after that, well, there was no stopping me. This was all before your time, like. I was already a bit of a nutcase when it came to horrible people by the time you knew me. I was never nasty to nice people. I like nice people. I do anything for a nice person. It's just nasty people I can't stand. Bully boys. I'm not a bully boy. I only ever did lads bigger than I was. People like that. People like you. Politicians. Billionaire bankers who own them. Civil servants who make it all happen. Immigrants who rape little girls and wave machetes about in the street. Israel. Israel slaughtering defenceless women and children. Anyway, just after I was expelled, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Eh? I was in London, one time, and I got banged up in Broadmoor, all because I sorted out these African Sambos who were picking on this schoolboy. Live by the sword, die by the sword, that's what I say. Anyway, one of them died. Your lot don't like it when big lads stand up and do the right thing, do they? So they stuck me in Broadmoor. And that where I started getting this reputation for sorting out troublemakers. Always had the best of treatment me, always had me books, my crime novels, newspapers, internet, holiday camp really. Although I never really liked Broadmoor. Not like Rampton. Rampton's better. The man to turn to when they wanted a situation defusing, you see. That was me. And that, I presume, is why your lads came to me. Turned up one day, Rampton this was, asking me if I could help them out with a little problem. And, strange though it may seem, you turned out to be the little problem. What's in it for me then, says I? Playing it all cool and coy. "The cushy number will continue!" Says them. Two blokes in suit and ties. You know. Men in black types. Oh, I want more than that lads. Make it worth my while and I'll consider it. So, anyway, here we all are. 200 grand in my daughter's bank account and here we all are.
Norman: I don't get it. This isn't what we do. Why would they involve you?
Bopper: Well, all I can tell you is what they told me.
Norman: What was that?
Bopper: They wanted to make it seem like a nutcase, I don't mind being called a nutcase, 'cause I am one. If it's true, say it, even if you're talking to a nutcase. Anyway, they wanted to make it look like a nutcase from your past had been stalking you, so they could get the SWAT lads to accidentally shoot you, as they were trying to save you from yours truly. Make sense now?
Norman: No.
Bopper: I can't help that. Talk to them if you don't believe me. Oh, wait a minute. You can't do that can't you. Cause you'll be dead. (He chuckles)
Norman: There's no way you're getting out of this alive, you know. If I go, so do you.
Bopper: I've told you about that. They'll be using me for other stuff once they've done you.
Norman: And you believe that?
Bopper: Why wouldn't they? How many old fogies do you know that would make top notch assassins? (Norman considers this) Yeah, you see, never thought of that, did you? Think you know it all, you. You'd be surprised. Who'd suspect a poor old, mad loser of ever being the next James Bond? Nobody! And if I ever did get caught and they used some truth drug on me, cause torture wouldn't work, me being hard as nails and all of that, and I started to blab about the government and MI5 and the secret service and my top secret missions, well, the government can always say, 'he's nuts, don't listen to him! He's been in and out of the nuthouse for the last 50 years!' Perfect. See? They can't lose, can they? Meanwhile, I get to live the life of Riley and my awful daughter gets to have her cake and eat it! They've got it all mapped out. And me, what have I got to lose? Absolutely nothing. 'As long as you don't want me to disappear any nice guys,' says I. 'Only horrible people, like Norman.'
Norman: And you fell for that? You're even dumber than you look.
Bopper: Hey, Mr brainy paedo gay lad, you're the one that's definitely going to die, not me. So you can fuck right off with your nasty comments. All right?
Norman: How is it going to happen? How am I going to be killed?
Bopper: Sniper. Got to be. Bullet in the brain. Night, night, Norman.
Norman: So, why do they need you? Why are you here?
Bopper: I keep telling you. You just don't fucking listen, do you? Look, see this? He draws back his coat secretively, in such a way that the police can't see) Got to protect the narrative, you see. You're not supposed to see this until the last minute. Watch this. (He makes stabbing motions behind his coat) See? It's plastic. It's just a toy, blade goes in and out. But when I take it out and do this, he makes a stabbing motion towards Norman, without the knife, and then I draw back when they say, 'Oy you, stop thief, stop your stabbing of that English gentleman!' That's when they shoot you. You see, they want to be able to say that they killed you, but it was friendly fire. They thought you were about get stabbed by a violent psycho with a knife. But, at the last minute, the violent psycho pulls back and you get shot instead of him. We rehearsed this. time and time again. They must've thought a nutcase would forget his lines. They never knew that I played hamlet or whatever it was at school. Well, I was in anyway. I can't remember what I played. I had lines though. You know, to remember? Fucking patronising bastards. I'm smarter than all them traitorous shithouses put together. Anyway, that's how it gonna get done. In, wait a minute, (he looks at his watch) bloody hell, Norman! You've got 2 minutes and 37 seconds to live, my son! Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? (Chuckles) 2.25, 24, 23, 22. (Norman tried to get away again)
Norman: Stop! Stop! Don't shoot! It's a set up! The government wants me dead! It's the gov... (Bopper gets his hand over Norman's mouth)
Bopper: Come on, Norman, don't spoil things! You're interfering with process. Behave yourself! You behaving like a big girls' blouse. Show a bit of decorum in these, the last moments of your horrible, little life! Oh, dear. Sorry lads, (He says this to the police/audience as Norman struggles) We're gonna have to bring the turkey shoot forward a tad. Norman's being a naughty boy. Needs his botty smacked. Good and hard! You ready? You ready, lads? Here we go then! (He takes the toy knife out of his waistband and displays it, smiling and chuckling, to the police/audience. Norman screams, he grabs his arm and manages to keep the knife at a distance - Before he fake-stabs Norman we hear a policeman yell 'put down the knife, put down the knife!') It's only a fucking toy, what's up with you! It's all right, Norman, they can edit that bit out. And A.I. these, days. There some marvellous stuff out there. ('Put the knife down now') Fuck off! I'm enjoying myself here! Acting well, I am! Could've been another Laurence Oliver, me! (He whispers) 'You ready, Norman? Time to say Tele bye byes.' He pulls away from Norman, and drops the knife, smiling and raising his arms.
Bopper: OK?
Shots ring out. His body jerks. He slumps, dead. Norman is left alive. (Spotlight on Norman - Lights fade on Loony - A voice is heard)
VOICE: How are you, Norman?
Norman: Good, sir. I'm good.
VOICE: No nightmares? Flashbacks?
Norman: No, sir. Nothing like that.
VOICE: You're booked for a mental health assessment. Sorry about that. Routine, I'm afraid. Just a chat, really. She's very good. Jenny Allsop. Do you know her?
Norman: Yes, sir. Not well, but we've met. Pleasant woman.
VOICE: Anything you want to say about the event?
Norman: Well, it was pretty hairy, for a moment there. Glad the boys in blue stepped up to the plate, to be honest. It wasn't my finest hour.
VOICE: How do you mean?
Norman: Well, I wasn't able to overcome him physically and nor was I able to resolve the situation amicably. The way it ended was unsatisfactory.
VOICE: I understand you were old school chums.
Norman: Hardly, sir. He blamed me for his expulsion. He was a bit of a bullyboy back then. I was one of the many unfortunates who suffered as a result. He was two years ahead of me. A big fellow. I, I'm afraid to say, was a bit of a weed. Just the type he liked to pick on.
VOICE: So, you think him meeting you like that was no coincidence?
Norman: I doubt it was a coincidence, sir. I've no idea how he got to know how I'd be there at that particular time. But, if he's been stalking me, I suppose he'd know my various routines, such as they are.
VOICE: In our line of work, Norman, routines can get you killed.
Norman: Yes, sir. Sorry about that.
VOICE: Anyway, Norman, take a few days off. A week even. We'll talk more about this when you get back.
Norman: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. A short break would be most appreciated.
VOICE: And, Norman. Your latest flame.
Norman: Sir?
VOICE: The love interest. The Brixton boy. That's over now. Officially. Wouldn't want your sexual proclivities captured on some internet sleuth's mobile phone, now would we? Not the lad's complexion, of course, just the age, Norman. We're not Muslims yet, are we? Yours has been a fine career, Norman. It would be a pity for it to end ignominiously. You agree, of course.
Norman: I do, sir. I'll handle it.
VOICE: Make sure you do.
Norman: Yes, sir. (Fade)
THE END
Norman: I'm sorry, may I help you?
Bopper: (Chuckles) I know you.
Norman: No, I don't think so.
Bopper: I do. I know you.
Norman: Look, I'm sorry, I don't think we've met.
Bopper: We were at school together.
Norman: What?
Bopper: You and me. We were at school together.
Norman: No, I don't think so.
Bopper: Oh, yes. I never forget a face. And you've been on the telly. I've been watching you.
Norman: Watching me? What do you mean?
Bopper: On the telly. Following your career.
Norman: Look, I'm sorry, I have to go.
Bopper: No you don't. You've got all the time in the world. This your dinner hour. And your meeting somebody, aren't you?
Norman: What? Look I don't know you. You've made a mistake. (He puts his paper in a bag and makes to leave. The stranger gently eases him back onto the bench and sits down beside him) What are you doing?
Bopper: We used to call you Nutty. Nutty Norman. Nutty Norman Braithwaite. (He chuckles) High up in His Majesty's Civil Service now. I always thought you'd do well. (The younger man is stunned and does not respond) Call yourself Jeremy now. Sir Jeremy. You changed your name, didn't you? Crafty that. You always were a crafty lad, weren't you? You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost (chuckles).
Norman: Who are you?
Bopper: Oh, I know I look a bit different now. Hard life, you see. Interesting, but, you know, a bit tricky here and there. But you, I'd've known you anywhere. You've still got that sneaky, horrible way about you that you used to have. Snooty and sneaky and crafty all rolled into one. You were a proper arsehole back then. (Chuckles)
Norman: Look, I have to go. (Makes to rise, the old man puts his hand on his shoulder and eases him back) What are you doing? I have an appointment!
Bopper: Oh, I know you do. You're here to meet your friend, aren't you?
Norman: What?
Bopper: Your brown-eyed boy. What is he? African? He's not Ukrainian, is he? Like them male models that set fire to Starmer's bins?
Norman: Pardon? I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean.
Bopper: Yes, you do. Only Sir Two-Tier's best pals were a bit more mature than your little lad, I'm thinking.
Norman: Look, I don't know what game you think you're playing but I'm warning you, one phone call from me and you'll be sorry.
Bopper: You think I'm playing a game? Well, maybe you're right. Maybe I am. You've got to admit, it is quite funny, isn't it?
Norman: What is?
Bopper: You and me. After all this time. And bum boy makes three. (Chuckles) How old is he by the way? Doesn't look a day over thirteen. (Old man reaches into his pocket - takes out a sheaf of what appears to be photographs) This him? Him and you? You know, together? On this same park bench? (He passes a photo across) That look on his face. Poor lad. Turned on, were you? You look it, don't you? (Chuckles)
Bopper: Who are you? What do you want?
Bopper: He turning up in short trousers? School uniform? Bet he is, you dirty dog! (Chuckles) Get away wi' owt, you lot. Unbelievable. Quiet spot this, isn't it? Just right for nobbing a schoolboy in the bushes.
Norman: Tell me who you are. How do you know me?
Bopper: You still don't know who I am? You know how to hurt me, don't you? Hurt my feelings. Have a good look. Close up. Go on. Who am I? Come on, you're supposed to be brainly. Who am I?
Bopper: We were at school together?
Bopper: Well, not exactly together. Not the same year but you know, a few years apart. Two or three years apart. You were in 3A, I was in 5C. You know, when I got kicked out?
Norman: You were expelled?
Bopper:Yep. They got the wrong bloke. It wasn't me who bummed you. I was just listening in.
Norman: Richardson?
Bopper: Got it in one! I knew you'd get it in the end! (He slaps him on the back, chuckling) Giles Richardson. Big Bopper! That's me. Like the pop star! (He sings) "Chantilly Lace and a pretty face and a pony tail, hangin' down...) Anyway, how've you been all these years?
Norman: Look, tell me what you want. I really do have to go. What is it that you want? Why are you doing this?
Bopper: What do I want? Don't worry about me, sweetheart, I've got what I want. I'm champion, me. Rolling in clover.
Norman: Yes, but what do you want from me?
Bopper: Oh, nothing much, really. Just thought we'd pass the time of day. Two old friends. Catching up. You know. I mean, were you that way inclined before you got bummed? We all thought you were, but maybe you weren't. Maybe that experience clicked a switch or whatever. I don't know. What do you think?
Norman: Look, my sexuality really has nothing to do with you. It's a private matter.
Bopper: Well, it's not that private, is it? If it was private, you wouldn't be out here waiting for a little lad in short trousers, would you? And I wouldn't have these! (Waves the photos under his nose)
Norman: He doesn't wear short trousers.
Bopper: Oh, are you sure?
Norman: Yes! Of course, I'm sure.
Bopper: What, not even in private?
Norman: No!
Bopper: Oh. Only I had this picture in my mind. You know, after seeing these. (He rifles through the photographs)
Norman: Can I have those, please?
Bopper: What?
Norman: The photographs.
Bopper: Why? Fancy a wank, or something? (Chuckles) That'd be a bit of giveaway that, you know. Top Civil servant caught playing with himself in park, looking at dirty pictures of a little lad being bummed! Yeah. They'd do you for that alone. You know, even without seeing who it was who was doing the bumming. And look, it's you, plain as day. Couldn't be anybody else, could it? Nope, that's definitely you. You are definitely the pervert in the pictures. No question about it. You're the dirty paedo all right. (Norman makes a grab for them) Oy, oy! Oy, oy! You a thief as well? You a thief as well as a bottom robber? Behave yourself! You'll get yourself arrested, you will. I mean, look at that lady over there. She's staring at us. Ayup, ducky. Alright? All right, are you? Don't worry about it. Just a bit of a lover's tiff, you know. Haven't seen him in donkey's years and he's a bit overcome by it all. He always was an emotional type. Weren't you? A bit of an emotional type...
Norman: It's all right. (To the same lady) Thank you. I'm all right. We're good. There's no problem. He's a friend!
Bopper: Oy, oy! Hang on, you'll have her thinking I'm a fairy as well. I'm not a fairy, darling! Don't get that idea. Proper chap, me. He's a fairy but not me, ducky. All right? (He watches her retreat) Nosy fucking parker! If there's owt I can't stand it's nosy fucking parkers. I don't hate 'em like I hate paedos and tell-tale-tits and politicians but I never been keen on them as sticks their noses in. Look at her. She's still looking. I know, I'll flash my nob at her. That'll give her something to talk about at the Bingo!
Norman: Please don't
Bopper: What?
Norman: Please don't expose yourself.
Bopper: What do think I am? I'm not a flasher. You're the fucking pervert, not me. Jesus. It was a joke. I was having a bit of fun, that's all. Can't a bloke have a laugh these days? Truth be told, you'd probably like to see my nob again, wouldn't you? Dirty dog. (Chuckles) I remember one time, your eyes nearly popped out of your head when I waggled it in front of your face. Made you sniff it. Do you remember? I bet you do. Dirty dog. (Chuckles) Mind you, I suppose a pervert like you would be more interested in tight little arseholes than a huge, great one eyed trouser snake like mine, wouldn't you?
Norman: Please, what do you want? Tell me what you want. Why are you here? What's happening? Tell me! tell me, please.
Bopper: All right, all right. Calm down, calm down! (Chuckles) Harry Enfield. Scousers. I was always good at impersonating, wasn't I. 'Ere. Who's this? "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!"
Norman: I'm sorry...
Bopper: "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!" Who's that then? "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!"
Norman: I don't know. Please stop...
Bopper: Come on! Have a guess. It's obvious. "Muslims are the face of modern Britain!" Come on! "My dad was a toolmaker!" "I have prosecuted very serious criminals!" But not Jimmy Savile, you didn't prosecute him did, you twat! Hey, did you ever meet Jimmy Savile, you know, on your travels?
Norman: Please, I can't stand this, I have to go.
Bopper: No, you don't. Sit down. We've got things to discuss.
Norman: Well, please, tell me what they are. What do you want from me?
Bopper: I want you to tell me who I was impersonating. We'll start with that.
Norman: God, this can't be happening.
Bopper: It is though, Norman. Funny how weird stuff just materialises out of thin air. You know, when you least expect it. (Chuckles)
Norman: The Prime Minister. You were impersonating the Prime Minister
Bopper: Correct! You see, I've still got it. Still got the talent. God given, you see. God gave me that talent. Some of us have got it and some of us haven't. Hey, what about this one. "I ate his liver with some Fava beans a nice Chianti!" Who's that then? (Laughs) Oh, yes, I can do posh voices as well! And yet I never to be a big success, did I. You know, like you. Don't you think that's funny? Me a golden lad, best at everything. Sports, Victor Ludorum. shagging for England when everybody else was still a virgin. Answer to every maiden's prayer. "Golden lads and girls, all must, like chimney sweepers, come to dust!" Know what I mean? I've still got it, haven't I? It's just that nobody's ever seen it. Because it's only arseholes like you who get the breaks, isn't. Golden lads like me. We always seem to end up getting the shitty end of the stick. Why is that? Why is the world run by arseholes? And the golden lads and lovely girls always end up knee deep in dog shit? It's a fix from moment one to the mortuary. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you. You're a fixer, you. Top of the shit pile. Fuck me, who'dve thought it, eh? Nutty Norman, top turd in toilet. Eh, do you remember the school play. 'Zoo Story!' Brilliant. I played the nutcase, me. Bit of a stretch at the time. But I'd be really good in that part now.
Norman: I don't remember that.
Bopper: You must remember. The whole school saw it.
Norman: I don't think that's right.
Bopper: What do you mean?
Norman: You're misremembering, I think. It was a Nottingham Playhouse production. At the school. We used to go to the playhouse every year to watch Shakespeare. But that one time they brought a touring production of Albee's play to the school. The girls from the High School came to see as well.
Bopper: That's what I'm saying, I was in that. I played the nutcase. (Silence) Or maybe I was down the air raid shelters having a fag. No, I don't think so. I don't think I skived off. Cos I enjoyed that play. I watched it all the way though. Only play, I ever watched from beginning to end. I could've been off with some likely lass. Bit of fish finger, know what I mean. Lovely. (Chuckles) But no, I sat through it, from beginning to end. Didn't get bored once. Funny that, I could've sworn I played that part. Anyway, I saw it. That Zoo Story play. Only play I ever sat through. Brilliant. Funny, isn't it?
Norman: What is?
Bopper: How we ended up here. Like this. Just like Zoo Story.
Norman: Will you tell me now?
Bopper: Tell you what?
Norman: What you're doing here. It's not a coincidence.
Bopper: No. It's not.
Norman: How much?
Bopper: How much what?
Norman: For the photographs. To keep quiet.
Bopper: You think I want your money?
Norman: Well, don't you?
Bopper: I don't want your money. I've got all the money I'll ever need.
Norman: Well, tell me, please. Tell me what it is that you do want? I can't stand this.
Bopper: Well, for a start I'd like to you to tell me why you were so horrible at school. I know you had a horrible dad, with his Hitler moustache. What did he teach, Latin was it? Anyway, like father like son, so that couldn't have helped, but, I mean, you were extra horrible, weren't you? A tell-tale tit, snooty, always sneering at people, a squealer. You were the first squealer in the whole 400 year history of that school. Nobody had ever squealed on a fellow pupil until you did.
Norman: I'm sorry, but that can't be true. I can't have been the first to point out who the bullies were.
Bopper: Yeah, but YOU did it time and time again, didn't you? Never learned your lesson. Couldn't keep you mouth shut. You just had to go crying to daddy. Has he still got that Hitler moustache?
Norman: My father has been dead for more than 40 years.
Bopper: Oh. You do surprise me. I thought blokes like him lived forever. I remember when he gave the whole school a detention. Just because his baby boy got his head stuffed down the bog. The other masters were sniggering behind him behind his back. Remember that?
Norman: I wasn't there.
Bopper: Right. Well, they were. They thought he was a twat as well. Probably. Right little Hitler he was. Gesticulating with his arms and frothing at the mouth. What a fucking weirdo. And then you got bummed. And that was the end of me. Why did you do it?
Norman: Do what?
Bopper: Say it was me?
Norman: Is that what this is all about? Revenge, 50 years later.
Bopper: 56 years later, as it happens.
Norman: Tell me what you want.
Bopper: I've got what I want. Don't worry about me, Norman.
Norman: And what is it that you imagine you've got?
Bopper: Well, I'm getting paid for this, you know. Cash in the bank. Don't worry about me, I'm well in. And I get to see you pay for doing what you've done. I get to see a bad man punished. First hand. For all the crimes he's committed since he first popped out of his mam's hairy hole.
Norman: Look, I never knew for certain who did it until later. But when they'd gone, I heard you say what you said. You have a very distinctive voice.
Bopper: What did I say?
Norman: You said, 'enjoy that, did you?' And then you said, 'Does it sting? I bet it stings. Serves you right, for being a squealer!' And then you giggled. I remember it like it was yesterday.
Bopper: But it wasn't me that did it.
Norman: Yes, but you were there. Watching. Sniggering, no doubt.
Bopper: You got that right. Except I wasn't watching. But I could see what was happening in my mind's eye. I had to put my fist in my mouth to stop whoever it was from hearing me. I was in the end stall, having a crap as it happens. You must've known it wasn't me.
Norman: I knew it wasn't you.
Bopper: So, why did you say it was?
Norman: I didn't. I just told my father what I'd heard you say. So he went after you.
Bopper: And you didn't bother to put him straight?
Norman: I told him it wasn't you. But he didn't care. To be honest, neither did I. You were a vicious and unpleasant bully. And you thought what happened to me was funny.
Bopper: It was. It was hilarious.
Norman: Not to me, it wasn't.
Bopper: It opened your eyes to the fact that you're a bum bandit, Norman. A paedo. Set you off on the road to Epstein heaven! That's why you're here now, isn't it? Get away with murder you lot. Hey, did you ever meet Jeffrey Epstein? I bet you did. Dirty little tart. Did you see Donald Trump or Peter Mandleson, or Bill Clinton? You know, big shots? I bet you did. Have you ever eaten a child?
Norman: What?
Bopper: A kid. A little boy. Have you eaten one? They were at it all the time, apparently. I wouldn't eat a baby or a child ever. Not even if I was starving hungry. I'd eat you. (Laughs) Not in that way, you dirty dog! I know what you were thinking, you cheeky monkey. Same old Norman, dirty dog and a half, you!
Norman: I never met Jeffrey Epstein, I didn't know him.
Bopper: Bollocks. Everybody knew him. You must have met him.
Norman: I never met him. Different social circles.
Bopper: I know who did it, you know. Prefects. Prefects. Not lower sixth lads or 5C like me. Even the prefects hated you.
Norman: I know.
Bopper: What do you know?
Norman: I know who did it.
Bopper: Was it you who did them? Did you bump 'em off? There all gone now. In suspicious circumstances. It was you, wasn't it, you sneaky sod.
Norman: I couldn't possibly comment.
Bopper: It WAS you, wasn't it? Unbelievable. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the elite paedo. Bloody hell, Norman, you grew a pair, didn't you? That means we've got things in common, you and me. Have you ever done anybody face to face? You know, killed anybody?
Norman: No. Of course not.
Bopper: Of course not. Got to have big balls for that, Norman. Sitting behind a desk and crossing somebody off a list doesn't count. want to know how many I've done?
Norman: Not particularly.
Bopper: I bet you do then. Everybody wants to know what serial killers get up to. I only told them about five. Did seventeen that I know of. Left others in a heap. A lot of 'em I left in a heap. They might've snuffed it as as well, some of them. All bad lads. They all deserved to die. No nice people. I like nice people. That's why I did 'em. 'Cause nasty lads are nasty to nice people. Not to people like me. Unless it's drug wars or something like that. I used to get on the tube, on trains and buses, hoping to bump into nasty fuckers, so I could sort 'em out. Wandered round in no-go areas, that's a laugh, no fucking go, I'd go anywhere, me, late at night, acting as though I'd had one too many, you know, inviting trouble. I'd have my heavy boots on, with the steel toecaps. Lovely. Yeah. Brilliant. Bit old for that now, but I could still do it if I wanted. That's what they locked me up for. They don't like me sorting out their immigrant pets. Protecting the nice people. They want us gone, you know. Nice English people. If I'd just done English lads, I'd've been all right. But most of them, you know, just deserve a clout. English lads don't do knives and machetes. They might have a gun now and again but it's mostly fists and Doc Martins with English lads. I'm not gonna do them. I just kick 'em up the arse and tell 'em not to be so silly. I'd never've got caught if I was just doing white lads. But there were never enough bad ones, you see. Black lads and Pakis carry knives, machetes and what not. I had to get stitched up one time too many. That's how they got me that first time. And once they knew who I was, well...
Norman: So you're a racist as well as a homophobe.
Bopper: Oh, for fuck's sake, Norman, that nasty name-calling shite went out with the ark. Just another Commie effing tactic. Typical effing civil servant. Get all the sheeple to join in, sneering at the proper chap. Those days are over, Norman. The silent majority got wise to your bollocks. (SILENCE) Had you ever bummed any little lads before you got bummed yourself?
Norman: No.
Bopper: When did you start?
Norman: None of your business. Look, what do you want from me? I have to get back.
Norman: Don't you worry about me, Norman, I've got what I want. It's what THEY want that matters.
Norman: THEY, who are THEY?
Norman: Your lot. MI5, Special Branch. Whatever. Your best mates. THEM!
Norman: What are you talking about?
Norman: They want you gone, Norman. You've been a bad lad, haven't you?
Norman: I'm sorry, I don't follow.
Bopper: You've been passing secrets to the Russkis, apparently. And Iran. And Hamas. Chinese for all I know.
Norman: What?
Bopper: Don't deny it, Norman. They've got you bang to rights. You're a dead man walking.
Norman: What are you talking about? You're insane.
Bopper: (Chuckles) It has been said. You look worried, Norman.
Norman: Of course, I'm worried, I'm being held against my will by a madman. You have to let me go. Now.
Bopper: Take it easy, Norman. No point in getting all agitated.
Norman: No point in... (He tries to escape. He is easily restrained by Bopper)
Bopper: Calm down, calm down! I'm only saying there's no point in you trying to pretend you haven't done what you've done. They know, Norman. You're a busted flush. Kaput. Totally fucked. They want you gone. Ironic, really.
Norman: Ironic? What do you mean?
Bopper: Well, right at the end of you life, after a lifetime of behaving like an absolute twat, you go and do something half-decent, and that's what you're going down for. All the bad things you've done - OK by them. This one good thing and it's 'Goodbye, Mr Chips. You've had your chips, Norman. Decision's been made. Too late to do anything about it now.
Norman: A decision's been made? By whom? Explain yourself, please!
Bopper: THEY, capital T, capital H, capital E, capital Y, THEY, the big lads, have made a decision. And, as you well know, you being one of them, what THEY say goes.
Norman: And that's why you're here? To kill me?
Bopper: Oh, no, I'm not going to kill you. THEY are. You know, some lad from the SAS or MI5 like I said. Sniper, I should think. SWAT team, you know. That's how you get yours. I agree with you about Iran and Gaza. And Ukraine, as it happens. America and Israel and our top lot and Frog 1...
Norman: Frog 1?
Bopper: Macron, you know, Frog 1. Another fucking bum boy. Tell us about Starmer and the lads that set fire to his bins. You know, Ukrainian male models. Is he a paedo, too? I bet he is. Soft little nancy fucker. You'd know, wouldn't you? (Silence) Ah, well, as I was saying, we've been fucking about with everybody. Screwing up the world on behalf of the Chosen Few. Haven't we? You a Jew, Norman? You don't look Jewish.
Norman: I'm not.
Bopper: So, just a plain, old-fashioned traitor then. They think you're a traitor, Norman. For what it's worth, I don't. At least, not for telling Israel's enemies what Israel and the bought-and-paid-for were up to. That's brilliant that. You should get a medal for that. But, you know, all the other shit you've done. Climate change, spraying everything with poison chemicals, blotting out the sun, killing off the bees and the cow farts and cutting down the trees for huge great, fucking Chinese windmills and solar panel bollocks. COVID and the vaccine scams, fucking about with Brexit, the post office scandal, cover ups. Making out we were nastier than foreigners, that we were the criminals, when the exact opposite was always true. Getting foreigners in far-off places to answer the phone, when we had a complaint, so we wouldn't know what they were on about. Our girls and boys could've done those jobs. Polish builders, African nurses and doctors, instead of training up our own. Council houses and 5-star hotels for boat people while ex-army lads are rotting in the streets. You were in the middle of all of that, weren't you? Epstein. I bet you've been to a good few parties, haven't you? Eating little lads, after you've nobbed 'em. Iraq and Afghanistan, getting our little lads slaughtered, getting them to kill the foreigner minding his own business in his own land. When did you change your mind about that?
Norman: We had our instructions.
Bopper: From the Dear Leader?
Norman: Who?
Bopper: Tony Blair.
Norman: I was a very junior clerk back then. I did as I was told.
Bopper: You're not now though, are you? You've been a top twat for quite some time. All through the Covid and climate scam fuckery. And the invaders. Small boat posse. And the hotels and council houses. As our lads are dying in doorways. Freezing to death on the streets. Everything for the invader, fuck all for the soldier who got put through hell by Blair and Brown and Jack Straw and Harriet fucking Harman. And did you ever speak out about our little girls? Being gang-raped and prostituted by Pakiland? Did you fuck! Anyway, it doesn't matter what we might agree on now. You're a traitor as far as they're concerned. You ditched the habits of a lifetime and put the people first for once and it's done for you, Norman! What a laugh! It's goodbye yellow Brick Road, my son! They want you gone.
Norman: How do you know all of this?
Bopper: I've got my sources, Norman.
Norman: Humour me. What are you doing inn the middle of all this. I can't make sense of it.
Bopper: You're not supposed to. They've got you in the crosshairs, Norman, that's all you need to know. Need to know, know what I mean?
Norman: If you're not going to do it, how is it going to happen, at least tell me that.
Bopper: I'm not supposed to tell you anything, you do realise that? They could stop the second half of my fee, if I tell you anything. 200,000 down the drain, for what? Just so you know what the score is? Is that what you want? You'd nick two hundred grand off me at this late stage? That's just like you, that is. You always were a selfish fucker. Anyway, I've already said. Some SWAT team sniper will be doing it, be my guess.
Norman: So, you've already been paid 200,000.
Bopper: I have. You can't rob that off me, Norman. That's in the bank, earning interest. Or rather, it's in my daughter's bank. I checked. Spoke to her. She, now, officially, thinks I'm the most wonderful dad who ever lived. PC she is. Totally effing woke. Up her own arse. Still, I wasn't there, was I? Karma. Left her mad mother when she was 3. Had to fend for herself since then. She's my Karma. You get what you deserve in this life. Just like you're gonna get what you deserve.
Norman: So, who gave you the 200,000?
Bopper: That's for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?
Norman: You've already mentioned MI5.
Bopper: Nah, your making it up. I never mentioned them.
Norman: What does it matter now? If I'm to be targeted, I won't be telling anyone, will I? (SILENCE)
Bopper: I was supposed to be wired up. They gave me a recorder and a microphone. You know, teeny-weeny. State of the art, so nobody would know it was there. They put it on back at the hotel. But it was itchy, giving me electric shocks. So I ditched it. Too bad. They shouldn't have given me some cheap, rubbishy thing. Probably thought they'd get away with it. He won't know cheap rubbish from state of the art, he's just some poor, old drunken loony. Fucking arseholes! Giving me electric shocks, it was. So I put it in that bin over there. See that bin? Right over there. If they want it back they'll have to root around in chicken nuggets and dog turds won't they? (Chuckles) Too bad. I didn't expect them to give me the other two hundred grand anyway. You can't trust the government. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that. You can't trust the shit at the top of the tree. They'll always let you down. Fucking up the nice guy is what they're all about. Besides, I don't like my daughter. She's an arsehole too. What would she do with another two hundred grand? Just blow it on a holiday to the Bahamas or Benidorm. North Korea, maybe. She's been to Vietnam. Did you know that? Whatever.
Bopper: So, what's in it for you? If your daughter's already got the money, why not just let me go?
Bopper: Because I'm an honourable man! My word is my bond. I don't lie! I'm not a politician! I give my word, I keep it. I'm not like you people, I make a promise, I keep it.
Norman: Even if you know that those you give your word to, don't intend to keep their half of the bargain?
Bopper: Even if. Stop trying to squirm out of it. You're a dead man walking. Tough. You get what you deserve in this life.
Norman: Look, I could give you 200,000. I could put it in your hand, right now.
Bopper: I'm sure. Yeah. (Chuckles)
Norman: No, I mean it. I've got cash in my safe at home. and gold bars, gold coins. I could give you whatever you want.
Bopper: Got a gun in there, have you? As well? Gonna shoot me in the crown jewels as soon as we get back there? You always were a tricky sod, weren't you, Norman? Nutty fucking Norman, still slithering after all these years.
Norman: What have you got to lose? Come on, let's go. You're stronger than me. You could tie me up and open the safe yourself, I'll give you the combination.
Bopper: You after one last shag, Norman? With the man of your dreams? You dirty dog. I'd rather do Angela fucking Rayner's mile-wide manhole than your skinny old arse! Besides they're here now. Look. (He waves) All right, lads? He's here. Laughing boy! (Norman tries to escape again - Bopper subdues him) I'm not supposed to do that. Not supposed to let on that know them. Know what I mean? Fuck 'em. I don't care.
Norman: If what you say is true, they'll shoot you as well.
Bopper: You reckon?
Norman: Of course. They can't possibly leave you alive. Knowing what you know.
Bopper: They know I won't talk. They know a deal's a deal with me.
Norman: You don't believe that. You can't be that naive. Why should they trust you when they don't have to?
Bopper: It's not about trust, Norman. I'm useful aren't I? An asset! I'm an asset. Like an old James Bond. They could slot me in anywhere. Hundred grand, another enemy of the state goes pop. Who'd suspect an old fart like me?
Norman: So all this virtue-signalling about Covid and the climate and immigration, it all goes out the window, if they pay you enough. Have I got that right?
Bopper: I've been battling for the common man most of life. Can't say he ever did much for me. 'Bout time I got my share, I reckon. My little bit. Besides, I wouldn't top a nice guy. Or a kid. I've got my standards. They can get somebody else for that.
Norman: You're living in dreamland, Giles. They're setting us both up.
Bopper: Don't call me that?
Norman: Pardon me?
Bopper: Don't call me Giles, it's a namby-pamby name is that. Call me Bopper, everybody else does. Giles Richarson, you see. That was his real name. Big Bopper. It was his real name. "Chantilly Lace, and a pretty face, and a pony tail, hanging down, and a wiggle in her walk and a giggle... See, I've still got it, I've always had it! Know what I mean? He got killed with Buddy Holly, you know, Big Bopper. And Richie Valens, Lalallala Bamba, la la la, la Bamba la la la. In an aircrash. Terrible. He was only young, you know, Buddy Holly. 22 years old and he wrote all them great songs. And then he got killed with Big Bopper, who had the same name as me. What were you saying? I've forgotten.
Norman: We should get up and walk off, arm-in-arm. Like lovers. Pretty difficult to explain why they assassinated two old friends from school. Come on, Michael. We can get out of this if we act like we care for each other.
Bopper: You'd like that, wouldn't you? Did you fancy me back then? I bet you did, you dirty old dog. Everybody fancied me. Belle of the ball I was. Top dog. Golden lad. Arm-in-arm, eh? You trying to ruin my reputation, or what?
Norman: Gile... Bopper, please. Let's wave at them, like we're happy. Like this. (He waves) "He's my friend, an old friend. There's no problem. It's OK! We're good"
Bopper: You're a dead man walking, Norman. They'll just wait till there's no one around. Look! Look! They're clearing the area. Ha-ha, so no one can see. You're fucked, my son.
Norman: If I'm fucked so are you! Why don't you see that? What's wrong with you?
Bopper: What's wrong with me? I'm a fucking nutcase, Normy, baby! I don't do what other people do. I'm out there with the fairies! Well, not the fairies. That'd be more your cup of tea. But, you know, axe murderers, Hannibal Lechters, people like them. I do what I want to do, Norman. And, right now, I'm here to see you die. And, trust me, that's OK by me.
Norman: And what if they shoot you first. You don't get to see me die then, do you?
Bopper: Norman, you're full of it. They won't shoot me. I'm too valuable. I'm an asset, me. They said that. Exactly that. Their words, not mine. A valuable asset.
Norman: And you believe them? You stupid idiot! I know the way they work, for crying out loud, I'm one of them!
Bopper: What did you call me? An idiot? An idiot. Well, this idiot just set you right up, Mr Christ-all-bleeding-mighty-know-it-all! How's that for a fucking idiot? What kind of an idiot can do that? And don't you call me names either. You don't want to piss me off.
Norman: Piss you off? Piss you off? Who cares if I piss you off? I'm going to be dead soon, according to you!
Bopper: You never denied it, did you?
Norman: What?
Bopper: You didn't deny being a traitor. Selling secrets to Russia.
Norman: No, I didn't deny it. Only I didn't sell anything. I did it to try and prevent a nuclear holocaust.
Bopper: Ah, right. You did it because, all of a sudden, you're a good guy and want to save the world. That sounds really plasible, that does.
Norman: Look, if it makes you feel any better, just say I did it to save my own skin. If everything goes nuclear, we're all gone, aren't we?
Bopper: True enough. You sure you don't want some of this? (Offers him some of his liquor - He shakes his head) What's the matter, you don't want to drink from the same bottle as a mad, old tramp? Ha-ha. In case you get germs. Ha-ha. You were always a big girl's blouse, Norman. (Norman snatches the bottle and takes a hefty swig) Better now? (Norman takes another swig) Oy, oy! Easy, there'll be none left.
Norman: What do you care? You can always buy some more with your blood money!
Bopper: Ooh, temper, temper. There's no need to go all girlie on me! Come on, let's have it. Share and share alike, that's what my dear old mam used to say. Bloody hell, there's hardly any left. Typical politician, Good Samaritan offers you a final drink and what do you do? You scoff the fucking lot. That'll teach me to be so generous.
Norman: Look, just tell me how you came to be here. Why are you involved in this? It doesn't make sense. Why did the authorities involve you?
Bopper: Why should I tell you anything?
Norman: What difference, at this point, does it make?
Bopper: Hillary said that.
Norman: What?
Bopper: Hillary Clinton said that. After that Ambassador and his crew got done in Benghazi. Her fault. Hers and Obama's. She had a fit when they started asking the right questions.
Norman: Are you going to tell me?
Bopper: Get me a another bottle of this and I'll tell you.
Norman: Oh, right. I'll get another bottle. Happy to. (He tries to stand)
Bopper: Not so fast, sneaky fucker. Haven't you got something in your bag? You know, for if your schoolboy changes his mind.
Norman: Shuttup! Shuttup Shuttup! Shuttup! I hate you! I hate you!
Bopper: Calm down, calm down! Bloody hell, you'll have the lads thinking I'm the bad guy if you not careful! (He chuckles) So, you want to know what went on?
Norman: Yes!
Bopper: And you'll calm down if I tell you?
Norman: Yes! Yes!
Bopper: OK. I'll tell you. No skin off my nose. So, you definitely haven't got any pills in your bag?
Norman: No, no, please, tell me...
Bopper: Well, I was minding me own business, as I always do, unless there's a bit of a kerfuffle, you know, they love me in Rampton, been in there 3 times, better than Broadmoor. Anyway, they know that, if there's a bit of trouble, you know, some axe murderer or whatever, starts acting up, they know they can rely on me to sort it out. I've no fear you see. Ever since I got that bang on the head when I was a lad. I was always bold, you know, even as a little boy, I'd always do what others wouldn't. Jumping off houses into sand and mud and whatnot, that's how I got my gammy ankles. Jumping on big lads and strangling them until they submitted. Things like that. And then I got that bang on the head. A big lad hit me over the head with a brick. I was giving his brother the Boston crab at the time. Year above me, his brother. In the tope class. Called me a rude word. I didn't know what it meant but it sounded nasty. And after that, well, there was no stopping me. This was all before your time, like. I was already a bit of a nutcase when it came to horrible people by the time you knew me. I was never nasty to nice people. I like nice people. I do anything for a nice person. It's just nasty people I can't stand. Bully boys. I'm not a bully boy. I only ever did lads bigger than I was. People like that. People like you. Politicians. Billionaire bankers who own them. Civil servants who make it all happen. Immigrants who rape little girls and wave machetes about in the street. Israel. Israel slaughtering defenceless women and children. Anyway, just after I was expelled, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you? Eh? I was in London, one time, and I got banged up in Broadmoor, all because I sorted out these African Sambos who were picking on this schoolboy. Live by the sword, die by the sword, that's what I say. Anyway, one of them died. Your lot don't like it when big lads stand up and do the right thing, do they? So they stuck me in Broadmoor. And that where I started getting this reputation for sorting out troublemakers. Always had the best of treatment me, always had me books, my crime novels, newspapers, internet, holiday camp really. Although I never really liked Broadmoor. Not like Rampton. Rampton's better. The man to turn to when they wanted a situation defusing, you see. That was me. And that, I presume, is why your lads came to me. Turned up one day, Rampton this was, asking me if I could help them out with a little problem. And, strange though it may seem, you turned out to be the little problem. What's in it for me then, says I? Playing it all cool and coy. "The cushy number will continue!" Says them. Two blokes in suit and ties. You know. Men in black types. Oh, I want more than that lads. Make it worth my while and I'll consider it. So, anyway, here we all are. 200 grand in my daughter's bank account and here we all are.
Norman: I don't get it. This isn't what we do. Why would they involve you?
Bopper: Well, all I can tell you is what they told me.
Norman: What was that?
Bopper: They wanted to make it seem like a nutcase, I don't mind being called a nutcase, 'cause I am one. If it's true, say it, even if you're talking to a nutcase. Anyway, they wanted to make it look like a nutcase from your past had been stalking you, so they could get the SWAT lads to accidentally shoot you, as they were trying to save you from yours truly. Make sense now?
Norman: No.
Bopper: I can't help that. Talk to them if you don't believe me. Oh, wait a minute. You can't do that can't you. Cause you'll be dead. (He chuckles)
Norman: There's no way you're getting out of this alive, you know. If I go, so do you.
Bopper: I've told you about that. They'll be using me for other stuff once they've done you.
Norman: And you believe that?
Bopper: Why wouldn't they? How many old fogies do you know that would make top notch assassins? (Norman considers this) Yeah, you see, never thought of that, did you? Think you know it all, you. You'd be surprised. Who'd suspect a poor old, mad loser of ever being the next James Bond? Nobody! And if I ever did get caught and they used some truth drug on me, cause torture wouldn't work, me being hard as nails and all of that, and I started to blab about the government and MI5 and the secret service and my top secret missions, well, the government can always say, 'he's nuts, don't listen to him! He's been in and out of the nuthouse for the last 50 years!' Perfect. See? They can't lose, can they? Meanwhile, I get to live the life of Riley and my awful daughter gets to have her cake and eat it! They've got it all mapped out. And me, what have I got to lose? Absolutely nothing. 'As long as you don't want me to disappear any nice guys,' says I. 'Only horrible people, like Norman.'
Norman: And you fell for that? You're even dumber than you look.
Bopper: Hey, Mr brainy paedo gay lad, you're the one that's definitely going to die, not me. So you can fuck right off with your nasty comments. All right?
Norman: How is it going to happen? How am I going to be killed?
Bopper: Sniper. Got to be. Bullet in the brain. Night, night, Norman.
Norman: So, why do they need you? Why are you here?
Bopper: I keep telling you. You just don't fucking listen, do you? Look, see this? He draws back his coat secretively, in such a way that the police can't see) Got to protect the narrative, you see. You're not supposed to see this until the last minute. Watch this. (He makes stabbing motions behind his coat) See? It's plastic. It's just a toy, blade goes in and out. But when I take it out and do this, he makes a stabbing motion towards Norman, without the knife, and then I draw back when they say, 'Oy you, stop thief, stop your stabbing of that English gentleman!' That's when they shoot you. You see, they want to be able to say that they killed you, but it was friendly fire. They thought you were about get stabbed by a violent psycho with a knife. But, at the last minute, the violent psycho pulls back and you get shot instead of him. We rehearsed this. time and time again. They must've thought a nutcase would forget his lines. They never knew that I played hamlet or whatever it was at school. Well, I was in anyway. I can't remember what I played. I had lines though. You know, to remember? Fucking patronising bastards. I'm smarter than all them traitorous shithouses put together. Anyway, that's how it gonna get done. In, wait a minute, (he looks at his watch) bloody hell, Norman! You've got 2 minutes and 37 seconds to live, my son! Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? (Chuckles) 2.25, 24, 23, 22. (Norman tried to get away again)
Norman: Stop! Stop! Don't shoot! It's a set up! The government wants me dead! It's the gov... (Bopper gets his hand over Norman's mouth)
Bopper: Come on, Norman, don't spoil things! You're interfering with process. Behave yourself! You behaving like a big girls' blouse. Show a bit of decorum in these, the last moments of your horrible, little life! Oh, dear. Sorry lads, (He says this to the police/audience as Norman struggles) We're gonna have to bring the turkey shoot forward a tad. Norman's being a naughty boy. Needs his botty smacked. Good and hard! You ready? You ready, lads? Here we go then! (He takes the toy knife out of his waistband and displays it, smiling and chuckling, to the police/audience. Norman screams, he grabs his arm and manages to keep the knife at a distance - Before he fake-stabs Norman we hear a policeman yell 'put down the knife, put down the knife!') It's only a fucking toy, what's up with you! It's all right, Norman, they can edit that bit out. And A.I. these, days. There some marvellous stuff out there. ('Put the knife down now') Fuck off! I'm enjoying myself here! Acting well, I am! Could've been another Laurence Oliver, me! (He whispers) 'You ready, Norman? Time to say Tele bye byes.' He pulls away from Norman, and drops the knife, smiling and raising his arms.
Bopper: OK?
Shots ring out. His body jerks. He slumps, dead. Norman is left alive. (Spotlight on Norman - Lights fade on Loony - A voice is heard)
VOICE: How are you, Norman?
Norman: Good, sir. I'm good.
VOICE: No nightmares? Flashbacks?
Norman: No, sir. Nothing like that.
VOICE: You're booked for a mental health assessment. Sorry about that. Routine, I'm afraid. Just a chat, really. She's very good. Jenny Allsop. Do you know her?
Norman: Yes, sir. Not well, but we've met. Pleasant woman.
VOICE: Anything you want to say about the event?
Norman: Well, it was pretty hairy, for a moment there. Glad the boys in blue stepped up to the plate, to be honest. It wasn't my finest hour.
VOICE: How do you mean?
Norman: Well, I wasn't able to overcome him physically and nor was I able to resolve the situation amicably. The way it ended was unsatisfactory.
VOICE: I understand you were old school chums.
Norman: Hardly, sir. He blamed me for his expulsion. He was a bit of a bullyboy back then. I was one of the many unfortunates who suffered as a result. He was two years ahead of me. A big fellow. I, I'm afraid to say, was a bit of a weed. Just the type he liked to pick on.
VOICE: So, you think him meeting you like that was no coincidence?
Norman: I doubt it was a coincidence, sir. I've no idea how he got to know how I'd be there at that particular time. But, if he's been stalking me, I suppose he'd know my various routines, such as they are.
VOICE: In our line of work, Norman, routines can get you killed.
Norman: Yes, sir. Sorry about that.
VOICE: Anyway, Norman, take a few days off. A week even. We'll talk more about this when you get back.
Norman: Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. A short break would be most appreciated.
VOICE: And, Norman. Your latest flame.
Norman: Sir?
VOICE: The love interest. The Brixton boy. That's over now. Officially. Wouldn't want your sexual proclivities captured on some internet sleuth's mobile phone, now would we? Not the lad's complexion, of course, just the age, Norman. We're not Muslims yet, are we? Yours has been a fine career, Norman. It would be a pity for it to end ignominiously. You agree, of course.
Norman: I do, sir. I'll handle it.
VOICE: Make sure you do.
Norman: Yes, sir. (Fade)
THE END
It's what THEY want that matters.
Amos Goldberg, Professor of Genocide Studies at The Hebrew University in Jerusalem "Yes, it is genocide. It's so difficult and painful to admit it, but we can no longer avoid this conclusion. Jewish history will henceforth be stained"
I'm leaving. You can't keep me against my will. (
Just because I'm a fucking loony doesn't mean to say I lack intelligence.
# posted by SECRETS @ 20:58 
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