Bounty Hunters (2017–…): Season 2, Episode 1 - Episode #2.1 - full transcript

(dramatic music)

- I made an honest mistake.

- They're not gonna believe
anyone can be that stupid.

You're doing a PhD in History of Art.

- In 17th century Flemish textiles.

- [Woman] Blood antiquities
are being looted from Syria

by jihadist militants.

- We have a war crime in our kitchen!

- We are not hiring a bounty hunter.

- Barnaby?

- My dad's a crook, I'm
lying to the police.



- I shot a guy from a cartel!

You happy?

- The body count rises.

Who wants tea?

- [Leah] The statues are
worth at least $5 million,

I said I'd sell them to
the cartel for two million.

- You want me to go to Mexico?

- I need this money.

And so does Nina.

- Oh, that is, um, more-ish.

(crack)
(groans)

- Open it.

You earned it.

Two million dollars!



Of cocaine?

(moans)
(punches loudly)

(shouts in foreign language)

(jaunty theme music)

(groans from car)

(foreign language song)

(muffled yells)

- Ola, senor.

Por favor, uno, roomo.

Trying to make an effort.

- Two or double?

- Double, because we are a
married couple on holiday.

- Okay.

- Why the hell did you
tell him we were married?

- Because I didn't want
him asking questions.

- It's not Victorian England,

- Yes I know, but we do look
like a pretty odd couple.

- What the hell do you mean by that?

- So, how you wanna pay?

- Do you by any chance accept...

(slams)
Cocaine?

- Jesus Christ, we're in
Los Cartenas territory

and you just gave some schmuck

10 grand of their own coke.

- I'm sorry, I don't know
what the exchange rate is.

Oh, God, I always overpay on holiday.

- We are not on holiday!

You better wake up, kid,
or we'll both end up dead.

- You want me

to take your bags?
- No, no, all good, thank you.

We travel light.

Just the clothes on our
back and a, load of snort.

(birds cheeping)

- TV, bedroom, bathroom.

- What a dump.

- It's lovely.

(kicking from car)
- It used to be one room,

I make it two room.

- [Barnaby] Oh, very entrepreneurial.

- Think I left something in the car.

(man groans)

- This bed is very comfy,
bit of spring to it.

Bet it's seen a fair bit
of action in its time.

If these sheets could talk.

What's the toggage on that?

- Todgit?

- Toggage.

- Todgit?

(grunts and moans from outside)

This is lovely.

Have you visited Japan?

- No.

- De bano, de bano.

- You want me to show how to use toilet?

- Yes, thank you.

(Nina shouts and grunts)

(speaking in foreign language)

One always assumes but assumption

can be the mother of all failure.

Ooh, case in point.

(shouts and grunts)

Una moment.

Are you okay?

- Hmm!

(dramatic music)

(truck roars away)

- I wonder what's happened to Leah?

- After all the lies and shit
your sister put us through,

I could give two poo-poo's where she is.

- But we've got her cocaine.

- Our cocaine.
(comedy music on TV)

Listen Barnaby.

We're gonna be fine.

All we need to do is get new
passports, and some cash, and,

kill the drug lord in the trunk.

- Pull!

(gun fires twice)

(gentle orchestral music)

You're late

Grayson Perry's.

She wrote a piece in The Guardian

calling us a cultural cancer.

Pull!
(gun fires twice)

I have a job for you.

Nigel Walker's deposit box.

It's in the City of London vault.

200 feet below ground
boasting to 25 ton doors

capable of withstanding
a 30 megaton blast,

requiring both iris and voice recognition.

Interest.

(clock ticks loudly)

(projector beeps)

(projector beeps at picture change)

(speaks in German)

Adolf Hitler's only nude.

The Braun sisters, Eva,
Elsa, and Grandmother Gretel.

- Nigel Walker had it the whole damn time

so why aren't we turning
his store upside down?

- Softly, softly Keegan,
the man died at our house.

We need Barnaby Walker,

- Dead or alive.

- No, no.

We need him alive, he'll
lead us to the painting.

Feel free to dispose of Nina Morales.

(gun mechanism clicks)

- Good luck.

- What.

- No way!

- Shooting a guy who's all tied up

is a sneaky bitch ass move.

You should do it.

- I'm not a bitch ass.

Rock, paper, scissors?
(birds cheep)

(blows out)
(traffic hums on bridge)

One, two, three.

- [Both] One, two, three.

- One, two, three.

- What, so now you wanna kill him?

- What, no.

Paper beats rock.

- No it doesn't.

- Paper covers rock.

- So what the fuck is that gonna do?

The rock will just rip right through it!

- Sorry.

You think that rock can
beat paper and scissors?

- Obviously.

- That makes no sense.

In that scenario, who would pick paper?

- All right.

We'll toss a coin.

- Wait.

Tails, you kill him, heads, I kill him.

Oh, it's heads.

- Fair is fair.

- But it's not fair is it?

It's totally unsporting.

- Man up.

- Right, let's not resort to
crude gender stereotypes here.

Your womanhood should in no way

impact upon your abilities
to kill that man.

If anything, it entitles
you to murder him.

- Don't Beyonce me into this.

(gun clicks)

- Jesus Christ, just give me that.

(dramatic music)

(Nina groans)

(boot slams shut)

- 'Tis done?

(bangs from boot)

- He'll need to use bathroom.

I'll get my passport, you deal with that.

(car starts)
(alarm pings)

- Miss, er, Morales.
- Morales.

- You came to Mexico on vacation,

but you can't remember
what flight you were on.

Nor do you have a
ticket, or a credit card,

or any identification, and you want me,

to give you a US passport? (chuckles)

Lady, do I look like Santa Claus?

- You look like you ate Santa Claus,

and had his reindeer for dessert.

(church bell tolls)
(people chattering)

What are you doing?

What is that?

- I dealt with it.

- You untied him?

- No.

- So did he go?

(birds tweet)

- I held him.

- You what?

- I unzipped his flies and,

decanted him into a bottle of Fanta.

- You touched his dick?

- Yes.

- Jesus, Barnaby.

Better kill this guy before
he needs to take a dump.

- Hmm, how did it go in there?

- Not good.

- Maybe they'll let me
call the British Consulate.

- Okay, go waste your breath.

(rapid percussion)
- Here you go.

This might seem like a dumb question, but,

do you know Prince William?

- Yep, still here.

- A friend definitely can't travel with me

on my temporary passport.

What was that?

I can get a temporary passport

at the British Consulate in Cancun.

- But?

- But, you can't travel
with me as a friend.

- What the hell's that mean?

- Oh hell, no.

- Nina Morales.

- Get the fuck outta here!

- Will you make me the happiest--

- Get up!
- Okay.

(she sighs)
I don't like it, either.

(Tijuana brass bridal march)

- What are you grinning for?

- Just saying hello.

- What's up with your hair?

- I thought it would be nice

to make a little bit of an
effort for our special day.

- This is weird enough.

Please don't make it any weirder.

- Please join your hands before God.

Barnaby Mahler Walker,
- My lord!

- And Nina Maria Morales,

do you enter into marriage
freely, and wholeheartedly?

- I do.
- Sure.

- Will you celebrate each other's bodies

as man and wife to produce children,

raising them according
to the law of Christ?

- Can we ramp this up?

. Now you may exchange vows.

- What?

Vows?

- Nina, you have protected
me and comforted me

through thick and thin,
like a good Barbour jacket.

You've been my friend,
my source of strength,

and I feel I can cope with
whatever life throws at me

knowing that you will be at my side.

I know it can be hard putting
your feelings onto paper,

so just speak from the heart.

- Okay.

Barnaby, when I first met you,

I thought that you might have some type of

social, whatchamacallit?

- Awkwardness.

- Autism, but, then I realized

it was just a British thing, so.

- Thank you.

I'm overwhelmed.

- Well,

witness?

You need a witness otherwise

that marriage certificate is not legal.

(upbeat music)

(she sighs)

- You know, at some point we are

going to need your date of birth.

- September 4th,

- 19... 6... 70?

- Give me that.

- Padre, about the payment.

(clunk)

(Nina clears her throat)

- I also do baptisms and funerals.

(tense music)
(computer beeps)

- Got us a flight.

Leaves at midnight, goes via Toronto,

but beggars can't be choosers.

- Passports?

- Awaiting us in Cancun, Mrs. Walker.

- You do know I have a gun?

(people chattering)

- Understood.

- Right, now, you wanna talk about

how we're going to get that
cocaine back to London?

- What?

I don't deal in drugs in London Nina.

I mean here, you know,
when in Rome, but erm.

- You sell blood antiquities!

- That's just completely different.

Cocaine is responsible
for some terrible things.

You only have to walk round
Tate Modern to see that.

- What do you want Barnaby?

- I want to go home.

See my mum again, put this
whole nightmare behind me.

- Yeah, kid, I hear you, but
it ain't that easy, okay?

I hate drug dealers.

I spent my entire life
tracking those scumbags down,

but, we both have obligations.

So step up, at least for your family.

- Our family, technically.

(Mexican music on radio)
(pump whirs)

(speaking in foreign language)

(box rattles)
(dramatic music)

(truck doors slam)
(screeches away)

(he gags)

- Be careful, that thing
explodes inside of you

you'll die slowly.

- For the hundredth time,

I have a very sensitive gag reflex.

- Well, what won't go down must go up!

- What?

No, not for all the tea in China!

- Oh, come on.

- Why does it have to go up my bottom?

I mean technically, you
have a larger receptacle.

- Are you implying I have a fat ass?

- No, I meant, um...

- You mean my vagina?

- Yes.

Anatomically it is more, capacious,

- Ca-what?

- Voluminous, roomy.

- And how do you know
I have a roomy vagina?

- Not your vagina, the vagina.

- You were happy to put
a man's dick in a bottle.

- Happy?

I derived not an ounce of satisfaction

thumping that man's glans into a bottle.

This is ridiculous.

- You know your father died for this deal?

- Don't use that against me.

- All right, I'm sorry.

But right now we have absolutely nothing

to show for all the
shit we've been through!

You put this up your ass,

and I'll kill Angel.

(dispenser squeaks)

- I'm using some hand lotion
to lubricate the package.

- Don't need a commentary.

- I'm deflowering myself
in a hotel lavatory.

The least you could do
is show me some support.

You're supposed to be my--
- Don't say wife.

- Friend.

(dramatic music)

(purposeful footsteps)

(handle creaks)

(pants and gasps)

(sighs)

The package has been delivered.

Oy, get out!

- Shhh.

(door creaks open)

Is that my toothbrush?

Stay calm.

Shh, shh, shh, shh.

(gun clicks)

- Oh my God, I'm clenching.

- Stop it!

- How can I?

- It'll break.

- Get it out of me?

- What?

Ooh, no!
- Please.

The package is retreating.

(handle creaks)

(crash)

(door thumps shut)

(man groans)

Hello!

(thumps)
(man shouts)

(dramatic music)
(shouts and groans)

(loofah slaps)
(man shouts)

(Barnaby chokes)

(constant groans and moans)
(thumps and punches)

(toilet flushes)
(man roars)

(wall crashes)
(woman screams)

Don't let me interrupt.

Nina, help me.

(heavy kick)
(man cries out)

(speaking in foreign language)

Pull me through.

Sorry about this.

- Get the fuck outta here!

(squeals)

- Son of a...

(thumps and moans)

- Nina!

- Relax!

That's easy for you to say.

- [Nina] You can overdose!

- That is not relaxing.

- Oh, no, no, no, no, no.

- Ooh, what is that?

(door slams)

(speaking in foreign language)

(gunshot)

(thumps)
(Nina shouts)

(thumps and whacks)

(Nina pants)

Nina, a little help.

(groaning)

(crashes down heavily)

I think it's time to check out.

- Whoa!

(guns click)

(gun smacks him)
(heavy thump)

(rapid Tijuana brass wedding march)