KENNY: No. Bugger you. I’m going to the doc in the morning.

SIMMONDS: Suit yourself. I was going to offer you something well worth considering. KENNY: What?

SIMMONDS: If you’re going to the doctor’s in the morning then there’s no sense discussing it.

KENNY: Don’t get smart, copper.

SIMMONDS: The point is, Carter, that I’m in a position to offer you something you may be needing in the next few months.

KENNY: What?

SIMMONDS: Companionship.

KENNY: [looking at him incredulously] Companionship?

SIMMONDS: [realising he has been misunderstood] Female companionship.

KENNY: [still incredulous] What?

SIMMONDS: Female companionship.

KENNY: You must be joking. I’m bloody near dead.

SIMMONDS: Think ahead a couple of weeks, Kenny. You’ve been used to getting it regularly for years.

KENNY: I can get me own women, thank you very much.

SIMMONDS: This is just to tide you over.

KENNY: [after a pause] What sort of women?

SIMMONDS: Well… er… there’s a group of very attractive young girls a block or two from the station who… er… well, the fact is that they’re very high-class… er… callgirls—

KENNY: [disgusted] Prostitutes!

SIMMONDS: [indignant] No. There’s a world of difference between your streetwalker and your callgirl, Carter. No chance of disease for a start. Safer with them than with your average wife.

KENNY: Come off it.

SIMMONDS: It’s a fact.

KENNY: What? And you can get ’em for free?

SIMMONDS: I believe in well-run prostitution, Carter. It’s better that they’re doing it there than raping little girls in the streets.

KENNY: What? You turn a blind eye and you get paid off in kind?

SIMMONDS: The girls are grateful to me because I realise their value to the community.

KENNY: You must be pretty worried to make this sort of an offer, copper.

SIMMONDS: I don’t like a big stir, Carter. That’s all.

KENNY: [bitter] Yeah, well, I’ll tell you something. I’m not going to let you pair of bludgers beat me to a pulp and get away with it. You can sweat it out. Now, piss off. I’m going to the doctor’s tomorrow

SIMMONDS: You’re a fool, Carter. Ever had a high-class callgirl?

KENNY: What’s so special about a harlot?

SIMMONDS: They’re real performers, Carter. Real performers.

KENNY: Piss off. You make me sick.

SIMMONDS: I can understand you wanting to get back at me, Carter. I was playing the tough cop for the ladies and I can understand you wanting to get back at me; but when it’s all said and done, revenge is a mug’s game, Carter. You’ve got nothing to show for it in the end.

KENNY: Except satisfaction.

SIMMONDS: Satisfaction doesn’t get you women, Carter.

KENNY: [after a pause] How often could I get it?

SIMMONDS: Well, I’d have to see the girls, but I’d reckon twice a week. I reckon they’d come at that.

KENNY: For how long?

SIMMONDS: As long as you need. Within reason.

KENNY: What if Fiona comes back?

SIMMONDS: I’m sorry, Carter. I don’t follow.

KENNY: Well, what if Fiona comes back next week? Some deal it’d be then. I’d really miss out, wouldn’t I? Beaten to a pulp and nothin’ to show for it.