Hustle (2004–2012): Season 3, Episode 3 - Whittaker Our Way Out - full transcript

You know sometimes I wish I'd never
heard the name, James Whittaker Wright.

There I am, just minding me own business,

running a little short con with Stace.
All of a sudden he shows up.

- The old ring scam, eh?
- Not now, mate. I'm busy.

Oh, come on, she's still roping in the mark.

You got time for a little action.

Or are you too wet behind the ears to try
your hand against a real crossroader?

Shoot.

I want to bet you I can bite my own eye.

All right. I'll have a little bit of that.

I'll tell you why I'll have a little bit of that,
because it can't be done.



I don't believe it.

What the hell are you doing?

The mark's all ready to go,
and you're sitting here drinking coffee.

Just having a chat
with me new best mate.

What does the lady want to bet
I can't bite my own eye?

Oh, don't be ridiculous.
You've obviously got a glass one.

This guy must think we're complete idiots.

- Yeah, now.
- James Whittaker Wright III.

Adi?s, muchachos.

Adi?s, freak.

My friends call me JW3,
and you know what?

You are the absolute spit of my own boy.

Oh, right, yeah, yeah. Listen.

If you put the bets on as well,
we might be able to cut you in.



Oh, sure.

I swear I haven't seen my son for 30 years,
but if he's turned out anything like you,

oh, I'd be the happiest man in town.
Yes, sir.

- Yes, good, thank you, yeah. If you could...
- Slim chance of that though.

I was always out grifting
or slam-dunked in the slammer.

- Poor little bastard never had a chance.
- Oh, dear, if you could just...

But you know what really hurt?
When his mom walked out,

I never even had a chance
to say goodbye to the boy.

If I could just... If I could just say goodbye
to someone who looks a bit like my boy,

- maybe I could get, like, closure?
- Fine, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.

Oh, hold up, you all right?

Just a touch of emphysema.

I like to be called Pa.

Goodbye, Son. And good luck.

Goodbye, Dad. Pa.

Excuse me. Where are you going?
You haven't paid for your dad's chips yet.

Well, well, well.
James Whittaker Wright III.

- Do you know this guy, Albie?
- No, no, no, no, but I know the name.

Yeah? How?

James Whittaker Wright I

was either the greatest financier
of the Victorian age

or the biggest fraudster in history.

- No one is quite sure.
- What he was that good?

Legend has it that he pulled off

the most outrageous cackle-bladder
there's ever been.

Apparently, he faked his own death,

standing there just as you are now,
in broad daylight,

surrounded by judge and jury
and the officers of the court.

Whittaker Wright had been running a scam
on the stock exchange,

but the banks double-crossed him.

Accused of fraud
and stripped of his assets,

James Whittaker Wright was sentenced
to 15 years hard labor at the Old Bailey.

Always the consummate grifter, however,
he had one more trick up his sleeve.

As he was being sentenced, he apparently
took poison, collapsing dead in court.

But grifting legend states
that this was the ultimate cackle-bladder.

He had put himself
into a state of suspended animation.

And when the court physician
could find no pulse or breath,

he was pronounced dead.

Well, that's great,
but who's the geezer with the moody eye?

Yeah. Yeah, that's what I'd like to know.

Now I believe that
someone is disrespecting me.

That's the problem
when you have my reputation.

You think JW3 is like some gunslinger?

Come in to town to try his hand
against the fastest con in the West?

No, no, no, no, no.
He's not after our money.

No, no, no,
he's sending me a big message,

lit up in six-foot neon lights.

Yeah, what's it say?
"Kiss my arse, suckers"?

No, no, no, it says,
"Go to Lea Park, Surrey."

Doesn't look like much today.

But 100 years ago,
it was the glory of the Victorian age.

Oh, blimey, I bet that didn't come cheap.

And the whole caboodle was built
and paid for by James Whittaker Wright.

- Who was a hustler?
- Oh, no, no, let's say a speculator.

He was a financial wizard
who made a fortune selling big dreams.

He began his career peddling
phony gold mines to the hungry dreamers

who flocked to the Old West
in search of El Dorado.

Whittaker Wright had a prodigious talent

for selling empty promises
to those happy enough to believe them.

You know what?
I'm actually starting to like this guy.

Yeah. My great-grandpappy sure had style.

I see you got my message.

Well, any grifter would be intrigued

to learn more about
the legendary J. Whittaker Wright.

If you're talking about cons
in the American West,

my grandpappy
pretty much wrote the book.

So why did he come to the UK?

Yeah, sounds like he was doing
pretty good over there.

Nickels and dimes.
The big money was in the city.

My grandpappy reckoned
that he could make a bundle

floating his dummy gold mine companies
on the London Stock Exchange.

Whittaker Wright
took the banks for millions.

Until banks like Cornfoots conspired
against him to bring about his downfall.

Sadly true.

So, I'm gonna avenge my grandpappy
and commemorate his greatest con.

- What do you say, huh, partner?
- Partner?

No, I thought this was
pistols at dawn and one breakfast.

I had to get your attention somehow.

- Well, I only come as part of a team.
- Oh, fine.

But if you've just trained up
a bunch of short-order flops,

we may have to find ourselves
a real crew of hustlers.

How did you track us down?

I heard Albert was in town,

so I just checked into the second most
expensive casino in London

and waited for you to mosey along.

Ah, right, so where's the first
most expensive casino, then?

The London Stock Exchange, of course.

Albert, I'm not sure about JW3.

It's one thing
to turn over a crooked individual.

It's quite another
to shakedown a merchant bank.

- So the money is scaring you?
- Of course it does.

We deal in thousands, Albert.
They deal in millions.

What is the art of the con, Mickey?
I mean, to con an ordinary citizen?

Ah, no, that's too easy.

The true art of the con
is to con another con.

And some of the biggest tricksters
on the planet are in those buildings.

They don't care if they cheat
some widow out of her pension,

or a family man loses his savings.

It's all the same to them, you know,
a six figure bonus, a company Merc...

Don't you think that they deserve
a taste of their own medicine?

- But can we trust JW3?
- Of course not.

But we might learn something.

Michael, no one has run a con like this
in over 100 years.

And the only thing we don't know is how
and when he intends to double-cross us.

- But that's part of the attraction, right?
- For a real grifter, it's the only attraction.

Okay, the biggest store ever. We're on.

So how's this thing going to work, then?

We're going to launch
the Chad Mining Company

which will issue shares
to fund exploration for oil.

Our oil company will be just as phony
as Whittaker Wright's gold mines,

and just like him we'll be floating
our company on the stock exchange.

We can't do that
without a respected merchant bank.

So we're going after Cornfoots,
the bank that screwed my grandpappy.

Okay. So let's take a look at our marks.

Quenton Cornfoot,
Head of Corporate Finance.

He's their roper. He romances the clients
and brings in the business.

I've taken the liberty of preparing

a mock-up of the kind of thing
we might be able to do for you.

Mr. Lindeman. Please, it's my treat.
Can I tempt you to a brandy or a cigar?

And this is Charles Cornfoot,
Head of Trading.

He's the shakedown artist.

Because once you sign up
with a merchant bank,

there is a fee for everything,

and they will make their money
whatever happens.

All banks are greedy,

but Charles Cornfoot has an insatiable
appetite for other people's money.

You know, share prices
can go down as well as up.

Can I have a glass
of your best brandy, please?

Oh, and you'd better bring
the cigar box back.

Whitaker Wright
underestimated the bank's greed.

But we're going to use that greed
to turn the tables on them.

Stacie, you will be our inside woman,

working for the bank as an analyst
and feeding information back to us.

And, Ash, you will be our oil expert
who sets the rumors running.

And Albert and JW3 will play the parts

of the foolish investors
who drive up the share price.

Finally, we need someone
to front the company.

Ideally, we need a person
who's completely obnoxious.

A brash, ignorant flash Harry...

Yeah, a mouthy, full-of-himself,
know-nothing barrow boy

who'll instantly get right up the
toffee noses of every banker in the city.

Get in there!

Eh?

Oi, easy tiger.

- Does sir usually dress to the right?
- No, mate. I always vote New Labour.

So swinging to the right it is, then, sir.

Morning. Gilbert Manning,
Human Resources.

We're expecting
that new graduate intake today.

Oh, yes, I got the memo.
You want them to go straight up, yeah?

No, there's been
a cock-up in Office Services.

So now they're redecorating,
like, the entire floor.

We're gonna have to take them
to the Bank of England instead.

- It's all right for some, isn't it?
- Yeah, isn't it?

Look, I'll be waiting over there.

Just send them across to me
when they arrive, all right?

- Okay.
- That's a nice color on you.

Check it out, kids. Look at that, beautiful.

Danny, Danny,
you're supposed to be the brash city type,

but, you know, try not to overdo it,
all right?

I get it. So I gotta let them see me,
you know, for who I am.

Yeah. So don't draw attention
to your performance.

Relax, let them do some of the work.

Bit of pink.

Hello, I'm part of Cornfoots'
new graduate intake.

Oh, yes, they're just waiting for you
over there.

Thank you.

So subtle performance, yeah?
I can do subtle.

Yeah, we know you can.

A little less Jordan,
a little more classy like Charlotte Church.

You're incorrigible, Danny.

Hello, Gilbert Manning,
Deputy Head of Personnel. And you are?

Melissa DeMonfort.

Welcome on board, Melissa. Please.

- This is Ffion, a fellow fresher.
- Hello.

- Did you get your signing-on bonus?
- Oh, yes. Thanks.

I couldn't believe the size of it.

All right, as I was explaining to Ffion here,
there's been a slight hitch.

- You don't want it back, do you?
- No, no, no, no, no.

Some idiot has decided
to refurbish your offices.

So I'm going to have to ask one of you
to come back in a month's time.

- You mean, take paid leave?
- Yes.

- I don't mind. I really, really don't.
- Okay.

Hang on.

I have to start work
and she gets a month's holiday?

Well, I was here first.

Oh, don't be ridiculous.
What's that got to do with it?

All right, ladies, ladies.
Let's toss a coin, shall we?

- Melissa, you call.
- Heads.

Heads it is.

So, Melissa, you get the chance
to spend your signing-on bonus.

We'll see you in a month's time
with a suntan.

Thanks. I'll send you a postcard.

You have a double first in Maths
and a PhD in Astrophysics.

A PhD in Astrophysics?
So you're good with figures?

Who isn't with a calculator?

So what's the square root of 74,088?

272.1911 and the cube is 42.

So where do you want me to start?
On the trading floor or in the back office?

- You can start by making us a cup of tea.
- And don't forget the biccies.

That's very cheap.

Yes, it's a special introductory offer,
sir, yeah.

Everything steam cleaned,
and we even scrape your bottom.

Don't you need a dry dock for that?

Yeah, we've got one in our yard.
It's just over the water there.

- All right, have her back by tomorrow.
- Right.

Okay, let's up and at 'em.

Now, you can't go to them.
They're a merchant bank.

They're not interested in clients
who are interested in them.

- Important customers have to be seduced.
- Right.

- Well, they don't know me from Adam.
- I fear not.

Which is why you might need this
to make a bit of a splash.

Remember our friend Whittaker Wright?

He knew that to float
on the stock exchange,

it's not what you've got that counts.
It's what people think you've got.

Greed is the only vital ingredient
in a mark.

And nothing glitters quite like gold.

It helps if they think you're an idiot.

Do you do valet parking
for your VIP clients?

- Naturally, sir, but...
- Hang on to that, son.

I'm parked outside on the yellow line.

Where's the Director of Corporate Finance,
sweetheart?

Down there on the right, but excuse me,
have you an appointment?

What the...

All right! Stop fannying about.
Let's get down to work.

Where's this prospectus I been promised?

- Who the hell are you?
- Chad Mining Company.

- Never heard of them.
- Well, there's nothing in the diary.

I'm sorry,
I'm going to have to ask you to leave.

Oi, mush.

I come a long way for this meeting,
sunshine, so let's be having you.

- You'd better call Security.
- Listen, arsewipe.

If this is the way that Chartered & Mutual
treat their special customers,

then I'm going to have to find
another bloody bank, ain't I,

to float my company on the Stock Market?

- We're not Chartered & Mutual.
- We're Cornfoots.

Well, where the hell's
Chartered & Mutual, then?

It's the next building along.

Are you telling me that I've walked
into the wrong bloody merchant bank?

It would seem so.

What am I like, eh?

I feel like such a berk.

Don't give it a second thought.
Could've happened to anyone.

So you say Chartered & Mutual

are going to float your company
on the stock market?

Yeah. Giving it the full works, they tell me.

Did you talk to any other merchant banks

before putting your business
with Chartered?

No. There's no point, is there?

I mean, if Sienna Miller wants
to get into bed with you,

you don't go down to the local boozer
to see what else is on offer, do you?

Well, Madonna drinks in my local,
as does Claudia Schiffer and Kate Moss.

Not to mention Kelly Brook.

So it may be worth
shopping around after all.

No, no, I'm not interested,
not interested at all.

Right, Chartered & Mutual,
next building along, right?

It's a nice boat.

I really think you should hear
what Cornfoots have to offer.

What about over lunch?

Some other time maybe.

Chartered & Mutual,
they're up there waiting for me.

Let 'em wait.

A good merchant bank should always be
willing to wait on a valued client.

I know we are.

Nice to have you on board.

Speaking of which, all right to leave
me boat here while I check into the hotel?

- I'll tell the porter.
- Good, good.

And while you're at it, get him to give it
a bit of a swab up with a cloth, all right?

He'll get straight on to it.

And then get him to take it to its moorings
in the Surrey Quays.

Of course.

See? They hate me already.

She's nice.
I hope she's working on my launch.

Oh, she's just one of the new
graduate intakes...

Good. Make it happen.

So what do you think, sweetheart?

Do you think I'm going to make money,

or do you think
I'm going to make lots of money?

Well, looking at these proposals, there are
a number of aspects that worry me.

Details, I'm sure.

But nobody's ever found oil
in northern Chad

or even suggested
it's a remote possibility.

- Is that a problem?
- That's for the market to decide.

That's what I thought.

'Cause you know what the collective noun
for bankers is, don't you?

It's a wunch. As in, a wunch of bankers.

You stupid little girl!
Who the hell do you think you are?

Don't you ever open your mouth
in front of a client like that again.

You understand me?

Don't you care
what we're offering the public?

Of course not.

We just stack the shelves,
we don't set the prices.

So there isn't any kind of company
you wouldn't float on the market?

No, that's not true.

Only last week we turned down a guy
who wanted to launch

a company selling toilet/bidets.

- Even we thought that was a stinker.
- Literally.

If there's one thing I really enjoy,
it is poaching clients from someone else.

So what I want you to do is draw up
a prospectus that makes this crock

look like a pot of gold
at the end of the rainbow.

And see if you can rustle up an oil
consultant who's prepared to be flexible.

About his fee?

No, about the chances of finding oil
in northern Chad.

- Ash?
- Yeah, I'm up here.

Stacie seems to be making good progress.
How's your oil consultancy?

Good, just getting
me presentation together for Cornfoots.

What is the worst case scenario
for the oil industry at the moment?

$100 a barrel by 2007, all known reserves
exhausted 20 years later.

Well, I think

you'll need to do much worse than that
if you're going to convince these bankers.

These figures make
pretty grim reading, Mr. Brahe.

Yeah, yes, it's very bad.

$150 a barrel in two years' time
and all known reserves exhausted by 2020.

No wonder the oil companies
want to keep this to themselves.

But anyone in the know
stands to make a killing.

So what do you hear about northern Chad?

Nothing at the moment.
It is in the middle of a war zone.

But it could be possible, I suppose.

- You want me to look into it, yeah?
- Oh, yeah. We'll put you on a retainer.

Whittaker Wright knew that the key
to the stock exchange was propaganda,

so he'd let loose rumors

that flew around the city.

Each rumor built the value of his stock
until his worthless holdings

had become the most precious commodity
on the market.

So, apparently, there's oil in Chad?

Yes, there are rumors all over the Internet.

Your oil consultant's
really doing a business.

- Stacie's doing a good job, isn't she?
- Yeah, yeah.

Apparently, she just has to express
an opinion to provoke a reaction.

Well, she is
a very provocative young woman.

So are you and JW3 ready to play
the part of the foolish investors?

- Are there any other kind?
- No.

But watch your back with JW3.
Remember, he's a grifter, too.

Are you okay?
Do you think I should call a doctor or...

No, no, no, I prefer to treat myself.

Hopefully to at least
a couple of million dollars!

Yeah.

Cornfoots?

Sign here, love.

Lovely. Ta.

Well, that isn't good enough.
We couriered you our offer last week.

Well, I'm sorry.
But Cornfoots have no record of it.

Criminy, what kind of half-assed
operation are you running here?

Could this be it? But it's only just arrived.

One million dollars.

Well, I'm afraid, gentlemen,
you are too late.

The Zinc Holdings subscription
closed three days ago.

You moron!

I told you we should have
delivered it here, personally.

- What are you? The mail boy now?
- Listen, dunderhead.

You don't give a guy
in a motorcycle helmet a million bucks

- unless he's got a shotgun in his hand.
- I wish I had a shotgun in my hand.

What kind of investment opportunities
are you looking for?

We like commodities.

- Coffee, cotton, pork bellies...
- Oil?

Oil, sure.

But the commodity we like best is risk.

- How much risk?
- As much as we can get.

Then, gentlemen,
I think I may be able to help you.

Hang on.

So the shares can't be traded
until after the flotation, right?

Yeah, investors can only subscribe
to the shares now.

They don't actually get
their certificates until

after we're officially quoted
on the stock market.

All right, and we're selling them
at a quid a go?

That's right.

So what's this price here?
And how come we ain't getting it?

Oh, that's a futures market.

That trades in
the future price of our shares.

Oh, I get it.

So the action ain't on the shares for sale,
but on the ones we're holding back?

That's certainly the way
J. Whittaker Wright saw it.

Whittaker Wright always held on

to at least half of the shares
in his companies,

only cashing them in
when his rumors had run their course

and the floatation day arrived.

By this stage,
his stock was worth a fortune!

Whittaker Wright's success
was soon to prove his downfall.

The banks didn't like to see
anyone make more money than them.

And it wasn't long
before they came after him.

Ahoy!

All right, playmates, who's coming out
for a bit of a beano, then?

What?

A beano, a brew, a little bevvy.
Come on, get rid of all this stuff.

What are you celebrating?

The latest city wonderkid's
first spectacular deal.

- My treat. Bolly and Krug, all the way.
- We're working, I'm afraid.

Hang on a minute.
Who's the bleeding client here?

- You are.
- That's right.

You are, me am, if I jolly well want
to jolly go on a jolly up

then you, you and missy
had jolly well better jolly along, too.

Naturally, we would be delighted
to celebrate your good fortune.

And there's an old Cornfoots Bank
tradition that any evening out

always begins with a round or two
of Liar's Poker.

- Are you familiar with the game?
- No.

You guess the serial numbers
on ?50 notes.

Listen, don't worry about the ?50 quid
notes, 'cause I got a pocket full of 'em.

Gentlemen never play for cash
amongst themselves.

No, what do they play for then? Buttons?

Forfeits, of course.
Just as we did at olly, olly big school.

Five sixes.

Six sevens.

- Six nines.
- Nine sixes.

Bollocks, Charles.

- You don't think I could make nine sixes?
- I don't.

Challenge, none.

I've got three sixes.

- Three of the same.
- And I've got three sixes.

Which, I believe, makes nine in total.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine!

Oi! Did you have to hit me
that bleeding hard?

I wouldn't have hit you that hard
if you'd lost.

Yeah, but playing for the bank,
I was never going to, was I?

God, it's not a bad business, is it?

Any nutter walks in here with any idea,
and you make money whatever happens.

Yeah, just about.

Although some ideas are even too crazy
for crooks like them.

Come off it, they're sewer rats.

Yeah, but even so,
this guy came in here last week

trying to launch a company
selling toilet/bidets.

- What, it's a toilet and a bidet?
- Yeah.

Charles turned him down.
Said it reminded him of you, actually.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah, apparently, when it's not
squirting pointlessly, it's just full of shit.

Oi, Kojak, give me two more bottles
of jubbly, all right?

And stick it on the Cornfoots tab, all right?

All right, lads?

What a charmless oik.

It sticks in my throat
to see some Johnny-come-lately

wander in
and take the piss out of my investors.

Exactly. That's our job, isn't it?

He's quite ghastly.

And he's going to be even more ghastly
once his company's floated.

But there's nothing we can do about it,
is there?

Says who?

Come on, look at the price of his shares.
He stands to make a fortune.

Not if we short the hell out of him.

Bingo.

But you can't do that.
You'd be selling shares you don't own.

- That's illegal.
- Who cares?

We sell hard enough,
the price will collapse

and we'll buy them all back
the next day for peanuts.

So no one will know
we didn't have them in the first place.

All we need is for someone
to start a new rumor.

Sounds like a job for our oil consultant.

He'll need to move fast if we're gonna
trash Chad Mining before quotation day.

You know these rumors
you've been spreading?

Well, if there's any oil in northern Chad,
I'm a Dutchman.

- No, I'm the Dutchman.
- Ah, yeah.

Anyway, it's time to put a stop to them.

Why would you want to do that?

It's always a turn-on to see a pole dancer
standing on her head, isn't it?

Makes everything sort of
hang out a bit more, doesn't it?

Yes, for sure.

It's a bit like your rumors.

Why don't you see if you can't
stand them on their heads, too?

You are coming to me with a big ask,
a very big ask.

Yes, but a pole dancer
normally gets triple her fee for it.

So why shouldn't you?

The banks began to plot his downfall.

He had taught them the power of rumors,
and now they decided to launch their own.

With the market already worried about
the value of the stock,

the bank began to sell.

Nothing drives the value of a company
down more effectively

than a bank selling its shares
hard and fast.

And that's just what Cornfoots did.

They sold and sold and sold some more.

Sell, sell, sell. And sell some more.

So the more the price drops,
the more money we make.

And how do we get the price to drop?

We sell, of course, and keep selling.

But won't we eventually
run out of buyers?

Not until it hits zero.

And in the meantime, I've got a couple
of scrawny-necked American turkeys

who are gonna peck at anything.

So make sure you keep
your wits about you.

Or better still, about me.

Now that's the sort of dream
the city should be offering the public.

Bastards, you know all our
anticipated profits are going up in smoke.

Because we're being sold short
by our own bastard bank.

Yeah, well,
that's the stock market for you, innit?

They did the same thing
to JW3's grandfather.

- So what are we going to do, then?
- Keep on buying, of course.

Just let me get this straight, all right?

We're buying our own company
for more than we're selling it, all right.

And what's more,
we're buying it several times over.

All on tick, all with money
that we don't even have.

Yep.

Well, this is nuts.

We've seen the rumors,
but we have an inside track of our own.

We still want to buy long,
if that's the technical term.

Well, I'm sure your bravery
will be rewarded.

- We just need to set a floor and a limit.
- Oh, no floor.

We'll chase the market all the way down.

And no limit.
We'll take all the action we can get.

With his stock worthless, the bank began
to asset strip Whittaker Wright,

taking everything he had grifted so hard
to own and lining their own pockets.

They even had the shirt off his back.

Okay, we'll stop there.

I didn't really think you could sell it
right down to zero.

Who can't?

Time for one last spin of the wheel, guys.
Keep selling!

- Keep going.
- Come on.

You've done it!
You've actually bloody done it.

You've driven the price down to zero.

Here's to Chad Mining, the most worthless
company in the whole wide world.

Come on, cheer up.

Because not only do we own
the whole of Chad Mining company,

but we own it several times over.

- We bought all the shares?
- That's right.

And at 9:00 a.m. Tomorrow morning,
we're pledged to buy them all over again.

A hundred times over, and maybe
for 1,000 times more than their worth.

- But that... I mean that's mad.
- Yes, it is.

But there is method in our madness.

One hour of trading left.

All right, guys. Party's over, start buying.

This is almost as stacked as you are.

We're pledged to sell
millions of shares tomorrow

at prices ranging
from ?10 each to 10 pence.

That's right. And now we're going
to cover that position

by buying them all back at a penny a go.

Now that's what you call a profit.

Hang on.
Nobody is selling at a penny a share.

Well, go long at 2p a share

or 3p. We can afford it.

Still no takers, and I've gone to 5p a share.

What's going on? That crap's worthless.

Any holder should be happy
to give them away.

Still drawing a blank.

Yeah, okay, that's great.

Well, that's it.
When the market opens tomorrow,

Chad Mining will be officially quoted
on the stock exchange.

Maybe we should convene
a shareholders meeting.

Okay, so, gentlemen,
does anyone feel like selling a single share

of the Chad Mining Company
to Cornfoots tomorrow?

- Not me.
- Nor I.

And what about you? It's your company.
You still own half the shares.

So if we don't sell them our shares,
they can't sell them back to us.

Isn't that a breach of contract?

Yes, a very serious one,
with very serious penalties.

If the bank can't sell the shares
they're pledged to sell, they're stuffed.

And they'd have to pay out for every
single day they can't sell those shares.

Well, that's brilliant.
So it's like compound interest.

In fact, it's better than compound interest.

It's like... Christ, it's like having
your own bleeding bank.

The shares can't just vanish.
They must be out there somewhere.

Keep trading in the Far East
and in New York.

Someone must sell eventually.

They'd better, or tomorrow
we're all completely and royally buggered.

Forget about the market.

Our charmless oik of a client
is still holding 50%% %, isn't he?

So we can buy what we need from him.

All right, kid.
Here's a simple propositional bet.

I'll give you 10-to-one
you turn over a picture card before I do.

I'll even let you shuffle first.

Ten-to-one.

I'll shuffle.

Nine of diamonds.

- Four of spades.
- I saw you peeking. Less of that, please.

Nine of club.

Hey, the last one over it.

- Just lost the bet, haven't I?
- Big time.

Hello, Charlie.

Listen, gents,
I mean, I'd love to help you out.

Really I would.

But unfortunately,
none of my shares are for sale.

You can name your own price. Anything.

I know.

So who's "Mr. Squirting
Full of Shit Toilet/Bidet" now, then?

I'll see you tomorrow, all right,

when Chad Mining officially opens
on the stock market.

See ya.

Well, all the talk here on the trading floor
is about the Chad Mining flotation.

After a roller-coaster week
on the futures market,

it's anyone's guess
what the opening price may be.

Well, ?15.

- So why's the price still rising?
- Come on, Eddie, keep up.

Cornfoots are driving
the price up themselves.

Yeah, and watch how high it goes
when they really start to panic.

It don't matter, all right,
what they offer for our shares,

we ain't selling.

This is going to be some blow off.

The cackle-bladder
is the ultimate blow off.

There's nothing quite as effective
as faking your own death.

And if you want to make it
really convincing,

you are going to need a phony physician.

Dr. John Grant.

Good morning, I'm doing the rounds,
giving the department its annual check-up.

- What? You can't possibly do that now.
- It is in our diary.

And without it,
I'm afraid I cannot authorize

your annual
increase in pension provisions.

Under the circumstances,
it may be the last one we ever get. So...

Oh, all right,
but you'll need to do it very quickly.

Of course.

And just breathe normally, please.

The Chad Mining people have arrived.

We'll have to continue this later.

- Fine, I'll come back tomorrow.
- No, you won't. You'll wait there.

There are your settlements.

A million sterling. Thank you.

We'll be back tomorrow
for the same amount.

Oh, unless the share price rises again.

Of course you do know our other partner,
don't you?

Hello, Charlie. Remember me?

You're all in this together.

I'll go to the police, the financial regulator.

And say what? That this bank's
more crooked than we are?

Insider dealing, driving the market,

selling your own clients short.

It sounds like a fast route to prison to me.

A hundred years ago,
this bank destroyed my grandpappy.

And now, gentlemen, it's payback time.

Well, well, well. They say
revenge is a dish best served cold.

This sounds positively icy.

You're James Whittaker Wright's
grandson?

Yep. And with these options to buy,

I can make your bank pay
and keep on paying as long as I like.

Hang on there, hang on.
There is such a thing as too much greed.

Perhaps we could offer you guys a deal.

- Anything.
- That goes for me, too.

You did say anything.

Why aren't you thrashing her, too?

- Be much more fun.
- Because I'm a gentleman.

And just for that,
we ain't gonna sell you the shares.

You filthy crook! I should beat the living...

Hey, hey, come on, hey.

- He's not breathing.
- What?

- I can't feel a pulse.
- Call the doctor!

- Dial 999?
- No, you stupid...

The moron waiting in my office.

I'm afraid this gentleman is dead.

I'd better call the coroner's office.

You assaulted him.

- It was an accident. I...
- Tell that to the police.

At the very least,
I'd say you're looking at manslaughter.

- Manslaughter?
- Yeah, that's 10 years minimum.

I can't go to prison! I didn't mean...

I'm a banker, not a murderer.

You got to help me.

Well, I suppose
we could make this go away.

You could? How?

Of course we'd need the checks
for another day's settlement.

Make sure you make them out for cash.

My colleague was an old man
who had a heart condition.

Yes, it's terrible, really. I mean...

The old guy just...
He just collapsed on his seat.

Well, what about the doctor?

We'll talk to him
and tell him what happened.

As for you, I'd like you to go home

and come back tomorrow
as if nothing had happened.

Except, we've just lost
two million plus of the bank's money.

Well, share prices can go up,
as well as down.

Charles, we should go.

All right, you can get up now.

Come on, stop messing around.

Hey. I can smell almonds.

- What's that?
- Cyanide!

- What's going on here?
- His heart's stopped.

No, he's having a laugh.

Come on, J., we ain't got all day.

No, he's still not breathing!

"Dear Albert, you had better sit down."

That's right.

I really took cyanide.

And the name's not Whittaker Wright,

it's Bill Clegg.

I spent my life working
for the Chorley Asbestos company

until this rotten bank took us over.

They stripped out the assets,

trashed the pension fund,
bankrupted the place.

And the fact that half the workers
turned out to have asbestosis,

didn't bother them, neither.

So when I was diagnosed as terminal,

I decided to become JW3
and take my revenge.

I sent all the details
to the regulator this morning,

so the settlements are worthless.

But there's still enough to send Charles
to the pen for a long time

and put his bank out of business.

Apparently, Clegg really enjoyed
working with us,

and he's sorry he can't reimburse us
for our time and expenses.

But he now suggests
we exit via the back entrance

because the Fraud Squad
are coming in the front any minute.

You bastard.

Oh, don't greave for me too much.
I only had a few weeks left in me anyway.

So instead of pretending to take cyanide,
I took it.

So it's not a cackle-bladder,
it's a double-bluff cackle-bladder.

Right, come on, everyone.

We wipe this place clean
and get out of here.

Come on, let's go, let's go!

Come on, you're late.
We need to get out of here.

- Where's JW3?
- Back there. Dead.

- What?
- And he's not JW3.

- And he's not even American.
- Come on.

You know, this thing is going to be
all over the papers by tomorrow.

We're going to have to split up
for a few weeks, make with some alibis.

Albert, check into a hospital.
Danny, Stacie, if you...

Oh, no, wait a second, wait a second.

He said "penitentiary."

In the letter to Albert, he said,

"There's enough evidence to send Charles
to the pen for a long time."

No real Northerner
would ever use that word.

No, they'd say "behind bars"
or "in prison" or something, but...

- Who would use the word "pen"?
- Only an American.

An honest to God,
salute the star-spangled banner,

genuine Yankee Doodle dandy,
son of Uncle Sam.

We have been privileged to meet
one of the greatest artists

of our chosen profession.

Look, would somebody
please tell me what's going on, then?

Not a cackle-bladder.

Not a double-bluff cackle-bladder.

But a double, double-bluff cackle-bladder.

All the settlement checks are gone,
as well.

So much for being worthless.

Okay, okay, let's think, let's think.

Albert, you've just come round
from suspended animation,

you've got two million plus
of money orders in your back pocket,

you've just successfully blown off
your fellow team of boosters,

what do you do next?

You're headed for the airport
and get the first plane out of here.

Well, of course you can upgrade
to first class, Mr. Wright,

but you will need to run
to catch your flight. It's already boarding.

Oh, I'm a little old for that these days.

Can I ride on the caboose instead?

What do you want to bet
I can't bite my own eye?

A month or more solid work and all we've
got to show for it is egg on our faces.

Well, that seems a small price to pay
to witness a beautiful thing.

And I was wrong.

The true art of the con
is not to con a fellow con...

But to con a fellow con
who is expecting to be conned.

As you say, I tip my hat to the old snake.

We all received a valuable lesson
that money can't buy.

Even at my age,
you're never too old to learn.

Yeah, very philosophical,
but philosophy won't pay the rent.

No, but I will.

How?

Remember that toilet/bidet idea?

Well, I liked the sound of it,

so I bought a couple of grands worth
of shares in the company before it floated.

Great. So now we're looking
at an even bigger loss.

No, not at all.

Apparently the Japanese
can't get enough of it.

It's supposed to be the biggest thing
in Tokyo since they invented the futon.

- What, so the share price just goes up?
- Oh, yeah, I've got 25 grand already.

Then you really are Mr. Toilet/Bidet.

Well, I'm not one to boast, but...

There are a lot of different stories

about what happened
to James Whittaker Wright

after his adventures in the city.

I don't really know what the truth is,

but I like to think
that somewhere along the way,

he found his own little
piece of grifting heaven.