All language subtitles for Schemers.2019.eng

"The music business is a cruel and
shallow money trench,

a long plastic hallway where thieves
and pimps run free,

and good men die like dogs.
There's also a negative side."

It was sometime around 1979,

when fate decided to give
me a boot up the arse.

What's the score here,
you might ask?

Well, it all started with
a very smart investment

on Rapid River romping home
at 10 to one.

Which meant up the hackie
down the blackie

for a couple
of celebrationary sharpners.

Sink a couple of them
down the hatch, and then,

it's onto the student
union for a drunken shag.

Poetry, eh?

Now, I've sunk my fair share
of triple brandies and coke

by this point,
and that's when I met her.

Honestly, at the time,
I coulda swore she was

the spitting image of
the blond bird from ABBA.

Like I said, I had few.

An hour later,
and we're back to hers.

Under starters orders,
and they're off.

Well nearly.

I remember asking her something like,
who's that?

It's my fiance, Malky.
He's in the jail.

The jail?

That was my cue to fucking leave.

-Get ready for a big night, darlin'.
-Davie, I'm really sorry.

I thought he'd be in for much longer.
He's in for GBH.

And then, like a scene
from the bloody Shining,

Charles Manson look-a-like
comes walking through the door.

Talk about a close shave.
But it doesn't end there, though.

No, no, no, no.

A week later, I'm down at Grouchos,
earning some coin.

-You workin' here, my lad?
-Short term contract.

Cool!

Just 'til the student grant kicks in.

And that is the moment when fate
finally decides to take a hand.

Van Halen, pal.

Van Halen? Jesus!
You sure?

What was it the wee Chinese boy with
the hat and the red book used to say?

A journey of a thousand miles
starts with a single step.

Aye, I guess you could say
it's something like that.

SCHEMERS

Good afternoon, Prime Minister.

There are certainly gonna
be some celebrations tonight.

Very exciting, indeed.

Haggis, which,
believe me, is delicious.

Pitch is looking good.

Should be, the amount of shite
played here last season.

The team made the paper today!

Come on.

Many London pubs were
attempting to cut off

essential supplies to the
Tartan Army by remaining shut.

Have a fucking word, man.

So that's where my journey begins.

And, by chance, that single step,
starts with a break.

Fuckin' dead man.

Based on a true story...

-Can you walk it off son?
-I can't even feel it.

Aye, must be numb.

We'll try some deep heat, eh?
See if it brings back the sensation.

-I think I'm in shock a dinn-y.
-Okay, here we go.

Old Ralph said you can get a start at
the printers, even with your stooky on.

-Every cloud, eh?
-Willie, it's only a broken leg.

He's gonna need to face the facts.

The ball's burst,
the games up the pulley.

-His football days are over.
-Rubbish.

Six weeks and the leg
will be good as new.

When I was a nurse...

No, no, listen.

We were told
when you break a bone,

it comes back even stronger
with the new stuff.

You just need to screw
a few pins into it.

A few pins.

I'll give old Ralph a phone
in the morning, son.

Willie, will you shut up?

Stop depressing the lad.

Hello, Davie!
I'm Shona, student nurse...

And that's when I met her.

I'll be checking on you regularly.

You really are quite beautiful.

What's that?

I actually ken about
the Florence Nightingale effect,

where the patient falls
in love with the nurse.

I read a lotta about history.

Lot of books on war.

That's not what I'm trying to say.

The only thing that's
gonna get me through this

career-ending injury is
knowing I've got a date

with a bonny lassie at the end of it.

There is a level of confidence that can

only be achieved when you're
out of your tits on morphine.

So, just when you think
you're Shakespeare spouting a sonnet,

Sorry, what are you trying to say?

You're actually talking pish,
looking like Plug from the Beano comic.

Davie, I'll get the bib on.

Alright, Davie.

Scot, nice jacket.

Do you get any hassle
for selling in here?

What you selling anyway?

I can handle my self.

So can I.

All right, Davie.

-Back for more, eh?
-Leave him, Malky.

Get fucked, Scott.
The wee twat shagged me missus.

Strangle everyone who's
shagged your missus,

it's gonna be a busy month.

That's my fiancé
yer talking 'bout.

Malcolm, my old friend,

she's had more pricks
than The Powrie dartboard.

-I'm gonna bang yer pus, Scott!
-Well, you'll get a crutch in yours.

Take it outside boys?

Get the...

Sorry, no bother.

If I dinn-y see you through the week,

I'll see you through the window, Davie.

Come on.

-I owe you one.
-Nah. We're even.

You just saved my life.
Least I can get you is a drink.

Me? I'm too young.

Double vodka and orange.

How you getting on?
Crutches okay?

I won't be tripping the light fantastic
for a wee while,

but we're gettin' there.

So, how did it go with old Ralph?

I go and meet
this Ralph character,

and while he's giving
a tour of the factory,

he's just waffling on and on
about jute and whale oil,

and how whale oil is essential
in the processing of jute.

-A handy supply of whale oil.
-Whale oil?

Ralph is a lovely old guy, and I'm sure
this is all very interesting to him.

But you try listening to
that for two hours solid.

I did actually learn
something new that day.

Did you know that jute
really comes from India?

Fuckin' riveting, right?
So, I asked him.

Ever been to India, Ralph?

Just the Taj Mahal up the
Perth Road for a chicken korma.

Then he just started going on
about jute and whale oil again.

At this point, I couldn't take
any more, so I had to ask.

Ralph, what exactly
is my job gonna be?

-See that lever?
-Uh-huh.

Pull it to switch the press on.

Right.

Pull it to switch it off.

-That it?
-I'm sure there'll be more.

Believe me, I asked.

Well, sometimes the press
needs recalibrating.

Quite a skilled and complex job,
actually.

And I'll be learning
all about that, will I?

Oh no, we'll get a guy in.

You just start her up and give me
a shout, if you got any bother.

Job for life, son.

That is not for me, Ma.

-There's always your football.
-Football's finished.

Let's face it,
I'm no exactly George Best.

I can't imagine the Football Hall
of Fame's gonna be missin' me.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
I get enough of that with your dad.

-You'll bounce back, Davie.
-Thanks.

I do have a plan.

So, what's that then?

I watched this documentary
by John Pilger called "The Year Zero."

About this guy in Cambodia,
called Pol Pot.

Murdered millions of his own people,
I'm talking work camps.

Guy was a psycho, a complete
'head the ball'.

Davie, what's this got to do
with you?

I wrote him a letter.

-Pol Pot?
-No, John Pilger.

I offered him my help for like,
volunteering, or something.

Cambodia?

For a boy who got sunstroke
going to the berries?

Aye, a laugh.

Well, in the meantime I've got
something a wee bit more concrete.

These, and another tenner
on Lucky Break

to win the 2:30 Epsom, eh?

Back then, I had a bit of a love
affair with the horses.

-That'll be another tenner then.
-I'll get tick, then.

-You heard what happened, aye?
-Aye, we heard.

But come on Davie,
we're a fuckin' bookies.

I always pay my debts.

Aye, ya did,
before you were a cripple.

Which leads to me Kenny,
my future debt collector.

His APR might be pish compared to
Littlewoods, but he's a fucking radge.

I still get a wee stipend from the team
and the nurse says I'll be back soon...

Couldn't gie a flying fuck.
No job, no tick.

-End of.
-Tenner.

On Lucky Break.

-Hey, Willie.
-Hey.

Hey.

If your Mother caught me
doing that, it'd kill her.

-Why do it then?
-Getting grief about my old poker days.

Well, why you do it then?

You've had a bit of a hard time.
Just make sure that's the last of it.

-If I catch you again I'll tell her.
-I thought it would kill her.

-Just promise you won't do it again?
-I promise.

Promise what?

That I'll no let you catch me.
Look, I'm not daft, Dad.

Aye, but you cannot pee far.

Don't go spending that money
on quines, ya fuckin' loon.

Don't spend it on lassies, Dad.

(train horn blaring)

Pink.

-That was blue.
-What?

Are you colourblind?

Aye.

What?

What you doing?

Closing my pores.

Right.

-Smooth Scott, smooth.
-Thanks.

And there she was.

You just gonna stare forever pal?

There's lads in here
every week looking at her,

but not any have got the bottle
to go up and talk to her.

I don't really know what
I'd talk about with her.

Ken anything about her?

Student nurse.

Talk to her about that, then.

Any chance you can gaze
longingly from somewhere else?

-I need to go for a piss.
-Oh, sorry.

Cheers.

Here we fucking go.

Shona.

I just wanted thank you for nursing me
back to relative health.

I'd also like to say that I think

that you're really, really...

Beautiful?
Yeah, I know.

You told me about twenty times

whilst swinging in and out
of consciousness.

You swore it wasn't the so-called

Florence Nightingale effect,
based on your knowledge

of Commando Comics, and that
Van Halen was an arsehole.

I was pretty buckled, to be fair.

So, The Florence Nightingale effect
is actually when the nurse falls

for the patient,
not the other way around.

Best we can diagnose, that's
not what happened here at all.

I wanted to offer you all free tickets
to this uni disco I'm organizing.

Sorry to bother you.

Okay.

Sure.

What?

Yes, you can take me
on a date to your disco.

Aye, she called my bluff.
Cheeky, eh?

Well, considering our first encounter,
she left me no choice.

Cool.

So I head over to Mennie's bar.

Try and persuade Scott here
to join my new venture.

-You want to start a disco?
-Aye.

-And who's Shona?
-This lassie, mate.

You should see her.

Could you have no asked
her out normally?

-Disco is a bit fuckin' much, like.
-No, I could-nae.

-So you going to help me or what?
-I don't know, Davie.

Come on, Scott. My student loan
doesn't stretch that far eh?

Aye, if you keep buying
double brandies and coke.

Will-nae.

You gonna be slinging
dope all your days?

You can make a tidy profit.

If I'm being honest, I knew it would
be easy to get Scott on-side.

Extra money would be nice.

Boy loves a pound note.

All I had to do was
to sell him the dream.

Who's going to be
your disc jockey, then?

I see this boy running about college
with loads of records.

-Maybe he'd do it.
-Who's that?

I think his name's John.

But it was raising the
money and convincing John.

That was the real problem.

Right enough good ole' Scotty-boy comes
through with another brilliant idea.

I've got an idea.

Though I have to admit,
the poster looked a bit shit.

Here we go, lads, here we go.

You organized a disco with me
on the bill before you even asked?

Wanted to show you
how ambitious we were.

More like couple of bloody chancers.

Gotta take chances to get
the best like you, John.

We thought a team-up could
take us all to the next level.

I was already going big time.

Hey, there's not even
any venue on it yet.

Yeah, we've had a few ideas
about that.

-Such as?
-Come on, somebody tackle up.

How's your team getting on?

Shite.
You gonna answer my question?

After a few words of inspiration, we
managed to get John to join the team.

But there was still one
situation to address.

We were totally skint.

But that's when John said.

Maybe, I'm due some money
from the Vicar.

So, when John said the Vicar,

we naturally thought it was
some mad gangster alias.

Delighted to see you again.

But really,
it was just a normal vicar.

Father Vettriano.

Always nice to have new
blood under our roof.

Now, gentlemen, have you found
religion for yourselves yet?

There was something
weird about this guy, though,

and I was almost certain
he tried to convert us.

Well, I'm still a Prodie.

Prodie.

It eludes me yet, Father, but I prefer
the Catholic show a bit more.

Yes, well, if you do require some
additional spiritual guidance,

might one suggest.

Then I really had my suspicions

when he tried to offer us
some sort of sermon from.

The big man himself.

God?

And of course,
it nearly fooled Scott.

His Holiness is speaking
at Bellahouston Park in a few weeks.

Bellahouston!

Great capacity.

Well, he's vertainly got the
biggest fan club in the world.

Now, business associates.

You're here to collect your stipend

from last week's rather
rambunctious soiree.

The ten year olds were ecstatic.

Oh, big time stuff alright.

Now,

I have a proposal.

A possible deal as it were.

Here we fucking go.

If it would be at all amenable

to offer an alternative
form of remuneration.

To wit, would you accept
this fine painting

by my nephew Jack

by way of pay?

Is he famous?

But what is fame, if one is regarded
by one's peers as a shining...

Can we get much money for it?

I fear not, but in time-

Really sorry, Father Vettriano, but we
could kinda use the notes just now.

Of course.

Twenty notes was it not?

Twenty five.

And just like that,
we had ourselves a disco.

Here, here.

Three classy lassies in the queue
making my spring go ping!

Get them in, pronto.

Think we can do better?

Better?

If you ask me, Shona's got
better tits than Venus De Milo.

-Is she the lassie at the college?
-Venus De Milo?

-Aye.
-Hey, bring that back, you fanny.

Where's he going?

Come on.

Volume, that's the
record, don't let it skip.

-Do you dance, Davie the DJ?
-You askin'?

Yeah, I'm askin'.

-What's that Scott?
-This is the next level John.

-It's beautiful.
-Where the fuck did you get that?

What do you think of that, then?

I think I'm going for that dance.

-Thought you were quite cute.
-Cute?

-I want to be rock and roll!
-I'm paying you a compliment.

I don't go on dates with
every patient who asks me out.

-I'm going to do more nights like this.
-Proper bands would be cool.

Ah, such as?

Simple Minds have been getting
a lot of airplay on John Peel.

Simple Minds it is.

Though, probably need
to change their name.

Bit of a non-starter.

Okay, well if you get them I'll go.

But I've got a bit too much on
right now to go on more dates.

Also, no offense, but
you are incredibly slow.

I've really got to get home.
Got an early start.

-You know what uni's like.
-Course, aye, fair play.

Thanks for a fun night

Bye.

Oh, hello there.

I'm Anne, the wife.

John never said he was married
to such a lovely lassie.

Aye, well, he's got his
stud-like DJ image to protect.

Davie,
and this is my business associate.

Yeah, I heard you made quite
the impact on the uni disco scene.

It was all on John, really.
His gig, you know?

-It's all he's talked about.
-Nah, it's not.

Anyway, I was going big
long before last night.

Do you want a cup of tea?
Tunnock's Caramel Wafer?

-I'd like one an all, actually.
-Well you know where the kettle is.

You just have to flick the switch then
you pour the boiling water in the cup.

And don't forget to add the tea bag.

John, ask them to sit down.

Take a seat then, lads.

Don't you dare touch my wafer!

How many tickets you shift, then?

Full house eh.

What did I tell you?

Aye, but listen, I was thinking,
we should do it again.

Not a chance.

-We got to do it bigger.
-The next level, John.

We've got a good rep after last night,
so we gotta capitalize.

Put on proper bands,
get bigger crowds, more money.

-Hotter lassies.
-And less work for you.

I quite enjoy the attention, eh?

What was that John?

I said, they've got my attention.
Fucking hell, eh?

-What was that last bit John?
-Who are you thinking?

-Simple Minds?
-Never heard of them.

Getting a lot of airplay
on John Peel, at the moment.

Very popular with the young,
hip crowd.

That'll be you well out
the loop then, eh John?

You'd like them but we need
a bit of money up front first.

How much did we clear?

Fifty after I bought
the strips for the team.

Fifty?
Can nay do much with that.

Can ya double it?

John, if you so much as look at our
Florida holiday fund, I'll divorce you.

Okay sweetheart?

Got any contacts
in the travel industry?

Alright, do we all have our
tickets to see the Pope?

Aye.

And do we all have our
tickets ready for Rocket Travel?

-Excellent, now, if you could
all form an orderly queue,

the bus should be here in,
as Our Grace would say,

'Uno Momento'

They're late.

These boys reliable?

This is the Kiss the Tarmac special.
They're a new outfit, like us.

You mean, the only one that would
give you anything for fifty pound?

Look smart arse, long
as it's got four wheels

and glass windows, it'll be fine.

It'll be fine.

-Fuckin' joking?
-No, I've told ya.

This isn't the offices
of Rockit bloody Travel.

I don't care if you missed half
of the Pope's speech.

It's nothing to do with me.

Hello?

Aye, Rockit Travel.

Four Barry Manilow tickets?

Dad.

I told you,
answer the phone correctly.

Yes, and would that be the
standard package, sir, or the deluxe?

Yes.

Just make the cheque
payable to Rockit Travel.

5D Whitfield Court.

Yes, thank you very much.

Hey son, if I'm gonna be
answering these phones

for you, I'm gonna need
some kind of remuneration.

-What you got in mind?
-Four tins of export a night?

-Ounce of Golden Virginia?
-Two tins and a half ounce.

Pretty braw like.

Aye, it's definitely
calming me down a bit.

Nay bad stuff there, baby Scotty.

Just go with the flow, boys, eh?
See how you hold up.

We need a name.

-Yeah, for the company.
-I was thinking about that.

I was thinking, JSD Promotions.

-Away.
-What?

-You to fuck.
-I was just thinking.

-Okay, well done, clever
clogs, very original.

But if anything, it
gonna be SJD productions?

-What the fuck?
-Who got all the posters?

-You got one poster.
-Who sortied out the police light?

That was fuckin' class.

No fucking initials, it's boring.

Twa Bridges.

Twa Bridges?

Wee something my dad used to say, eh?

Dundee's got twa bridges now
son, just like Edinburgh.

Aye.

-Twa Bridges Promotions it is, then.
-Aye.

Does anybody else
really fancy a cheeseburger?

Aye!

What you laughing at?
I'm starving.

You's two have got the munchies.

- The what?
-Dafties.

Amateurs.

What's happnenin' Kenny?

We're after a venue.

-We're looking to get stuff for it.
-Get to fuck.

We've got the money for it.

I hear the student union
is more your level, boys.

We're barred.

Apparently someone stole
a police light for our gig.

Old Jade here's mum was sorely
disappointed by her deluxe

Barry Manilow experience,
as supplied by Rockit Travel.

So, get to fuck.

You want to cut the pish, mate? We
heard you were a serious businessman.

I like your girlfriend, Davie.
Fiery.

Do you not get in any
bother for doing that in here?

Well, I'd have to kick myself out,
seein' as we own the place.

You want any decent venue this time,
you'll have to ask Des Fergie.

Is he the guy puts his victims
in a bathtub and fills it with...

Aye.

Wait here.

The wee one's an accountant,
and the long streak

of pish is a music journalist,
apparently.

Well, it was either that,
jute, or jam.

-Funny.
-Is it?

This is not Fergie.

That's a nice... painting.

It's Pike, his nephew.

Oh, don't let that sweet smile fool ya.
He does bite.

Fuckin' sit down, then.

So, is Mr. Fergie no here?

Does it look like he is?

It's Saturday.

Mr. Fergie plays golf
on a Saturday.

Oh, right.

They can have Teasers.
Two hundred for every gig you put on.

Now, the problem
with Dundee at the time

was that all the best venues
were owned by these pricks.

Off you go, then.

So, inevitably, when you cut a deal,
it's stacked in their favour.

-We'll take half the door.
-No, fuckin'...

Sorry boys, I wasn't asking ya.

I'm fucking telling ya.

No if's, but's or post mortems.

Kate Bush or Debbie Harry?

-For the music?
-Yes, for the music.

-I wouldn't say no to either.
-Davie.

Elton John or the Bee Gees?

-Neither.
-You're meant to pick one.

-Gimme another one.

The Undertones or the Buzzcocks?

Buzzcocks.

All right, my turn.

Dundee or United?

United what?

Dundee United.

-You said Dundee or United
-Yeah, there's two teams.

Dundee and Dundee United.

The grounds are right across
the road from each other.

Why would you need
two Dundee teams?

So we've always got
someone to play with.

I didn't think much of
you when we first met.

Aye, ye did.

At the disco.

Do you know what I thought of you,
Davie, when we first met?

What?

I thought, he needs to roll his tongue
back in before someone steps on it.

Like you a lot more now, though.

You better.

Did you ever get around
to booking Simple Minds?

Wait, how much?

Let's make it 15 quid and 6 tins.

Deal?

I'll throw in 5 packs of chips
from the Deep Sea chipper.

Ah, lovely.

Good man, cheers.

Hello, this is Davie McLean
from Twa Bridges Promotions.

We'd look to book The Starjets.

The Vapours.

The Skids.
Good man, thank you.

Is XTC available?

-That's fantastic Scott.
-Yeah, that's dead smart, that.

Where's the one for Very Important Men?

I could only afford the one.

Please dinn-y tell me you've blown

our entire promo budget on
one bloody poster, Scott.

It's no my fault.

The boy at DC Thompson's wasn't cheap,
and I had to pay Old Ralph extra,

to get a guy in,
recarbonate the printer.

How many tickets did we shift?

Well, with our one,
admittedly excellent, poster,

none in Groucho's, none in Q
and I video, same in Rock Pile.

-And worst of all, none at the venue.
-Right, zero then.

We're wiped out, we're still gonna have
to pay two hundred quid for this place.

Hang on.
Got an idea.

Gig cancelled, promoter dead.

New poster.

A bit basic.

I've seen a few death
notices in the Tully.

Needs more... feeling.

"Due

to the unfortunate

demise.

of the well liked and
respected local business man,

Mr. John Gibson, 24,
tonight's performance

has been canceled
as a mark of respect.

All tickets will be refunded
by Rocket Travel.

Our condolences
to his beloved wife, Anne."

Fucking, nice one, John.

You know mate, I didn't see you
come up with anything, did I?

John Gibson?

-I'm the man.
-Look awfully good for a dead man.

A dead man that owes me two hundred
bucks for cancelling a gig.

It's no like that at all
I can get you the money.

Thanks, Scott!

Nay bother.

We're equal partners, right?

-Win big on the horses, eh?
-Nope.

Import/export business is booming.

I'm selling loads of hash to students.

I'm a student!

We're interested in the two-tone
package. The Specials and The Madness.

Top man, thank you.

Wreckless Eric.

Excellent, thank you very much.

Are you sure you're happy with VIM?

Very Important Men's
a bit of a mouthful.

We fancy a three-letter acronym.

Three letter acronym's even worse.

-No, like ELO, OMD, XTC?
-AC-DC?

Stop you there. You realize that VIM is
a popular household cleaning product?

-It's a celebration of the mundane.
-Very Warholian.

Might get yer 15 minutes of fame,
but I think that'll be it.

How much we got?

Can you do it for 50?

Is ULTRAVOX available?

-Wonderful.
-Before you go, Davie.

What is it George?
I'm running out of ten pences.

Got this new band, four-piece,
out of Dublin, gonna be massive.

-Who are they?
-U2.

Never heard of them.
Sorry George, we'll have to pass.

Nice.

Thought we could make a bit
of extra money taping the gigs

and selling the videos
to the young hip crowd.

Where did ya get it from?

I borrowed the camera from
that guy from Forbes over there.

And I got a hundred blank cassettes
from the guy from Woolies over there.

How much?

Free tickets, the other
half of my share, each.

They both think they're getting
a half each?

-Aye.

But they're actually
only getting a quarter.

-Aye, right.
-But keep it down, it'll be fine.

Wonderful.

Thank you, pleasure doing business
with you. Cheers, okay, goodbye now.

-Perm's in.
-Perm is not in.

-Perm is in.
-John, look at me.

-I am lookin' at ya.
-I'm beautiful.

Quite stunning.

-Aye, sure.
-If I do say so myself.

-Aye, you do say so yourself.
-Build up your strength slowly, now.

-Don't run before you can walk.
-I'll keep him right, doctor.

Cheers, doc.

How you feeling?

Brand new.

-Davie.

I'm wearing heels.

-You heard the doctor, you shouldn't.
-Pish.

-Shona, it's goin', it's goin'.
-Davie.

-What you doing, you weirdo?
-I just wanted to thank ya.

-For what?
-Nursing me.

-Davie, that's my job.
-And for all this music promo stuff.

-You kind of inspired me.
-I'm flattered, but...

So...

I got you this.

Davie, that's really sweet.

I know.

-Where are you going?
-We're going to celebrate.

Cool.

Oh, that is horrific.
That poor girl.

Stop it.

Stop it.

I would like to apologize once again,
sir, for the fois-gras and quail soup

not being available this evening.

It's nay bother, pal.
Had that last night at home anyway.

Enjoy your meal.

-We love the seeds, don't we, Davie.
-Hey, I love the lemon.

It's the best part.

So why are you doing all this?

Because I like you.

Not that, I mean the music stuff.

It makes me a wee bit of money.

I kinda like it, I suppose.

Yeah but, what does it mean,
what do you want from it?

I've never really thought
about it, to be honest.

Mum's always fancied
a house down the ferry.

I would love to get her it.

Make my dad proud.

Just support the family.

Maybe start one of my own.

-Everything to your satisfaction?
-Aye, fine and dandy, pal.

Can you get us another
bottle of Chabliss?

-He means Chablis.
-Of course.

-Cha-what?
-Chablis, it's French.

French.

John, the boy from Woolies is here.

He says he wants half your
money from last night.

You can have Bloomers
for four hundred.

-Cash, up front.
-Canna do that.

Just when things are starting
to go well, cue Fergie.

We started to sell out venues,
pulling bigger

and better bands,
so it was only a matter

of time before people
started to take notice.

Davie McLean.

-Remember this prick?
-Better be good.

Aye, business is good.

Well, when you begin to swim deeper,

don't be surprised when
you meet the sharks.

Mr. McConnel informs me the Thin Lizzy
tickets are selling like hot cakes.

Not my cup of tea,
but the Mrs. quite likes them.

This is Fergie, by the way.
The chief potato of Dundee's McMafia.

You can pretty much write
what he kens

about the music scene
on the back of a stamp.

She's got good taste,
tickets are almost sold out.

Excellent.

We'll take the advance sales now,
then, since we're here.

I'll just check with Bernie.

It was Bernie who suggested it.

But he owns all the venues,
so what he say's basically goes.

Anyway, he comes later.

So, we meet our new contact,
talk a bit of shit.

-A deal is agreed,
-I'll give you my London contacts.

Excellent.

And then, you're off, off, and away
with your biggest gig yet.

Until.

-There a band on here tonight?
-In time. Tickets are selling fast.

-Right, well it's off.
-What?

You can't have a big gig
in such a built-up area.

-That's never been a problem before.
-Well it is now.

-You cannae do that!
-It's done. Order of the Council.

-Bit of a coincidence don't you think?
-Nah, not really.

-Fucking jobsworth cock wobble.
-Probably working for Fergie.

Oh, aye, hows that?

We need a new venue
at short notice, right?

We're desperate,
so he'll make us pay more.

We should just quit, eh?
Do something safer.

-Aye, like what?
-What time does your Anne go to work?

-8:30.
-And when does she get back?

5:30

-So your house is empty for, say...
-Nine hours every day.

Right.
Nice house, by the way.

-Is it?
-Double bed?

-Aye, Slumberland.
-Comfy?

Very.

-Let's open up it up as a brothel.
-That better be a fucking joke, Scott.

Right, calm down mate.
I wasn't gonna suggest Anne.

But that Shona's a bonny lass, though.

If you want a seat at Fergie's table...

Call that plan B for now, eh?

Albeit a wobbly one, you
have to play by his rules.

Indeed, what can you do?

It's not as if you can go and
complain to trading standards.

My best advice here,
is to lie down and bite the pillow.

Lads, you're the ones that are gonna
have to hurt them if they don't pay.

The amount of students
without collateral that I've had

to snap the bones off is
really starting to annoy me.

I mean, I don't even
go to the gym anymore.

I own a house.

-What?
-You heard.

-Glad you came.
-You look awfully bonny.

This has to be your last gig, Davie.

Why?

Finally recognized
that guy the other day.

Only it wasn't what he
looked like, but his name.

Des Fergie.

-I know what I'm doing.
-Sure, my patients thought that, too.

When I was treating broken
bones in the hospital,

I'd hear whispers,
people would say things

when they were out of it
then clam up the next day.

But it was always the same name.

It's just reminds me of the
shit I grew up with back home.

My dad.

And if you're part of that,
Davie, or if that could hurt you,

then I'm sorry,
but we can't be friends.

Just found the one thing I'm good at,
and you want me to quit?

-I'll be shining bright.
-You're right.

In fact, I've got no idea
why I thought you'd listen.

Shona.

Davie.
Finally ditched that wee whore.

What was I thinking?

-You probably did me a favour.
-Glad I could help, pal.

Besides, you put on some
decent gigs on these days.

Cheers, Malky.
Two secs, eh?

Shona.

Fuck.

Good afternoon, Mr. Burton's office.
Annabelle speaking, how may I help you?

Hello, David McLean
from Twa Bridges Promotions.

Who?

Twa Bridges Promotions. We're the
biggest promotions company in Dundee.

-Dundee?
-Dundee, East of Scotland.

What is it concerning?

We would like to book Pink Floyd,
the Stones and Fleetwood Mac.

Okay, I'll put you
through to Mr. Burton.

Where did you disappear to?

-Up the blackie, down the hockie.
-Well, club's fucked.

You even slept?

Burton speaking.

Hello, This is David McLean
from Twa Bridges Promotions.

Never heard of you.

We're the premiere
music promotion company

in Dundee, and we'd like
to book one of your acts.

Name any venue a hundred mile radius
from Tannadice, and we'll fill it.

Still never heard of you,
but here's the deal.

It'll cost you a thousand pounds a mile
to book any of our top acts round trip.

Can I make some calculations
and get back to you?

-No, I'm expecting a call.
-Would you hold please?

Not really.

-Get an AA map and a ruler, pronto.
-On it.

Howl, two well-fired rolls
with butter. Plenty of salt.

Annabelle.

-Where the fuck is Dundee?
-Scotland.

Get me the AA map, please.

-Jesus, that was quick!
-Swiped it out a car.

And a ruler?

Thousand pounds per mile,
is that correct?

Here, mate.

-How long are those sausages?
-Six inches.

-Right, one please.
-You want chips with that?

-How long are the chips?

-Single mate, pronto!

So is that by road
or as the crow flies?

Whichever's longest.

Five hundred pounds a mile.

-I'll mortgage my house.
-What's it worth?

-Three grand.
-Three grand?

-That'll get them up to Swiss Cottage.
-He want's about a million quid.

Don't eat that! I've just been speaking
with my business associates,

and we've decided we would book
one of your more up-and-coming bands.

Someone like, say, Iron Maiden?

Yes, they'd be just
the ticket so to speak.

-Persistent little bastard aren't you?
-I prefer ambitious.

Right, that'll be fifteen
hundred pounds each way,

provided they fancy a trip to Dundee.

-Let's round it off to, say, four K?
-Very reasonable for that caliber.

Okay, we'll need half
the money up front,

sort the balance on the day.

Excellent, Mr. Burton,
thank you very much, I'll...

-Iron fucking Maiden, ya dancer.
-Who?

-Four grand! Two up front.
-Who?

-Bargain.
-Bargain?

What happened to the day of 15 quid
and six cans of Skol for Simple Minds?

That was last week John,
this is now.

With my mortgage and last night's
takings, we're still about 500 short.

Don't worry, I'll sort that.
Put this back where you got it.

Clean up the venue from last night,
and eat that fucking sausage.

Did he just tell me to clean
the venue?

You should see the size
of his fucking chips.

I'm glad you came back
to me again, Davie.

I think you and I, we're going to be
working together for a long time.

Aye, well I tried the usual routes.
Lloyds TSB, RBS, but they all said no.

Pike.

Backseat.

Mr. McConnel in?

Bernie.
There a problem, Mr. Fergie?

Not yet.

Des?

Can I help?

Here for the four grand owed
from the Thin Lizzy concert.

You mean the outstanding thousand?
I gave Mr. Pike the rest.

Don't have a receipt for that.

Do you have a receipt, Mr. Pike?

No idea what she's on about.

She's ripping you off, Mr. McConnel.

-Hang on a minute.
-Money, now!

He was there and all!

Davie, tell them, please.

This fuckin' true, Davie?

That for keeping yer puss shut.

-Want a lift?
-Aye.

Get a taxi, you can afford it now.

Kenny'll be round for
all the money next week.

What would you have done?

Fergie knew exactly
what he was doing.

I still didn't have enough for the gig,
so I turned to the only thing I knew.

Come on.

-Come on.
-Fuck.

Aye, did ye lose son?

20 pound, Davie.
Seen you lose a lot more than that.

Fuck off!

One.

Two.

99.

100.

Bet ye can nay do that, son.

Aye, right enough, Dad.

Good night tonight?

Sold the place out.

Well done, son.

Awfully proud.

Cheers, Dad.

Aye, he's here.

Ya all right?

Dandy.

-Beano and all.
-Where the fuck have you been?

-How you doing, John?
-Me?

I'm doing great.

After you left us,
and took all the fucking money.

Calm down John, he's
obviously no doing so good.

He's no doing so good?

I'm the stupid fucker that
raided my holiday fund to pay off

the local psychos so they don't
come back and break bones.

I couldn't pay them all.

Not only are those nutters coming back
to do who-the-fuck-kens-what to us,

but if my darling wife looks
in that vase, I'm divorced.

Simple as.

So Scott,
just think again and tell me,

out of everyone here,
who's no doing so good?

You've got the money, right, Davie?

Bookies?

In your own time, Davie.
You complete and utter fanny.

Put this all on black please.

Okay, sir.

19 red.

-Is that it?
-Yep.

Okay, maybe I could have
handled that a bit better.

You've killed us, Davie.

-Let me at him.
-Just leave it.

It's not worth it.

Just hit us, I deserve it.

You know, there is no
point, you won't learn.

Aye, he fuckin' will.

Time to hurt like fuck,
wee man.

Listen, Pike mate,
I can get ya the money.

I can work for you.

Aye, you'll be working for
us for a long time, mate.

Come on, pal.
Might as well make this part easy.

Hey lads, hows it going?

What happened, Davie?
You been fighting?

Can you strong gentlemen help?

Excuse us, we need to have
a wee word with Davie, here.

-Are you taking him to the hospital?
-We'll see.

John pal, have a wee word,
and all.

Look after him please, boys.

Maybe we can have some fun
later if Davie's still up to it?

Nay bad, Davie.

-Call the police, Scott.
-Nay point.

They'd be too late, anyway.

And if they dinn-y kill us,
we'd just be pissing them off.

-So, beverage?
-I'm cool, Mrs Fergie.

Chrissie.

Please don't trouble yourself,
Mrs. Chrissie.

It's a lovely house you have.

I like this one.

-Boys?
-No, mustn't drink on the job.

Suit yourselves.

What's the debt?

Two hundred outstanding,
five hundred from the Thin Lizzy gig,

plus three days compound interest.

I've also had a bill for repairs that

need carried out on Bloomers.

-Aye, but that was nay our fault.
-How much?

2,000.

-That's more than the place is worth.
-And a drum kit and a guitar.

So, rounded up, you pair
of pricks now owe me

three large.

Three grand?

On my desk, end of the week.

This is bullshit, Fergie,
you've set us up.

I've given you every chance, son.

But you've let your
ambition blind your ability.

You may as well kill us now,
we're as good as dead.

No, no, no.

You're dead when I say you are.

If you fail to pay me back my money,

then you can both come work
on shipments.

Well, one of you, anyway.

I'll let Mr. Pike here decide
which of you

needs to remain
in a useful condition.

Tough choice.

They're both as much use as
an ashtray on a motorbike.

Look, I can do this.

I can get you the money
in two weeks, okay?

I'll mortgage my house.

Two weeks it is.

Problem is,

I've got a bit of a reputation.

Wonderful things, reputations.

Usually save a lot of time.

But now, my fucking rep
with the young crowd,

it needs a little...

Finessing.

So, with that in mind,
I'm going to leave you

in the capable hands of
Mr Pike and Mr. Ferguson.

-Think they'll make it back?
-They're strong boys.

As long it's some time
in the next couple weeks, I suppose.

This isn't helping anything.
We need to get home! Fuck!

Shut yer puss it's not funny.

How'd you ken we would be here?

Fergie does this all the time.

Fucking Baltic.

What's the score then?

-I'll mortgage my house.
-Oh, above and beyond, mate.

For someone who's friend just saved
your life, you don't look too happy.

I'd have sorted it.

-You going to thank me?
-For what?

Stopping you getting seriously hurt.

By dressing like a whore,
aye no bother.

-Shona I think you look brilliant...
-Like a whore?

Look at the state of
yourself right now Davie.

And you're calling me a slut?

Guys, is this the appropriate time
to be having this conversation?

-I only said you dressed like one.
-I dressed like this to help you.

Cause' you're a degenerate gambler
with delusions of grandeur.

Very poetic.
McGonnigal lives on, eh?

Would they have hurt you badly
if I didn't dress like this?

Exactly.

-Fuckin' hell!
-Shit!

Fancy an ice cream?

Raspberry sauce.

Come on you.

Cheer up, eh?

Great acoustics.
Maiden'll love it.

It's our only option John.

Our only option is
to forget all this music promo

pish and quit whilst we're only
heavily behind as opposed to dead.

Just, hear me out first.

Take your mortgage money,
stick on Iron Maiden here,

sell the place out, pay
back crazy eyes and his band

of merry nut jobs,
we make a tidy profit.

And we all live happily ever after?

I fucked up,

and I'm sorry.

It's alright.

I cannae risk anymore, all right?

My partner said the same thing
when we put on The Beatles.

-Alright there, mister?
-Andy, please.

Just doing a wee recce,
make sure the place

is spic and span for Sidney Devine.

Aye, big time stuff.

I had the Fab Four up for a couple
of small shows in '63,

before they were huge.

Only cost 30 pounds,
and we still lost money.

But there was something about them
that meant I wanted them back.

What was it?

Well, they were the bloody Beatles,
weren't they?

So, I phoned up Brian Epstein
and I said,

"I'll take them again,
but we lost money before,

so can we have them
for twenty five pound?"

And he said, "No...

You can have them for two
hundred pound,

you have to put them on
at the biggest venue you can find."

Well, my business partner,
he just thought I was nuts.

He's got two kids, so from
his point of view, it was.

What happened?

It was the bloody Beatles,
wasn't it?

I was there as a laddie,
throwing Jelly Babies at Ringo.

So, Iron Maiden.

The new wave of heavy metal.
You going to do it?

For fuck sake.

Fucking brilliant, John.
You'll not regret it!

-Aye, well, I regret it already.
-You know what I'd regret?

-Buying that fucking coat.
-Fuck you!

-All right, Kev!
-All right Davie.

-What's the book?
-It's the Gulag Archipelago.

It's about,
ken the labor camps in Siberia?

-Oh, aye?
-Where the dissidents go or something.

I dinn-y, I think that's where they go.
It's no bad read.

-May as well be set in Whitfield, eh?
-How's that?

Well, it's that fucking grim, eh?

-Where's the drum kit?
-Drum kit?

Aye, you no with the Maiden?

Do I look like I'm
with the fuckin' Maiden?

I'm hear to fix the lavie.

Vienna Boys Choir last night.
Forty laddies, one lavie.

Torture.

This was the point I realized
we were fucked.

I'll catch you later, Davie.

Dinn-y look at me,
I'm here for the shity pipe.

See you later.

Don't know where I can find
Davie McLean, do ya?

-I'm the man himself.
-Hey, Rod Smallwood.

-I manage Maiden, nice to meet you.
-Pleasure's all mine.

Decent drive up?

Yeah, Drove up from Sunderland
at the crack of dawn.

We had a show last night,
crowd loved it.

Late night then, my man.

Wheres the crew?

The crew?

The humpers, the guys who are gonna
help my guys load the gear in.

Thought a first class outfit like
yourselves would provide all that?

-You kidding?
-Course.

Crew will be here shortly.

And catering?

-Catering?
-Yeah.

Square sausage butties,
stuff like that?

What?

What's that when it's at home?

Just sausage,
but cut in a square.

You've read the contract.

Course.
Even read the small print.

Right, well,
that's the most important thing.

Good news on the Ruddles.
I'll have it on white with HP.

Right, let me just take you
to the changing room.

Just up here.

Oh, how are ticket sales going?

-Like snow off a dyke.
-What?

Hot cakes, like hot cakes.

Right, yeah. I think our album
will get top ten this week.

So yeah, you've done pretty well,
you've timed it perfectly.

Great.

Cool.

If there's anything I can do,
just let me know.

Well, arabest.

Take a right at the end of the hall.

Mom.

Hiya son, I was just
about to see your gra...

Never mind that,
I've got an emergency.

-What is it?
-I may have overlooked a few things.

I need you to look down
the back of the sofa,

there should be letter that
says Cow Bell Agency on it.

Hold on.

Willie, shift.

Jesus Christ!

-You bloody need a new filing system.
-Have you got it?

Aye, I've got it.

Go to the page that says,
band rider, on it.

Jesus!

10 bacon butties on arrival, with HP.
10 Hot meals, Pie n' mash

or Fish and Chips equivalents,
before concert.

Four packets of cigarettes.
And it says here a case of Ruddles.

-What the fuck are Ruddles?
-Nay idea.

Davie there's more,
two bottles of vodka,

two bottles of tequila,
twenty four bottles of lager,

twenty four cans of Yorkshire Bitter.

Mom, I'm gonna need
you to sort this out.

-I'll give you the money later on.
-Davie, you're driving me mad.

Thanks a million, bye.

What's goin' on now?

Hope you've not got
any plans for the day.

-How?
-We're in the catering business.

The whole thing was a fucking
shambles to be honest with ya.

The thing is Davie,
I just don't have time for this.

We're a real band and people
are paying money for this.

Maiden's manager, well,
he was fuckin ragin'.

Could see his point, though.
We didn't even have a crew.

So right enough,
I'm out on the streets

trying to find a bunch of
jakies to fill the positions.

All right lads, much on the day?

To be honest,
that was going fine until,

Hang about, is that
our fucking guitar he's got?

These guys were literally off
the streets,

so I dinnae ken what
we were expecting.

Then, the second batch
of shit hit the fan.

Oy, mate, who have
you got for opening act?

Opening act?

Look, fucking Christ,
tell me you got an opening act?

Don't worry about it.
I know all the bands in Dundee.

I'll just give one of them a phone.

Back in the phone box, trying to find
a last minute replacement.

John's running about fucking daft,

and my dad is in the kitchen
trying to cater for 40 people.

We had nay clue what
the fuck was going on.

Just pulling switches, praying it would
all come together in the end.

And then, the band manager asks...

Right, can I get me 2K now,
please?

John.

How many tickets we sold?

-Not enough.
-Well, what we gonna do?

Take a wild guess.

John, wait up a second.

You're not going to say
goodbye before your big gig?

Aye, of course.

-I'll see you there.
-I'm really proud of you, you know?

The shows, I mean.

-You know that right?
-Aye, course I ken that.

You know, it's funny.
You're not in a rush are ya, John?

Go on, have a sit down.

This will make you laugh.

I heard a wee rumour from
the girls a wee while ago.

-Aye?
-That you had died.

I've been meaning to ask you about
that. What was that all about?

Must have been someone else.

Lot of people called.

I cried my eyes out actually.

Then, you walked through
the door, quite the thing.

I thought, yeah, they must have
been talking about somebody else.

So I dried my eyes, and
popped my make up on.

You never even noticed.

Right, well, I've gotta go,
I'll see you later, okay?

Aye, with bells on.

Just make sure you put it back
like the last time, eh?

What?

Good luck.

Dinnae worry.

Shona dinnae see you.

Beautiful night.

Maiden even gonna play?

And that was the big question.

After all the stress and all the debt,
would it all fall apart?

Of course it didn't.

Otherwise why would I be
telling you this story?

Maiden!

Maiden...

It was unbelievable.

Never in our wildest
dreams would we think fans

by the bus load
would come from Brechin,

Arbroath, Perth,
even as far as Crieff.

Queues around the bloody block.

Maybe my nonstop praying
at Father Vettriano's

had something to do with it.

Well, whatever the case may be,
they loved it.

The rest, as they say, is history.

And I can drink to that.

Davie.

For all your faults, that was
a decent show the other night.

Make any money?

After we paid back everything we owed,
had a bit of a piss up to celebrate

still being alive,
but that was about it.

-Sure you didn't gamble it away?
-Nah, I'm done with that.

Bet on it?

Sorry I couldn't hang
around after the show.

College and all that,
you know what it's like.

Actually, I dinnae.

I never went once,
they're about to can me.

-I know, it's pretty obvious.

Right, well, what you up to?

Going to London.

Yeah, got a placement
at Guys and St. Thomas, so.

What you always wanted, eh?

I'm sorry I was a completely
unreasonable prick to you.

I just...

Go on.

I was falling in love with ya.

Made me daft.

The apology means a lot.

It's funny, sometimes I can see
the world in your eyes, Davie.

See you around.

No, you won't.

Course.

Bye.

You should come.

-What?
-London. What's keeping you here?

-Hearing that a lot just now.
-Well, it's true.

Shona, I would.

But, bottom line, I'm totally skint.

You can usually magic
something up.

If you change your mind,
I'm getting the train tomorrow.

See you 'round.

I realized just
how special Shona was.

It was almost like she knew.

Come on, son,
you're gonna miss your train.

It's not leaving
for another 90 minutes.

Give us a break eh?

I made you a couple
of sandwiches, son.

Ta, Mum.

-What's this?
-This is for you.

-For me?
-A wee present.

Before I forget, this came for you.

Jesus!

Dinnae expect a reply from John Pilger.

Oh, I'm sorry son.

Well, at least you tried.

Dear David, thank you so much for
your generous offer to come and work.

Look forward to you
joining us in Phnom Phen.

Yours sincerely, John Pilger.

Sure you want to go to London, son?

I'll have to have
a wee think about it, eh?

Well, this is different.

You can take that
Constable painting down

and stick that up, instead.

Have a wee look.

Got it from Father Vettriano.

It's by his nephew, Jack.

Supposed to be pretty good.

Thanks, son.

That's lovely.

Come on,
we'd better get a move on, son.

I'll get my coat.

Davie son,
dinnae tell your dad.

Here's 20 quid.

You'll need it, London is dear.

Thanks, Mum.

But you should nay have.

Right, son, chop chop,
time we were off.

Here you go son.

20 quid.

Dinnae tell your mother.

It's dear way down there.

Especially with your habits.

Cheers, Dad.

I'll give it my best, eh?

I'm awfully proud of you, son

Started to think you ditched me.

-Came to say goodbye.

-What?
-You need to leave more than I do.

So, you're not coming?

Cannae believe you lied to me.

I bullshitted you,
it's completely different.

Anyway,
you slept with someone else.

Who told you?

You just did.

-Look, Davie, you'll be a big success.
-Doing what?

Living your dream.

Dessie wants to talk to you.

Word on the pavey
is you're a useful young buck.

May have some work for you.

Job for life, if you want it, son.

Sitting here
now, going over all this,

you cannae help but wonder, what if?

Then, you realize that
it's just the cards

that you're dealt by the
big man up the stairs.

You can bluff,
you can play percentages,

you can follow your
head, follow your heart.

But at the end of the day,

it comes down to the
fickle finger of fate.

I think that was her.

And that's how I'm here.

John and Ann are still happily married
in Dundee with a large family.

He's now a successful
property developer,

with investments
in the whiskey industry.

When not deal making, he can be
found playing golf in Portugal.

After 35 years, John and Davie teamed
up again forming a record label

which released Kyle Falconer's
debut solo album.

Scot left Dundee for London
when he was nineteen.

Through the 80s, he become friends
and fixer to the rich and famous,

becoming a multi-millionaire with
properties all over the world,

from Miami to Belgravia.

His final deal was Project Moscow which
is shrouded in conspiracy theories.

Sadly he met a untimely and unexplained
death in December 2014.

After twenty years in London,

Davie decided to branch out
from live promotions

and with Alex Weston moved into
artist management,

landing an unknown act at the time,
PLACEBO,

who have to date sold
13,000,000 albums worldwide.

Davie has managed PLACEBO
for over 25 years,

along with many other
high-profile artists.

He has lived in Bankok
for the past 15 years,

with his daughters
Billie & Beaw and wife Thian.

He also bought that house on the Ferry
in Dundee for his Mum.

In memory of Wulfie, Mayra and Scot.

SCHEMERS