Bert    I don’t agree, I think this is going somewhere. I think this might be leading to some ass fucker getting some hard labour when the Keystones start lookin to explain as to why they got a dead midget on a film set.

Philomena    Or a dope fiend.

Raymond    Exactly, Miss Kinsella –

Philomena    The pair of yis. The pair of yis killed my Charles. I should tell them all about your opium (turns to Bert, then Raymond) and your unnatural ways. Ruined that boy. My poor Charles . . .

Bert    Since when did he become your fucken Charles? His name was Charlie Fucken Merryweather. Since when did he become Charlie Fucken Baby-Leprechaun Kinsella?

Philomena    Since I was the only one that really cared for him! To you he was just a drinking partner in crime. (Turns to Raymond.) And to you he was just a toy to satisfy your evil, warped urges. How could you, Mr Benedict-Porter? He respected you! And I’m ashamed, ashamed is what I am, to say that I did too!

Raymond    Look, I –

Philomena    My poor, poor Charles. Oh, don’t you worry; I’ll be silent. I’ll say nothing, cos it won’t bring my poor Charles back now, will it? But sure, you’ll pay for my silence, so yis will!

Bert    What the fuck are you sayin?

Philomena    I’m sayin that it’s going to cost the both of you!

There is a long silence, which Bert breaks with a loud laugh.

Bert    It’s gonna cost us! How much is it gonna cost us? You are one mean fucker. You are one mean, twisted, little bag of Paddy leprechaun shit! How much is it gonna fucken cost us?

Philomena    I want twenty-five dollars each, and I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head, you poisonous little Polack bastard!

Bert is dumbfounded for a beat; horrified but also somewhat impressed.

Bert    I can’t lay my hands on that kind of dough.

She turns to a sheepish Raymond.

Raymond    I can.

Philomena    Then I need fifty from you, Raymond. Fifty, or I’ll tell them all about what you did to Charles.

Raymond    Fifty dollars and it stays in this room?

Philomena nods cagily at him.

Bert (to Raymond)     Whaaat! You been bumming whisky off me last three weeks n’ now you can get your hands on fifty fucking bucks?

Raymond    . . . I . . . I won it, I won it if you must know.

Bert     Shit.

Raymond    Yes.

Bert    You won it? You don’t gamble, Ray.

Raymond    I do.

Bert    You don’t.

Raymond    . . . Chess, if you must know, I won it from poor Charles.

Pause.

Bert    You’re shitting me, you cocksucker.

Raymond    I am not.

Bert    Shitting me big time; chess my hairy midget ass.

Pause.

Raymond    . . . All right, all right, if you want to know the truth –