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Mutter.| TROUT enters the pub, curtly greets the barkeeper, who is busy polishing glasses with a nod. He walks passed the restrooms and enters a back room trough a low door. Without taking a look, he closes the door behind him. When he finally surveys the scene, he staggers back, startled by the sight that greets him: the whole room is filled with young men, lying motionless like broken dolls. TROUT: Sweet Mother of Mercy! What the hell happened? TROUT (shouts): STEWARD! Get the fuck in here – and make it snappy. After a minute, the barkeeper STEWARD sticks his head inside the room. STEWARD: Mister Trout? The scene before him finally registers, his facial expression changes to being stunned. STEWARD: Oh my god – what the fuck? TROUT (enraged): You tell me, asshole. This is your pub – explain to me how half a dozen of my men can be lying here, with their necks fucking broken! Explain this, you little piece of shit! STEWARD (whispers): Mister Trout, I haven’t got the slightest clue … TROUT: I really am stricken with a bunch of fucking useless amateurs, aren’t I? Isn’t there a single man in this god-forsaken city that can get a handle on this bastard? Gods, but this frustrating … TROUT quickly walks towards the door. TROUT: Get a team of cleaners in here to clear the mess up. And don’t get anyone killed in the process – if that isn’t too much to ask. Stupid arseholes! TROUT snaps his cell phone open and speed-dials a number. TROUT: Hey honey – you okay? Everything alright? TROUT: Yes, but I’ll come over now. … See you in a minute, pumpkin. TROUT snaps the phone shut. He shoots STEWARD a final dark look before making for the door. Exit TROUT STEWARD scratches his stubble and surveys the carnage. STEWARD: That really is one mean machine. Wouldn’t want to find myself on HIS fucking list, that’s for sure. Holy fucking cow – what a mess! STEWARD takes a cell phone out of his pocket and dials a number. |
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