JACK: It seems we’re in a bit of pickle, George.
GEORGE: A... A pickle?! A PICKLE -
JACK: Alright keep quiet -
GEORGE: And what do you mean “we”? I’m not involved in this (heads for the door, JACK quickly overtakes and blocks him)
JACK: You are involved in this now, Georgey. You’re going to help me sort this out.
GEORGE: (shaking and almost jumping up) SORT THIS OUT?! No Jack this is your fuck up, Boss is gonna go mad –
JACK: Boss isn’t going to find out -
GEORGE: We weren’t meant to kill him. Oh god oh god we’re dead. We’re dead. You’ve killed us both. Oh god, oh, oh god. (drops to his knees and assumes a ‘prayer’ position) God I’m sorry, I am begging you please I... I’ve never prayed but I’ll start going to church. I promise! Please I’m sorry (begins crying)
JACK: For fuck’s sake get it together George. I need you now, keep it together or ... I’ll hurt you if you can’t shut up and help me.
GEORGE: You wouldn’t -
JACK: Don’t think I won’t, I don’t intend on dying today and if you can’t keep it cool we will.
GEORGE: Well what do you want to do?!
JACK: First, go hide this somewhere (thrusts the knife in his hands)
GEORGE: (drops it) My DNA is on this now! You fuck! You fuck! You’ve set me up
JACK: (laughing) I don’t think Boss will get DNA testing, he’d be fucked then.
GEORGE: What if the police –
JACK: (shoving him against the wall) The police? Are you not hearing me? Just help me sort this mess out. Hide the knife in the bush across the road till we decide what to do with it. And clean the blood, I will figure out what to do with the body.
Long pause. GEORGE picks up the knife holding it a great distance from his body and trembles out.
JACK looks around, puts on the radio, has a drink.
After some time GEORGE enters with a mop. He looks distressed and sick and has his head turned from the blood.
GEORGE: Are you seriously listening to the radio?! (switches it off)
JACK: I was listening to that.
GEORGE: Now what? I’ll tell you from now I’m not hacking his body or any sick shit you’re thinking of.
JACK: Hack his body? Fuck’s sake George what do you think I am?
I know. (JACK picks up the man and props him on the chair) Pass me the duct tape.
GEORGE: (looking down at the man then back at JACK, trembling) You’re not serious.
JACK: Have you got a better idea?
GEORGE: So what we just tape over the blood and hope for the best?! Oh we’re fucked, we’re fucked. Shit. Shit.
JACK: Pass the tape. (JACK removes the man’s shirt and his own, puts the tape over the wound to stop the blood then puts his bloodless shirt on the man) Come here and help me. (They tape him to the chair, the position he was in before the accident)
GEORGE: What if the blood comes through? Tape can’t hold it back...
JACK: Lets go burn this (holding the bloody shirt), and then we’ll go to the pub, come back at one just as we normally would.
GEORGE: I can’t. Won’t Boss know that’s a different shirt, or that it’s yours?
JACK: You can – I’ve never needed a drink more. He won’t know the shirt is mine, it’s fucking new which is unfortunate.
GEORGE: That’s what’s unfortunate?!
JACK: (opening a blind slightly letting light painfully into the room, quickly closing it) Come on, it’s still a nice day outside.