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: [roused from his drunken stupor
] I need to have a shite.
: Well, do you want to do it? Mickey
: That depends. Turkish
: On what? Mickey
: On you buying this caravan. Not the rouge one, the rose. Turkish
: It's not the same caravan. Mickey
: It's not the same fight. Turkish
: It's twice the fucking size of the last one. Mickey
: Turkish, the fight is twice the size. And me ma still needs a caravan. I like to look after me ma. It's a fair deal. Take it. Turkish
: Mickey, you're lucky we aren't worm food after your last performance. Buying a tart's mobile palace is a little fucking rich.
[Realizes his mistake
: I wasn't calling your mum a tart. I just meant... Mickey
: Ah, save your breath for cooling your porridge. Now, look... Mickey
: She wants the Hector-2 roof lights, uh... the stylish ash-framed furniture and the scatter cushions with the matching shag pile covering. Mickey
: Right. And she's terrible partial to the periwinkle blue, boys. Have I made myself clear, boys? Turkish
: Yeah, that's perfectly clear, Mickey. Yeah... just give me one minute to confer with my colleague.
: Did you understand a single word of what he just said?
: I bet ya can box a little, can't ya sir? Aye, you look like a boxer.
: Good dags. D'ya like dags? Tommy
: Dags? Mickey
: What? Mrs. O'Neil
: Yeah, dags. Tommy
: Oh, dogs. Sure, I like dags. I like caravans more.
: I'm sorry, Mickey. Mickey
: Did ya do it? Then why are ya sorry?
: Deadly kick for a fat fucker, ya know that? Gorgeous George
: [throws Mickey into the fence
] Cheeky bastard!
: The deal was you bought it like you saw it. Hey, look, I've helped you as much as I'm going to help you. See that car? Just use it for you're not welcome anymore. You should fuck off now while you still got the legs to carry you. Gorgeous George
: Nobody... Mickey
: Nobody brings a fella the size of you unless they're trying to say something without talking, right boy? Tommy
: Sorry, Mickey. Just give our money back and you can keep the caravan. Mickey
: Why the fuck do I want a caravan that's got no fucking wheels?
[Gorgeous rushes Mickey
: You want to settle this with a fight? Mrs. O'Neil
: Over my dead body! Now, go on! Go on! I'll not have you fighting! You know what happens when you fight. Mickey
: Get her to sit down. For fuck's sake! Want the money? I ain't fucked you. I'll fight you for it. You and me.
: I'll bet you for it. Tommy
: You'll what? Pikeys
: HE'LL BET YOU FOR IT! Turkish
: What, like Tommy did last time? Do me a favour? Mickey
: I'll do you a favour. You have first bet. If I win, I get a caravan... and the boys get a pair of them shoes.
[the Pikeys laugh at Turkish and Tommy, who are wearing plastic bags around their shoes
: If I lose... Oh fuck it, I'll do the fight for free. Turkish
] Now the last thing I really wanna do is bet a pikey.
: Get back down or you will not be coming up next time.
[watches as Mickey warms up
] Gorgeous George
: Oh, bollocks to you. This is sick. I'm out of here. Mickey
: You're not going anywhere, you thick lump.
[Pulls off his shirt
: You stay until the job's done.
[kisses his good luck charms and knocks Gorgeous out with a single punch
] It turned out that the sweet-talking, tattoo-sporting pikey was a gypsy bare-knuckle boxing champion. Which makes him harder than a coffin nail. Right now, that's the last thing on Tommy's mind. If Gorgeous doesn't wake up in the next few minutes, Tommy knows he'll be buried with him. Why would the gypsies go through the trouble of explaining why a man died in their campsite when they can bury the pair of them and just move camp? It's not like they got social security numbers, is it? Tommy - the tit - is praying. And if he isn't, he fucking should be.
: I'll tell ya what. I'll do it for a caravan. Turkish
: For what? Pikeys
: For a caravan. Tommy
: It was us who wanted a caravan.
: Anyway, what's wrong with this one? Mickey
: It's not for me. It's for me ma. Turkish
: Your what? Pikeys
: His ma.