Original subtitles

- 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.

Adios, muchachos.

Adios, 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.

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.

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.

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?

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, Gilbert Manning, Human Resources.

We're expecting that new graduate intake today.

- Oh yes, I've 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.

I'm part of Cornfoots' new graduate intake.

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

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.

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.

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.

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 pound 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 pounds 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.

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 pounds.

- 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.

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.

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.

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 grieve 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?

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.