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A Recompensa de Perrier

[first lines]
Voice of The Reaper: The ocean, huh? Never fails to provoke a person to musing on philosophical shit. Heavy shit, like life and death, and fate, and all that bewildering shit. The fuckin' universe. The individual's seeming insignificant in it. But are we insignificant? I mean take, for example, this individual. Wears the name of Michael McCrea. Last night he imbibed to beat the band. And today he's paying the seedy price. It's evening. He's having himself a little siesta, yeah? Little catnap. Now relax yourself and pay close attention. There's a point to all this drivel.

Orlando: You miss the aforesaid deadline, man, Darren says you've to pay a particular price. Two bones to be broke, your decision which.
Ivan: And digits don't count, you understand?
Orlando: Fingers, toes...
Ivan: ...they don't count at all.

The Mull: Well done, man. What the fuck was that about?
Michael McCrea: I wouldn't like to say.
The Mull: And I wouldn't like to hear you say, cos that'd mean you'd a big fuckin' mouth.

Clamper: You're illegally parked.
Orlando: Take it fucking off.
Clamper: Once it's on, man, it doesn't come off, unless you pay the fine. Then, if we've time...
Lar - clamper 2: ...which we may well not.
Clamper: Correct. May be a delay even after you pay. A day, man, could be as much as two. Do you get it?

Ivan: Suggest you get ou and get lookin' then, Michael. Beg, borrow, steal...
Orlando: ...only get it and bring it. You've four mor hours before Perrier's judgement comes down.

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